The perfect match

Sneak peak

You frown at the pounding in your head as you slowly come too, the mattress beneath your hungover body soft and warm. You take a few silent minutes to asses the situation before begrudgingly pushing the blankets off of your head, your eyes squinting at the brightness that fills your senses as you force yourself to sit up and glance around the room.

There were clothes on the floor, trash from the takeout you'd ordered after stumbling back to your room in the early hours of the morning. Your suitcase was still a mess in the corner, unpacked of course, and it tells you that you were most definitely still in your hotel room.

Thank god. You'd had the sneaking suspicion that you'd end up in a total strangers room with the way you were drinking last night.

You startle slightly when a quiet groan emits from the space next to you, and your stomach fills with dread. Okay. So apparently you'd brought someone to yours instead. You reach a hand out to try and see who it was, but a sparkly band on your left ring finger halts you in your tracks. It was gold, a small diamond encrusted on top, and you seem to stare at it forever until something seems to finally click.

"Oh my god." You whisper hoarsely as you stare down at your hand. You bring it closer to your face, and the diamond seems to taunt you further when it glimmers in the sunlight shining through the windows opposite.

It was pretty, and expensive. What in the hell was it doing on your finger?

Mouth pooled with saliva and stomach churning uncomfortably, you reach out your hand again and gently tug away the blankets that were covering whoever was next to you.

You see the blonde hair first. It was short, messy with sleep. You then take in her nose and that soft, yet still defined jawline. You recognise her instantly, and you feel your face turn a shade of ghostly white.

Hand now trembling violently, you softly grasp her left wrist and bring it on top of the covers. There it was. The matching ring to your own.

Your stomach immediately threatens to empty itself all over your unsuspecting victim as you scramble out of bed and into the bathroom, and you screw your eyes shut, so badly wishing that this was just some terrible dream.

It was Scarlett Johansson. You had married Scarlett -fucking- Johansson.

No longer able to hold it back, you puke violently into the toilet bowl, your hands tightly clutching the cold porcelain like it was a lifeline.

"Oh my fucking god."

**

Soooo, should I continue?

Cords and comments are welcome!