“No, not really,” I said, watching him walk to the bathroom.

“I’ll be out in five.”

I stretched, letting all of my limbs spread in every direction on the bed, and then I sat up, combing my hair out with my fingers. The toilet flushed, and then the faucet turned on. He wasn’t kidding. He would be ready in a few minutes and I was still naked in bed.

Fitting my dress and his suit in the carry-on proved to be a challenge, but I finally made it work. Travis emerged from the bathroom and brushed his fingers across mine as we passed.

Teeth brushed, hair combed, I changed and we were checking out by eleven.

Travis took pictures of the lobby ceiling with his phone, and then we took one last look around before leaving for the long taxi line. Even in the shade it was hot, and my legs were already sticking to my jeans.

My phone buzzed in my purse. I checked it quickly.

Cops just left. Dad’s @ Tim’s but I told them you guys were in Vegas getting married. I think they fucking bought it.

Srsly?

Yeah! I should get an Oscar for that shit. JS

I breathed a long sigh of relief.

“Who’s that?” Travis asked.

“America,” I said, letting the phone slip back into my purse. “She’s pissed.”

He smiled. “I bet.”

“Where to? The airport?” Travis asked, holding his hand out for mine.

I took it, turning it enough so that I could see my nickname on his wrist. “No, I’m thinking we need to make a pit stop first.”

One of his eyebrows pulled up. “To where?”

“You’ll see.”

CHAPTER TEN

Inked

Abby

“What do you mean?” Travis said, blanching. “We’re not here for me?”

The tattoo artist stared at us both, a little surprised at Travis’s surprise.

The entire taxi ride over, Travis assumed I was buying him a new tattoo as a wedding present. When I told the driver our destination, it never occurred to Travis that I would be the one getting inked. He talked about tattooing ABBY somewhere on him, but since he already had PIGEON on his wrist, I thought it would be redundant.

“It’s my turn,” I said, turning to the tattoo artist. “What’s your name?”

“Griffin,” he said in a monotone.

“Of course,” I said. “I want MRS. MADDOX here.” I touched my finger to my jeans on the right side of my lower abdomen, just low enough not to be seen, even in a bikini. I wanted Travis to be the only one privy to my ink, a nice surprise every time he undressed me.

Travis beamed. “Mrs. Maddox?”

“Yes, in this font,” I said, pointing to a laminated poster on the wall featuring sample tattoos.

Travis smiled. “That fits you. It’s elegant, but not fussy.”

“Exactly. Can you do that?”

“I can. It’ll be about an hour. We have a couple people ahead of you. It’ll be two fifty.”

“Two fifty? For a few scribbles?” Travis said, his mouth falling open. “What the fuck, chuck?”