Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
“I’m fine, Logan,” I whisper. “But thank you for being the kind of guy who asks.”
He jerks his chin in a nod and then turns around like he didn’t just see his captain with his hands all over my ass and his tongue down my throat. Like my legs aren’t around his waist and we aren’t dry humping against the wall. Like we’re complete strangers he’s never met before now.
The doors slide closed.
Archer doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t move, either. He’s completely still, every muscle in his body rigid. His hands still on my ass.
My soul quivers. He’s going to tell me that this was a mistake. That it never should have happened and can’t ever happen again. He’s going to break my heart without even knowing entire sections of it probably already belong to him.
“Archer?” I whisper, pleading quietly. “Please don’t regre–”
“Marry me.”
I gape at him, shocked silent for a full five count. “What?”
“Marry me,” he growls. “Right here. Tonight. Marry me, Wren.”
Alarm bells sound in the back of my head. This isn’t right. This isn’t how this is supposed to happen. We aren’t supposed to be a drunken Vegas mistake.
But I don’t say any of that. Because the man I’ve been dreaming about for the last year is staring at me, waiting for my answer. And tonight, I’m just drunk enough to give it to him, consequences be damned.
“Yes.”
Chapter Three
Archer
I wake up tangled in purgatory—caught between heaven and hell. My head is fucking killing me. My mouth feels like someone took a shit in it. Just opening my goddamn eyes hurts.
Jesus Christ. How much did I drink last night?
Too much, I quickly decide, slamming my eyes closed again when the sunlight trickling through the blinds feels like it’s stabbing me in the frontal lobe.
This is hell.
But heaven is Wren wrapped around me, her curvy body snuggled up in my arms like that’s precisely where she belongs. My hand is on her perfect ass. Hers is curled around my waist. I’m naked from the waist up, her head nestled against my bare chest. And she’s not wearing anything except my T-shirt and her panties. Well, nothing except the wedding band glittering on her finger.
My ring.
“Fuck,” I breathe, my heart jolting against my ribcage. We’re married.
The events of the night before come rushing back in a torrent. Video poker. Too goddamn much alcohol. The way she looked so damn happy. The sound of her laughter. Her kissing me in the elevator. My hands on her ass.
The way I stood there after Logan caught us, remembering what Nash said a couple weeks ago.
I’d approached him to discuss his relationship with Emilia, Coach Lariat’s daughter. Instead, he called my ass out over Wren.
"You can only pretend you don't feel it for so long," he’d said. "Eventually, you gotta deal with it."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"You know exactly what I'm talking about." He cut his eyes at Micah. "Everyone knows how you feel about his sister except him."
"Fuck." I went rigid, scrubbing a hand down my face. "It's not like that, Whatley."
"Yeah, it is." He hopped over the boards onto the ice, glancing back at me. "If you don't get off your ass and do something about it, it won't be him you gotta worry about. It'll be some other motherfucker swooping in and putting a ring on her finger when you know damn well it should be yours."
Standing in that elevator last night, I knew he was right. Just like I’ve known it since he said that shit to me. If I didn’t do something, someone else was going to swoop in and put a ring on her finger. They were going to take her from me…and I’d be the idiot who let it happen.
I wasn’t sober when I asked her to marry me, but I’m not sure I was drunk either. For the first time in a year, I think maybe I was thinking clearly. And all I was thinking about was my ring on her finger. I needed it there more than I needed air, needed to tie her to me in some real, tangible way that couldn’t be easily undone.
Micah is going to fucking kill me.
Even knowing that…I don’t regret what I did.
She’s clearly not on the same page when she wakes up a few minutes later because she groans, a pitiful sound that tears at my heart.
“Please tell me that I’m dreaming and we’re not in bed together,” she whimpers.
I smile despite myself. “Does this mean you dream about me, little bird?”
She whimpers again, trying to bury her face in my chest like I’m her favorite pillow. “I’m not here right now. My soul has left my body. Please leave a message.”
“Feel that bad, huh?” I chuckle, brushing hair back from her face.
“Yes.” She whimpers again. “Um…Archer, we didn’t get married last night, did we? Please tell me that only happened in my drunken imagination.”