Ryder by Allison LaFleur

That’s when I noticed, wrapped around the third finger of my left hand, a diamond encrusted platinum band winking in the mirror at me.

Exactly how drunk was I last night?
On the top of the dresser sat an envelope. I approached, reaching one shaky hand out to grasp it and slide out the folded paper inside. I closed my eyes for a second, before opening them, and unfolding the paper. There it was in black and white, my name, Zoe Ann De Lacy joined Ryder Adam West in holy matrimony, as of 4 o’clock this morning.

The man sleeping face down in my bed. The man I had clearly enjoyed multiple times last night, Ryder West, was my husband. I held my left hand up in front of me. At least he had good taste. The delicate rock on my finger was no Las Vegas $199 Elvis wedding special, it had to have set him back a pretty penny.

“You coming back to bed?” A sleepy voice rumbled from somewhere among the covers in the king sized bed.

“Hmmm?” I looked away from the evidence of our marriage, noticing his broad shoulders again.

“I don’t know what the hell happened last night,” he rolled over, muscles across those shoulders and back rippling, and shaded his eyes from the weak light from the bathroom. This left a gorgeous set of six pack abs on display, and a tantalizing trail of dark hair leading south. I salivated or tried too, my mouth dry as the sahara after too much tequila. “but I need another couple hours of sleep before you tell me and I need to regret it.”