“Uh-huh.” Where was Lachlan’s shirt? Did he have pants on under that sheet?Please, God, tell me there are pants.
“We did the scavenger hunt.” He began to recite the events of the night, pulling them from the cobwebbed catacombs of his memory. “Your sister partnered us up.”
“That’s right.” That’s how I remembered it as well. I recalled actually having fun. For a few hours, Lachlan and I had worked together, both fiercely competitive and united in our quest to finish before anyone else. I even remembered laughing a few times.
“We won, didn’t we?” He said this with the certainty of one coming out of a ten-year coma.
“I’m pretty sure we did.” I swallowed past another wave of panic. “Then our group met back at the Tropical Paradise Club for a celebration.” There had been a catered buffet of appetizers, specialty drinks with catchy names, and so much noise.
“Did we all dance?”
“Yes.” I pressed my fingertips to my eyelids to stop the onslaught of images. “You tried some hip-hop stuff. I remember strongly advising you not to.”
“Leave my exceptional moves out of this.” He rubbed at the shadowed skin beneath his eyes. “Did we get in an argument?”
“Yes.”
He slapped a hand over his forehead, as if the sun streaming in was too much. “Why do we always fight?”
It was true we had a history of it. “You told everyone the real reason we got kicked out of college was because I had a fling with an Italian street vendor.”
He removed his hand from his face, and one ginger brow shot up. “Thatyou can remember?”
“I also recall you brought me a drink.” I pulled my attention away from his surprisingly impressive chest and watched his face for signs of guilt or premeditation. “A Waikiki Watoosie.” Dumb name. Great flavor.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “I’m tracking so far.”
“It was supposed to be nonalcoholic.”
“I swear that’s what I ordered. Extra Waikiki, hold the Watoosie.”
My voice went shrill with panic. “What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know. The bartender said it. I thought he’d throw in a few more pineapples.” Lachlan tunneled his hands through his hair as he sat up.
“I don’t remember much after that,” I said. It was a frightening omission, and I was not comforted by the agreement on Lachlan’s face.
He slowly nodded, looking as if the movement pained him. “Beyond that I only have bits and pieces.” He gestured toward the bed. “It doesn’t appear like anything happened here though, right?”
“I guess, but—”
“I mean…I didn’t.” Lachlan pointed a finger between us. “You didn’t. We didn’t…?”
Scraps of memories flitted through my mind, and I blinked them away. “I don’t think so.”Mostof the night was completely missing. “I think I was roofied.”
Urgency widened Lachlan’s eyes. “I swear to you, Olivia, it wasn’t me.”
There was some small relief in his declaration. Lachlan Hayes had been a lot of things back in the day—wild frat boy, partyer, serial dater, and all-around slacker. But he hadn’t been a creep or a criminal. “I think it’s likely you were drugged too.”
He sat with that idea a moment. “We need to alert the club. Have them pull some footage.” Lachlan maneuvered across the bed to sit at the edge.
I saw pants! Glorious pants that presumably had covered his naughty bits all night long.
Lachlan stood, those blessed jeans as rumpled as his hair. Slowly, gently, he picked up the marriage certificate. “Maybe this thing isn’t real. Maybe it’s just a joke of a piece of paper.”
“We’re married.” I held up my left hand, then reached for his.
Lachlan viewed the gold band on his ring finger with almost comical horror. His mouth opened, then shut, then opened again. “God help us.”
