Free Put a Ring On It by Beth Kendrick

have a goal.”
    â€œThis is a huge mistake,” she said cheerfully. “But you know, it’s kind of exciting. Getting drunk. Marrying a stranger. I have a feeling . . .”
    â€œYes?”
    She flung out her arms. “This is the beginning of what shall be known as my screw-up summer. I’ll act out and make mistakes and not care what anyone thinks.” The whole world was spinning. All she could see were streaks of dark and light and bright colors. “I’m really looking forward to it.”
    â€œYou’ll have stories to tell your grandkids one day.”
    â€œOh, I’ll never be able to tell my grandkids anything about it. That’s the point.” She stifled a huge yawn. “Thanks for being the catalyst for chaos and self-indulgence.”
    He patted her knee. “Happy to help.”
    Brighton bounced in her seat as the limo arrived at a white sign emblazoned with two interlocking yellow rings. “We made it.” She reached across the seat, took Jake’s hand in hers, and stared deep into his eyes. “Last chance to bail.”
    â€œI’m not bailing,” he vowed. “I’m in if you’re in.”
    â€œThen get your bribery cash out and let’s do this.”
    But there was a line at the drive-through—a rusty pickup truck and a red convertible idled in front of the limo.
    â€œDamn,” Brighton muttered. “There should be a VIP lane at the drive-through chapel. Can’t your people get us an E-ZPass?”
    â€œWe’re looking at a ten-minute wait, tops.”
    â€œI know, but we need to get this over with before I lose my nerve.” The pickup truck’s brake lights flickered, and Brighton bounced in her seat. “Okay, here we go. Five minutes and counting.” She fumbled for her bag. “I swear I had a stain stick in here somewhere.”
    â€œLet it go.” Jake pulled her other hand into his.
    She leaned in toward him, basking in the hormones and the buzz. “We’re about to get married and we haven’t even kissed yet.”
    â€œI can cross that off your list right now.” He tilted his head.
    But she forced herself to pull back. “Not yet. We waited this long. Might as well wait five more minutes ’til we make it legal.”
    He laughed. “An old-fashioned girl.”
    â€œPractically Victorian.” Brighton dug her cell phone out of her bag and turned on the camera feature. “As long as we’re stuck in traffic, I have a few texts to send a certain ex.”

chapter 7

    â€œU rgh.” Brighton woke up a few hours later, completely disoriented. Her mouth—her entire head, really—tasted like vinegar. She heard the rustle of a fast-food wrapper when she shifted her feet. Her wool blazer smelled faintly of cigarettes and her skirt was bunched up around her thighs.
    But she was covered in a soft, featherweight cashmere blanket. Her head rested on a fluffy pillow. She was stretched out in all her hungover glory on the leather seats of Jake Sorensen’s private jet.
    She was . . . married?
    She lifted her head and propped herself up on her elbows, blinking as the plane’s interior came into focus through the dim lighting. Jake was slouched on the other side of the cabin, gazing down at the screen of a laptop computer.
    She licked her lips and cleared her throat, but her voice still sounded like she’d been singing karaoke at the top of her lungs all night. “Hey.”
    â€œYou’re awake.” He pointed out a bottle of water on the table next to her. “Hydrate.”
    â€œI feel like . . .” She rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand. “I’d say I haven’t felt this hungover since college, but I’ve never felt this hungover, ever.” She paused to gulp some of the cool, fresh water. “Did we . . . did we go through with it?”
    â€œWe