Blind Pass (Carolina Comets)

“I don’t know where she is. She said she’d meet us here, but she’s not answering her phone.”

I know because I tried it too.

Is she trying to bail on me?

“Give her some space, man. Maybe she just needs time to process.” Collin places a hand on my shoulder, and I shake it off.

I also needed time to process, but Collin had no issue with dragging my ass down here for lunch with Lowell and Miller. If I have to be here and face everyone right now, she damn sure has to be here too.

We both fucked up last night. I’m not going to let her hide just because she’s too embarrassed to own up to her mistakes.

Without another word, I spin on my heel and head for the elevators. Harper calls out after me, but I don’t bother stopping. I’m a man on a mission, and it’s time I had a chat with my wife.

I take the elevator up to the thirty-fifth floor and let myself in with the key card I have.

I hear her sigh as I push open the door.

“I told you, Harper, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not. We need to talk. Got a moment to chat, wife?”

I say it just to test her, and to her credit, she doesn’t flinch.

Nor does she look all that surprised to see me.

“How did you get in here?”

I hold up the card. “You dropped this in my room.”

That’s a lie. The first thing I did when Collin finally left my room was go to the front desk and get a replacement. They really have some shitty service in this hotel. I barely had to talk my way into getting it.

“How convenient.”

“Sure was.” I shut the door behind me. “We need to talk.”

“You already said that.” She pushes off the bed with a sigh, heading into the bathroom.

She gathers her long, honey blonde locks and twists them up into a messy bun and then bends over the garden tub. She hits a few contraptions and switches on the water. She reaches for a bottle of bath salts sitting in the corner and dumps the entire thing into the bottom of the tub. Another bottle of the stuff is emptied, and before I know it, she’s hooking her thumbs into the waistband of her skirt and tugging it down her legs.

Her shirt is lying on the floor next to it before I can even grasp what I’m seeing.

“What are you doing?” I finally manage to ask.

“What does it look like? I’m taking a bath.”

She says it so calmly, like she’s not just undressing in front of me and slowly killing me.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“I told you we didn’t sleep together.”

Quite frankly, it’s pissing me off that she thinks I would take advantage of her when she was drunk. I might have been shit-faced too, but that’s not the kind of man I am.

“We might not have slept together, but I clearly undressed in front of you at some point last night, so unless you’re unable to handle seeing some boobs…”

Some boobs? She says it like she doesn’t have an incredible rack.

I try my damnedest to look away when she reaches behind her back and unsnaps her bra, but like a flustered eighth-grader who is seeing tits for the first time, I look at the mirror, as if that’s going to magically change anything.

She doesn’t back down, doesn’t call me out on it.

Our eyes collide in our reflections as she drags her bra down her arms and drops it to the floor. She’s back to the same state she was in when she was straddling my waist this morning.

And just like then, my cock springs to life.

Her perky tits are hanging free, her nipples hard and in perfect proportion to the rest of her boob. Fuck, I want to taste them. So damn badly. I had to fight so hard not to reach up this morning and pull her breast into my mouth.

Just like I have to fight the urge right now.

She’s beautiful. There’s no denying that. I thought it the first moment I saw her.

But it’s more than just her looks that make her beautiful. It’s the unabashed confidence she has in herself. The way she presses her shoulders back and meets my stare head-on, almost daring me to touch her.

I admire that about her.

Her watchful gaze skates across our reflections and lands on the one thing I hate the most—my scar.

It’s only then that I finally turn away from her and not-so-subtly adjust my hard dick.

She turns off the water, and I hear her step into the tub.

“You wanted to talk, so let’s talk.”

I face her again just as she sinks under the bubbles, covering everything I so desperately wish I could see again.

Leaning against the bathroom counter, I cross my arms over my chest, watching her. Her eyes are closed, and to most, she might look at ease. But I can see the way her jaw is tensed and how her lips are tugged down in the corner just the slightest bit.

“Last night was—”

“A huge mistake? Like monumentally huge? The biggest regret of my life?”

Even though I’m harboring those exact feelings, there’s something about the way Ryan says it that cuts just a little bit.

Could it be because she’s embarrassed by me? That out of all the people she could have done this with, I had to be the guy?

“Yeah, that.”

She lets out a humorless laugh and sinks lower into the tub, keeping her eyes closed. “We’re trending on Twitter, you know.”

Fuck. Of course we are.

Which means it’s as bad as I thought.

“What are we going to do?” She whispers the words, but I hear them just fine across the bathroom.

“I think we should stay married.”

Just as fast as the statement leaves my mouth, she’s scrambling around the tub, completely shocked by it.

I’m shocked by it too.

“Are you insane? We cannot stay married.”

The way she says it makes it sound like she’s disgusted by the idea, which just pisses me off.

“We barely know each other, Rhodes!”

“I guess you should have thought about that last night before you said I do.”

“I was drunk.”

“So was I, but you don’t see me running from my mistakes.” Probably because I’m an idiot, but…

She shakes her head. “You’re nuts. We can’t stay married.”

“Why not?”

“Why not? More like why should we?”

Marriage has always been something important to me. It’s not like I’ve ever been in any rush to get down the aisle, but it’s never been a thing I’ve not taken seriously either—at least not until last night.

I’ve seen other guys in the league not take it seriously too many times to count. They screw women all over the country and show off that Instagram-worthy life at home, pretending they aren’t sticking their dicks in anything that walks the moment they are away. It’s a joke to them.

But not for me. It means something, a lifetime of sticking by someone who complements you in all the best ways. It’s a true, honest commitment. It definitely does not mean a quickie in Vegas with an Elvis impersonator at the ready to help you exchange your vows. We didn’t go that route, thank fuck. Apparently even drunk we have some class when it comes to a Vegas elopement.

I’m already that guy with the ugly scar. I can’t also be that guy who got married in Vegas.

And more than that, I don’t want to be that guy.

“Because you need me, and I need you.”

“I don’t need you.”

I laugh darkly. “Oh, but you do need my help. I might have been drunk last night, but I distinctly remember you telling me about losing your job and your troubles about your grandmother’s assisted living situation.”

Her mouth drops open. “I told you about that?”

“Yes. How you’re barely hanging on paying for it and you want nothing more than a Prince Charming to come and save you. Ring any bells?”

It’s clear that it doesn’t.

But I remember it very well.

She cried for a good twenty minutes about it. I remember because if there’s anything in this world that I hate, it’s lady tears. Well, I also hate having to block shots going a hundred miles an hour on the ice, but I fucking hate lady tears too.

I’ve only seen my mother cry in a handful of instances, and it has about killed me every one of those times.

“Is that…is that why we got married?”

“I…”

Fuck. Collin asked me the same thing.

Why’d we do it?

As sad as it sounds, I don’t know.

I know I was upset about Brittney. I know I wanted to forget her engagement to Colter and maybe even show her I was over her. But I don’t think that’s the reason we did it. It doesn’t feel like the reason we did it.

But I was drunk, so what do I know.

I just know that try as I might, I can’t remember, and I’m not sure whether that’s a good or bad thing.

“I, uh… Well, I don’t actually know the exact reason we got married.” I rub at the knot forming at the back of my neck. This shit is stressing me out. “I don’t remember much leading up to it.”

She seems sad yet relieved to hear that. “Well, at least we’re on an even playing field there.” She shakes her head. “I can’t believe I told you about my grandmother. Not even Harper knows the full extent of it.”

“Well, believe it. You did. And I can help you with it if you help me with my problem.”

“What problem?”

I wave my hand between us. “This. There’s an expansion team coming in out west, and I don’t want to be on the chopping block for it. If I’m doing stupid shit like this during the offseason, it’s not going to look good. I’ll be a liability and they won’t keep me, and I’d really like to stay.”

It’s not a lie at all. Everyone knows they’re on thin ice this upcoming season.

“Not to mention it’s already out there in social media land and everyone knows the internet is forever,” I continue. “I’m sure the entire Comets organization knows about it already, so I’d have to deal with that shitstorm too. And then there’s the whole letting-my-parents-down thing that I’d really like to not do.”

“You can’t be serious about this.”

I don’t say anything because as much as I don’t want to be, I am serious.

Her face falls, and it finally dawns on her that I’m not kidding at all. “Rhodes…”

She clamps her mouth shut, rolling her lips tightly together as she studies me, mulling it all over in her head.

I wait. I wait for her to tell me to go fuck myself. I wait for her to leave me high and dry to deal with this myself.

I wait for her to tell me she can’t possibly imagine being married to a man like me.

Her lips pop free and I brace myself, ready for it.

“Okay.”

I balk at her response. “Okay?”

She nods. “I’ll do it. But we need to make a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Yeah, like how long are we going to stay married? How long are we going to keep this charade going?”

I run my hand over my jawline, scrubbing at the stubble that’s formed in the last twenty-four hours. I don’t typically keep any facial hair because it draws too much attention to my scar, but I couldn’t be assed to shave this morning. Now I’m glad for the distraction.

I really haven’t thought this far ahead. I just figured we’d ride out the social media storm for a few months and then figure things out from there, but dealing with everything during hockey season…well, I can’t do that.

“The season maybe? I have to focus on hockey, and I can’t deal with a divorce and other drama in the middle of that.”

She scoffs. “You say that like I’m going to drag you through the mud and take you for all you have like some kind of gold-digging monster.”

I don’t refute her claim because I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little worried about that. I know Ryan, but I don’t know Ryan. I have no idea what she’s capable of, and people do some sketchy shit when they are desperate. Since I don’t have a way out of this situation other than seeing it through, I’m going to protect myself as much as I possibly can, which means focusing solely on my divorce when it comes time for that.

Divorce. The word tastes awful in my mouth.

It’s crazy to think we just got married last night and we’re already talking about it like we’re discussing what groceries we need to buy.

But that’s what we have to do, isn’t it? We have to keep this professional and businesslike. The last thing we need to do is bring any sort of emotions into this mess.

“And if you make it to the playoffs? That’ll be like a year…”

Doesn’t she know she’s going to jinx it by implying we won’t make it?

“When,” I correct her. “If you’re going to be married to a hockey player, you should know we’re a bit superstitious. So, when we make the playoffs, we’ll reevaluate things.”

She laughs humorlessly. “Reevaluate things. I can’t believe that’s how I’m talking about my marriage.”

I can’t either.

“What are we going to do about our families?” she asks.

I groan just thinking of how my mother is going to go full-blown batshit. “Make them believe it, I guess. What about your parents? Will they care?”

“They aren’t…part of my life. It’s just me, my older brother who is off doing Marine things in Okinawa, and Grams.”

The nonchalant way she says it makes me feel uneasy and a little sad for her. My family isn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but I couldn’t fathom not having them in my life.

My mom is loud and a little overbearing at times, and my dad can kind of get on my ass about my hockey stats, but they love me and support me. I don’t know where I’d be without them.

“All right,” I say. “We lie, then.”

“We lie,” she agrees. “Other than Harper and Collin, nobody can know this is fake. We have to play it up if we want to make it believable. Your family, teammates, your coaches—nobody can know the truth. Can you handle that?”

Handle that? Please. I’m the king of faking it until I make it.

“The GM might kill me, but it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Maybe you should get my name added to your life insurance policy before we go back, just in case.”

Oh look, she’s got jokes.

“Do Lowell and Miller suspect anything?” she asks.

“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to them. Lowell certainly isn’t stupid, so I’m sure he knows something is up. Miller, on the other hand…well, he’s Miller.”

I love the rookie. He has some seriously sick hands out on the ice and is a big reason our team won the Cup, but he can be a bit dense sometimes.

Ryan laughs, understanding what I’m getting at, and it’s the first real laugh I’ve heard from her since we got into this mess. I don’t hate the sound of it.

“If we’re going to pull this off, I think it goes without saying we won’t be seeing other people during this whole sham of a marriage.”

She eyes me, waiting on my answer anxiously. I want to be annoyed that she would even suggest I’d step out on her, but to be fair, with the way we got married, it’s clear I’m not the best at making decisions.

“Of course not.”

“Good, good.” Her shoulders sink with relief, and she clears her throat. “And our living situation? What about that?”

“We’ll live at my house, of course.”

The look she gives me says she wouldn’t share a room with me even if she had to.

I don’t know why I say that last part. It just comes out, but I realize I mean it.

“You have a house?” she asks, and I drag my eyes away from her body. If she noticed me staring, she doesn’t call me out on it.

“Yeah, where did you think I live? In a box somewhere?”

“Or hell.” I ignore her jab and her proud smile. “Possibly even in an apartment. Some bachelor pad for sure.”

“No apartment. No bachelor pad. I just bought a three-bedroom house over in Grandview Hills.”

She lifts her brows at the name of the neighborhood, which is known for being a bit ritzy. I didn’t choose the place because of that; I just liked the privacy that came with it.

I’m not the type to have my business and my name splashed across the headlines. For someone who plays a professional sport, I live a low-key life. With this scar marring my face, I already give people enough reason to pay attention to me. I don’t need to add to that, which of course makes this whole situation even worse. I have a feeling I don’t even want to know what they’re saying about us online right now.

“What do you need three bedrooms for? It’s just you, isn’t it?”

I lift my shoulders. “I like having the space, especially when my family comes to visit.”

Which they do often, and that’s going to suck.

“Are you close with them? Your family, I mean.”

“Yes. They gave up everything for me. I owe my entire career to them, and I make sure they know it, flying them out for games as often as possible.”

She nods once, her eyes full of something I can’t quite place my finger on. “Your place it is, then.”

“All right. Any other stipulations?”

“Yes. I want my own bedroom, there will be no PDA, and I’m not taking your last name.”

“Even if this were a real marriage, I wouldn’t expect you to. It’s your name—you do what you want with it.” Her eyes widen at my response, surprised by it. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “I just thought you might argue. That seems to be your thing with me. I say something, you say something snarky back, then walk away all hot and grumpy.”

I lift a brow at her choice of words. “Hot and grumpy?”

She rolls her eyes and sinks lower into the tub. The bubbles are nearly completely gone, and if I were standing any closer, I could see everything.

I really want to see everything.

“If there’s nothing else, you can leave now. I’d like to finish my bath in peace.”

“Actually, there is one other thing I’d like to discuss.”

“Of course there is,” she grumbles, closing her eyes and relaxing into the water that I’m sure is cold by now.

I stalk across the bathroom, not stopping until I’m hovering above her. I was right; I can see everything. Every dip and every curve.

My fingers itch to reach out and touch her because I can clearly remember how every inch of her feels under my fingertips. How my rough palms dug into her soft flesh when I wrapped my hands around her waist and held her against me.

She’s fucking stunning.

From the way her breathing picks up, I know she can feel my eyes on her body. And with the way her nipples pebble just under the surface of the water, I know she likes it.

“Sex.”

Her eyes fly open. “Excuse me?”

“Sex. We’ll be together for a year. You’re going to want it.”

She snorts, turning her nose up at me. “With you? Not likely.”

Her words sting, but I’ll never tell her that.

I lean down, resting a hand against the side of the tub. “Trust me, you will.”

I place a few fingers on her knee that’s poking out of the water. She gasps just from the miniscule touch. I laugh darkly as I walk my fingertips down her thigh and underneath the bath water, not stopping until I’m dangerously close to her pussy. So close I can feel the heat coming off her.

Her legs part, begging me to touch her, and I’m not even sure she notices it.

“But, Ryan?”

She makes a noncommittal noise, her eyes drifting shut as I inch closer and closer.

“It’s not going to happen.”

Without warning, I yank my hand from the water and flip the button on the drain.

I shake my wet hand over the tub and grab the nearest towel, tossing it at her.

“We have lunch plans. Get dressed, wife.”