I am a self-proclaimed hopeless romantic. I love everything about love. The meet-cutes, the soft touches, the shy smiles and subtle glances across the room as you begin to fall in love. The slow, sweet build into something epic. I’m even a fan of the ugly parts because, hey, that’s what makes it so special, right?
I love watching romantic comedies and those damn tearjerker sappy love stories and reading romance novels. Valentine’s Day is my favorite holiday, and I truly believe everyone has a soulmate out there waiting on them.
I naively thought I’d found mine with my ex-boyfriend, Steven, thought all the troubles we were going through were just ugly parts that were leading up to the big, beautiful ones.
But, man, I was way off.
Just hours before I hopped on a plane to Vegas with my best friend, Harper, and her NHL superstar boyfriend and some teammates of his, Steven texted me to tell me he was going to be a dad.
The only problem? I’m not pregnant.
It’s safe to say our already troubled relationship was over after that.
I wish I could say I was responsible and did the mature thing, like send him a congratulations text or something like that.
But no.
I did what most heartbroken women would do during a night out in Vegas—I downed too much booze and danced with way too many men. I drank and drank and…well, I still felt like complete shit.
The biggest gut punch was having to watch my best friend and her boyfriend be happily in love all night. Don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled Harper found love. I’ve known her since our first year of college, and I can’t remember a time when she was this happy. She deserves it. Lord knows she’s pushed it away long enough.
But seeing her and Collin together…I broke. It made everything feel ten times worse because I want what they have. I want that connection with someone else. I want that closeness. I want that commitment.
I just didn’t expect it to come like this…
On cue, the massive arm around my waist tightens and the body it belongs to rolls, dragging me along for the ride. I push myself up, ready to climb off him, but freeze when his breathing changes.
I wait, holding my own breath, but he doesn’t open his eyes or move.
He’s still sleeping.
I peer down, studying the man I’m currently straddling. When he’s awake, he’s always sporting a scowl, and apparently, it’s no different when he’s sleeping.
But glowering or not, there’s no denying one thing—he’s beautiful.
I thought it the very moment I laid eyes on him. It took me so long to drag my eyes away that it made even me uncomfortable, which is a difficult feat. That’s how striking he is.
His long, dark lashes brush against his cheeks. His ochre hair, which is in desperate need of a cut, is a complete mess, and there’s a smidge of dried drool at the corner of his full lips.
“I can feel you and your tits staring at me.”
I should be ashamed that I’m straddling him topless and staring at him, but I can’t seem to find any fucks to give about the situation.
I used up a lifetime’s worth of embarrassment last night.
“Your wonky one is looking right at me.”
Even though he still has his eyes closed, I glare at him. “It is not wonky. It’s just…bigger. And only slightly.”
He peels his eyes open and glances down at my boobs, and I try not to squirm as he blatantly stares at me…especially not with his dick beginning to stir to life against my ass.
When he finally drags his eyes back to mine, he lifts a brow. “Why are you straddling me topless again? Was last night not enough for you?”
A frown pulls at my lips. As embarrassing as it sounds, I can’t clearly remember what we did—or didn’t—do last night.
His hazel eyes that are way too captivating fall to slits. “What? Upset you slept with the ugly guy on the team?”
Well, I guess that answers that question.
I try not to roll my eyes at his words.
He’s always doing that, always calls himself ugly.
Any ugliness about him has nothing to do with how he looks. It’s all in the way he acts.
Like a dick.
I try to push off him, annoyed. With him. With myself.
But he doesn’t let me go.
I glare down at him. “What.”
Not a question. More of a Say something else asinine, I dare you.
He doesn’t take the dare.
Instead, he loosens his grip and lets me go. I roll off him and settle on the edge of the bed, facing away from him. I glance around, trying to find any clues as to what the hell happened last night after we got back to his room and I cracked open nearly all the bottles in the minibar and downed them. It’s all coming up dark though.
The parts before that? Those are a little less fuzzy, though I wish they weren’t.
I squeeze my eyes tight against the memories assaulting me and push them aside.
Clothes, Ryan. Put your damn clothes on and get out of here before you start freaking out.
I snap my eyes back open and continue my search. My bra is lying on the coffee table. My short black leather skirt is on the dresser, my burgundy velvet camisole is draped over the lamp, and there’s one black stiletto on the chair. I have no clue where the other one is.
I didn’t pay much attention last night—or at least I don’t think I did—but this is easily the most extravagant hotel suite I’ve ever been inside. I guess it’s a perk of my best friend dating an NHL player, I suppose. You start hanging out with them and getting to experience the finer things in life.
I do wonder how that lamp got broken though…
I push up off the bed and gather my things, including my phone that’s sitting on the dresser too. I make the mistake of tapping the screen. It’s filled with notifications. Like more than I’ve ever had before. Including one from my brother, which means the news must really be out because he’s a world away and usually never all up in my business.
I power the device down, put off dealing with it, and begin to pull my skirt up my legs.
From behind me, I can hear him moving around and sighing. I wonder if he’s checking his phone too.
“We didn’t.”
His voice is soft, a little scratchy from sleep and probably the lack of hydration considering how much we drank last night.
I snap my gaze to him. A big mistake because the sheet is now around his waist as he sits on the edge of the bed, all those hard muscles he works overtime for on display.
I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “What?”
“Last night…we didn’t sleep together.”
He stands up, and I really wish he hadn’t.
I wish he hadn’t because now Adrian Rhodes, the top defenseman for the Stanley Cup-winning Carolina Comets, is standing in front of me naked.
Naked naked. Like he has no care in the world that his cock is staring directly at me.
And unfortunately for me, it’s gorgeous.
Which is extra annoying because it’s a dick. They can be pretty in passing, sure, but they aren’t supposed to make my mouth water. Not like this.
He takes a step, and it bounces, knocking me over.
No, seriously—I’m now on my ass.
I am on my ass because I was so busy staring at his dick while I was trying to put on a freakin’ leather skirt—why did I think this was a good idea?—and not paying attention to anything except the thing I want to lick.
Oh shit, am I still drunk?
Not lick—punch.
I want to punch him because Rhodes is a jerk. A complete ass. I mean, he just called my tit wonky. That’s asshole behavior if I ever saw it.
He doesn’t rush over to help me. He just stands there naked as the day he was born, watching me roll around on the floor like an idiot.
This is going swimmingly so far.
After taking entirely too long to do so, he finally asks, “Are you okay?”
I ignore him and continue trying to get my skirt pulled up. How I’ve managed to get myself all tangled and am still on the floor, I don’t know, but I’m blaming Rhodes and his stupid, beautiful dick for this.
He lets out a hefty sigh as he pads across the room, his footfalls heavy on the carpet my cheek is currently attached to—and not in a fun way.
His hands curl around my waist and he plucks me off the floor with zero effort on his end.
He doesn’t let me go. He holds me there, my skirt half around my thighs, my back to his still obviously naked front.
We don’t move for a long time, and the reality of…well, everything, settles over us.
We didn’t sleep together, but that doesn’t erase everything else that happened. Hell, I would have preferred if we had slept together. That would have been better than what we actually did. Sleeping together is something I can forget and move on from. Not like it would be my first one-night stand.
But this?
I squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe we didn’t do it. Maybe it was all just a really, really stupid dream. Maybe I’ll wake up at any moment and all of this will have been in my head. I’ll be alone in my bed and I’ll laugh and laugh because there is no way I could possibly be this dumb.
His grip tightens, and I look down at his fingers curled around me.
There it is. The evidence.
It wasn’t a dream.
We’re married.
I pinch my eyes shut in an attempt to hold back the tears that have started to sting my eyes.
We stand here for several moments, me trying not to cry, Rhodes holding me against him. I still don’t have a bra on, and the longer we stand here, the more I’m unable to ignore his hardening cock that’s brushing against the small of my back.
I want to crack a joke about his boner just to lighten the mood, but I doubt it would go over too well.
“Let go,” I say softly instead.
He doesn’t. He tugs me closer and rests his head against mine, breathing me in.
I let him.
I let him because deep down, I need this, and he knows I need this.
I hate that he knows.
“Please, Rhodes,” I beg, unable to take it anymore.
With another sigh, he releases me, and I finish pulling up my skirt.
I grab my bra from the coffee table and slide it on, followed by my shirt, all while ignoring him as he (finally) pulls on a pair of underwear.
I find my missing shoe—it was in the bathroom—and slip that on too.
Rhodes doesn’t speak to me until my hand is on the door handle.
“Are you okay?”
I pause, my back to him, and let out a sigh.
It’s the same thing he asked me before.
“I’m not sure,” I tell him, because I’m not sure if I’m okay. I’m still trying to wrap my head around…well, everything that’s happened over the last twenty-four hours. “We really…”
I don’t finish the sentence. I can’t.
He understands anyway. “Yeah.”
“And it’s…” I say, turning to him. He nods, confirming my worst fear, and I blow out a breath. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
I laugh quietly. “I don’t really know what else to say, Rhodes.”
Another fucking nod. I’m starting to hate his nods. “Where are you going?”
“My room. To change. We have lunch with Harper and Collin and the guys before our flight tonight.”
He looks upset by my words like he was expecting something else. Like he was expecting me to stay.
And really, I should. We have a lot to discuss. But if I don’t get out of this room right now, I might break.
I can’t break.
“Right. Lunch. With everyone.”
His phone buzzes against the bedside table.
“Are they blowing your phone up too?” I ask.
“Of course. I have texts from Collin and your best friend.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “What…what are we going to tell them?”
“You mean how the fuck are we going to explain that we’re married now?” He lets out a sardonic laugh. “I have no damn clue, but we should talk.”
“I know. I just… Please, Rhodes. I…I need some space. Need to think.”
He doesn’t say anything else, and he doesn’t try to stop me either.
I pull open the door and walk away from my husband.
