Blind Pass (Carolina Comets)

Are you allowed to hate your husband when you’ve been married for less than twenty-four hours?

If so, I’m pretty sure I hate Rhodes.

I hate the way he stood over me, staring down at me with those hungry hazel eyes of his. The way he drank in my body that I know he could see through the cloudy water.

But what I hate most of all is the way my body reacted to his gaze.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it’s not a good thing that my husband is hot.

He’s right—a year is a long time to be celibate. It’s going to be hard, but after that little stunt he just pulled, I’m determined to prove him wrong.

I won’t want him. I can’t want him.

Ugh, I can’t believe I’ve agreed to this. I have to be crazy, don’t I?

It was hard to tell him no when he was looking at me like he was. I know he’s worked hard for this career. Hell, he took a damn skate blade to his face and still kept pushing to make his dreams happen. I don’t want some drunken mistake—especially since it’s me—to put all that at risk for him.

He’s not the only person I’m doing this for, though.

My grandmother took me in and raised me when she didn’t have to. She gave up so much in her life for me. The least I can do is give up a year of mine to repay her and make sure she’s comfortable living out the rest of her life.

One year, and he’ll be gone most of it because of hockey season. I got this.

I can see him from where I’m at. He’s currently sitting on the end of my bed, scrolling through his phone while waiting for me to finish getting ready for lunch.

I get where he’s coming from when he says we need to go, need to show a united front. But I don’t want to go. I don’t want to face my mistakes from last night. I suppose since we’re going to be running this farce for an entire year, we might as well start now.

“That video is…wow.”

I poke my head around the bathroom door. “You’re looking at my Instagram account?”

“Figured I should learn a few things about my wife. Your account is popular.”

I hate the way he says wife—like it’s a curse word.

“It’s nothing. I’m small potatoes compared to some creators.”

“I’m pretty sure you have more followers than our team’s account.”

It almost sounds like there’s a little bit of pride in his voice, and I don’t know how to feel about it.

Unless it’s coming from my grandmother, pride isn’t something I’m used to.

“It’s nothing,” I say again. “I have more followers on YouTube anyway.”

“Do you make money doing this?”

My hackles rise at the judgment in his tone.

I get it. Social media is the worst sometimes, and content creators get a bad rap. It’s not like I set out to have this as my career though.

In college, Harper and I took a special effects makeup class because we thought it would be fun. I fell in love instantly and became obsessed with watching makeup videos on YouTube. Before I knew it, I was making my own. Ugh, those earlier videos are awful. Poor lighting, poor editing, and even poor makeup. But with practice, I got better, as did the quality of my videos, and eventually, I garnered some attention for turning myself into different celebrities, creatures, and a few different Disney characters. Things took on a life of their own after that.

I was able to monetize my channel and started to bring in an extra hundred dollars a month. Now, it’s in the thousands. It’s nothing compared to what some beauty gurus make, but it’s generally enough to cover my grandmother’s care, which is not cheap. My parents aren’t going to help with the cost anytime soon and my older brother lives a whole word away in Japan and is busy being a Staff Sergeant in the Marine Corps, so if this is what I have to do in the meantime to pay for it, I’ll do it—Rhodes’ judgment be damned.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, I do.”

He lifts a challenging brow. “Actually, it is my business, wife.”

I glare at him. “Well, in that case, since you’re so worried about my finances, I’ll make sure to bring my bank statements to lunch for you to look over. We can cry about my student loan debt together.”

He narrows his eyes, not appreciating my sarcasm.

“You still have student loans?”

“Yes.”

“I can pay those too.”

My stomach drops at his suggestion. “Is this some kind of Pretty Woman situation to you? You’re not paying my student loans.”

“But you’re fine with me paying for your grandmother?”

I’m not fine with it. Not at all. I wish I could be the one to take care of her, but I’m also not stupid. I’m not going to let an opportunity like this pass me by.

I’ve already been running the numbers in my head. If I work my ass off to post more content over the next year and save my money wisely, I should be able to pay off the remainder of my student loans, and that’ll take away a big burden.

“You’re not paying my student loans,” I say again.

He grits his teeth at my response, not looking the least bit satisfied. “Fine.”

“Fine. Anything else, husband, or can I finish getting ready?” I toss the word back at him with just as much disdain as he’s been serving me.

“I don’t want our life together on social media.”

His answer is quick and cagey, his whole demeanor changing. It’s clear he’s uncomfortable with the idea.

My eyes drift toward his scar. I suspect that’s his reasoning for not wanting to be in the spotlight.

When he realizes what I’m looking at, he abruptly rises to stand, his giant six-foot-four frame towering over me as he looks down his nose at me.

“We’re late.”

It’s all he says, dropping the conversation before I have a chance to answer him.

Okay, then.

I step back into the bathroom, apply one last swipe of mascara, and give my hair a fluff, then turn off the bathroom light.

“Let’s go,” I say, meeting his challenging stare head-on.

I do my best to ignore the way his eyes trail over my body. Just like I do my best to ignore the way my nipples pebble under his gaze.

I grab my purse off the dresser and slide the strap over my shoulder, following him out the door.

The ride in the elevator seems unusually long, and that same tension that was in the room follows us through every floor. He stands opposite me, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes never leaving mine.

It’s like we’ve entered a staring contest, and at this point, I have no idea who is winning.

When we arrive at the main floor, he blinks, looking away first. I don’t bother trying to hide my victorious smirk.

His fingertips graze the small of my back as we shuffle out of the elevator. Just as quickly as they make contact, they’re gone, and it’s strange because I miss them instantly.

Just as we’re about to cross into the restaurant, his lips brush my ear, sending a shiver down my back.

“Last chance,” he whispers, and I hear the challenge in his voice.

He thinks I can’t do this. Thinks I can’t handle this.

He has no idea just how strong-willed I am.

It’s only a year, I remind myself. One year. That’s it. You can do this. Besides, it’s not like my heart is on the line or anything. Piece of cake.

“I’m not backing out.”

His lips twitch, almost like he wants to smile. But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t.

He just nods once and then straightens to his full height. “Let’s do this, then.”

Rhodes steers us through the restaurant toward the back where we are greeted with a loud, obnoxious, attention-drawing cheer from none other than Miller.

“Woo! Yeah! Congrats to the newlyweds!” He sticks his fingers in his mouth, letting out a whistle. It’s obnoxious and does nothing to help the hangover headache I have.

Everyone’s eyes are on us, and it’s not like the restaurant is empty. A few people whisper behind their menus, no doubt recognizing Rhodes.

I could maim Miller for his antics, and by the look on Rhodes’ face, he feels the same.

Lowell grabs his shoulder, pulling him back down to his chair. “Shut up, you idiot.”

“What? I’m just happy for the newlyweds.” Miller shakes off Lowell’s attempt to rein him in and rounds the table, wrapping his arms around Rhodes, patting him on the back. “So happy for you, bud.”

Rhodes gives him an Oscar-worthy performance and hugs him back, even going as far as to pat him on the back.

“Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”

Miller lets him go, and then it’s my turn for a hug. He wraps me in his arms, his big body engulfing my small frame.

I meet Rhodes’ gaze over Miller’s shoulder, and he looks…angry?

That’s not at all what I was expecting.

“I was hoping I’d have a shot with you,” Miller says as he lets me go. He claps Rhodes on the shoulder. “But I guess that’s out of the question now.”

The sound that leaves Rhodes is nothing short of a growl.

An actual fucking growl.

I don’t know how to feel about that.

Miller just laughs and heads back to his seat. Lowell rises from the table and heads our way.

He gives Rhodes an almost imperceptible headshake but hugs him for show. I can’t read his lips, but I know whatever he whispers to Rhodes, he does not like.

Lowell frowns down at me, and I somehow feel like I’ve disappointed my dad. Ridiculous because he’s only a couple of years older than me, but it’s the way he carries himself that makes me feel so small. No wonder he’s the team captain. He’s scary as hell.

He gives me a quick hug, and we all take our seats. Rhodes and I are directly across from Harper and Collin.

Harper gives me a sad smile and mouths, You okay?

I shrug because…am I okay? I don’t know.

Unable to stand the way she’s looking at me—like I’m a skittish kitten about to run away—I turn my attention to the menu in front of me.

Miller turns to Rhodes. “Dude, I know I haven’t seen you in a couple of weeks, but I had no idea you two were dating, and I sure as shit had no idea it was this serious.” He gasps. “Oh, fuck. Did you get her pregnant?”

The way he whispers pregnant makes me laugh, causing Rhodes to look over at me. I ignore him.

“Shut the fuck up, Miller,” Lowell chides.

“What? It’s a genuine question. How else do you explain a shotgun wedding?”

Alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.

“Besides, it’s not my fault I have pregnancy brain. My sister is knocked up, and babies are all I can think about.”

“That’s terrifying on many levels,” Rhodes comments, and I have to agree.

“That’s not how pregnancy brain works, you moron.” Lowell shakes his head. “And you don’t just ask women if they’re pregnant. That’s like rule number one in life.”

Miller’s cheeks turn a deep shade of red as he peeks over at me. “Sorry.”

I jump a little when a hand wraps around mine. Rhodes laces our fingers together, rubbing at the ring sitting on my finger. The same one he placed there last night. “Not pregnant. We’ve kept it quiet, but we just couldn’t hold it in any longer.” He says it with such sincerity that even I almost believe it. He grins over at me. “When you know, you know, right, babe?”

Ugh—babe. Gag me with a spoon.

Steven used to call me that, and I hated it then too.

“That’s right, honey.” My words drip with just as much sarcasm as his.

His eyes flare at the pet name.

Good. Looks like he hates them too.

“Aww,” Miller says, “this is some shit right out of a romantic comedy.”

Rhodes and I exchange a glance because he has no idea just how close to the truth he is.

Our server comes by and grabs our orders, saving us from answering more questions about whether I’m knocked up or not. The conversation around us flows easily, Miller moving on from grilling us about our newfound love.

It’s not until our breakfast arrives that I realize I’m still holding Rhodes’ hand.

I think out of all the crazy things to happen so far this weekend, the level of comfort I find in his touch might just be the hardest pill to swallow.