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Oh, God, I forgot there’s a woman here. I definitely drank too much last night.

I’m lucid enough to know it’s Ivy, but what I’m not lucid enough to know is whether we had sex last night.

I wouldn’t have forgotten if we did. Would I have?

The whole night is a total blur.

I glance down and find I’m wearing my boxer briefs. I’m not sure that solves the puzzle.

I nudge her, hoping she’ll make the incessant, horrific noise stop.

“Ivy?” I say, shaking her a little. “Ivy.” My tone is a little more forceful.

“Ivy!” I yell.

Nothing’s working, and my head is going to explode if I don’t turn this fucker off.

BRRN-BRRN-BRRN-BRRN-BRRN!

It’s screaming at me.

Fucker.

I glance around the room, and I feel a sense of relief when I spot a purse on the floor near my door. I want to rush over to it, but I can’t seem to make my body respond to my brain’s requests.

Fuck, I’m hungover. This feels like the worst hangover I’ve had in a long time.

I finally make it out of bed and over to the purse, and the offensive sound grows inexplicably louder. It’s piercing my skull this close up.

The screen shows it’s her phone alarm, and I hit the X to hopefully shut it off.

But as I do, a fate far worse than just a shrill alarm catches my attention.

A glinting brand-new, shiny silver band circling my left ring finger catches the light.

Oh, shit.

I thought it was just a dream. A hallucination of my night. A joke.

I set her phone back in her purse and grab my own phone to see if there are any photos on there to help me piece together what happened after we finished that first bottle of tequila, and I’m met with an astronomical number of missed calls and texts.

I can’t deal with any of this right now.

First, I need to use the bathroom.

Then, I need to get the woman in my bed up. I’m assuming her alarm was set in order to wake her up, but she’s sleeping like the dead, and if I feel this bad, I’m sure she does, too.

Did we really get married last night?

I remember West goading us into it. I vaguely remember the ride to the courthouse. Flashes of the night piece back together as I use the restroom.

That kiss on the rooftop. Damn. That was something.

Fucking West.

I wash my hands and grab my phone, and I check the first missed text—the one West sent me last night after we made a new deal to both Kellan and me.

West: Joke’s on you, Maddox. Bet’s canceled, no money will exchange hands. Your move, motherfucker.