“Push forward with what?” I ask. I’m confused as to what he’s getting at. We’ve already agreed to faking this, so it’s like he’s a step behind me and he can’t quite catch up.
“I don’t even know how to ask this, or what the hell I’m doing, and your brother is going to fucking murder me...but I mean an actual fake marriage.” He shakes his head and looks out the window. “I can’t believe I’m even suggesting it.”
My brows dip. “I thought you were against the idea. What changed your mind?”
He sighs. “Getting reamed by my boss got me thinking, and I’m not sure I see any other solution. And, obviously, I’d make sure you walk away with a healthy payday.”
“Why does your boss care so much about your private life?”
He looks at me in confusion for a beat like it’s a silly question, but then a light seems to dawn in his eyes. “Oh, you don’t know.” He clears his throat. “Michelle’s last name is Bennett. She’s Calvin’s daughter.”
My eyes widen. “She’s his daughter?”
Well, I guess that explains Calvin’s investment in this whole thing. Suddenly everything falls into place.
Now I understand why he feels backed into a corner...and why he isn’t demanding a paternity test just yet. He can’t make a big public stink about this or he risks pissing off the team owner in a contract year. It makes much more sense for him to just lie low and let the media frenzy blow over.
Man, he really is stuck between a rock and a hard place.
“I think an actual marriage might be the only way to shut Savannah up and keep Michelle from trying to squeeze the life out of me while also getting Calvin to understand that even though I’ll be there for both her and the baby, marriage isn’t in the cards for Michelle and me.”
“But what if it doesn’t?” I ask, and I’m not sure why, exactly, my dumb ass is trying to talk him out of this idea where I get to marry a hot football player who happens to be my brother’s best friend and also the guy who I have a raging, massive crush on.
He blinks in surprise. “What if it doesn’t...what?”
I lean my ass on the edge of my brand-new desk. “What if it doesn’t shut Savannah up? What if it doesn’t keep Michelle off your back? What if it doesn’t prove anything to Calvin? We haven’t given it much of an effort, but it doesn’t seem like being engaged has worked. Why do you think marriage will? Maybe I need to get knocked up, too.” I say that last part as a joke, but Luke pauses and raises his brows like he’s considering the idea. My heart falls into my stomach. “Oh Jesus. I’m kidding, Luke.”
He laughs. “Gotcha.”
“Dude.” I walk across the few steps between us and smack his shoulder. “Not cool.” I take a second to look out the window and regroup. I can’t stare at Luke’s hot face and make a rational decision.
I haven’t thought this through.
It’s stupid. Everyone would tell me that.
And yet...it feels somehow like the right thing to do. He offered me a place to stay before he knew a damn thing about me, and so I’m offering him this as a way to help him out of his own mess. Plus, you know, that whole healthy payday thing. It would give me the chance to find my own place and maybe even start my own PR firm.
I like him a little more every second I spend with him. It’s not like this is all bad.
And that’s why I’m leaning toward a yes here. It’s my job to clean up his image. To make him indispensable to the Aces. To prove to the world that he’s as amazing as I think he is. And if I need to be his wife to do that...then it’s sort of part of my job description, isn’t it? And as his wife, I don’t think it’s necessarily outside my wifely duties to demand a paternity test from his pregnant ex since he doesn’t feel like he can.
God, I’m riding a fine line here. I really need to be more careful about what I wish for.
I’m going with my heart, clearly not my brain, as I speak my next words. “I don’t know. It isn’t the worst idea in the world, is it? If you really think a fake marriage is going to help you, I’m still in.”
“Maybe we should leave it up to fate,” he muses.
I raise a brow. “Fate?”
He shrugs. “Let’s hit the casino tonight.”
“That’s not fate,” I point out. “That’s a gamble. I prefer to be in charge of my own life decisions.”
He laughs. “We’re in Vegas, baby. Let’s gamble.”
I don’t like the idea of this, but I’m starting to find that when Luke asks, I agree. And so, after dinner, we head to the Strip.
He navigates to the valet parking of Caesar’s Palace, and he grabs my hand. A tingle buzzes around my chest and my stomach does a little flip. I don’t know if he does it because we’re in public or if he does it because he wants to hold my hand. I hope it’s the latter, but I have a sinking feeling he’s just trying to show off our relationship should he be recognized by anyone.
We head inside and walk through the expansive casino toward a bar. He glances at me. “Want anything?”
I’m not sure if this is a get wasted kind of visit to the bar or more of a have one and we’ll head home kind of visit, but I order a glass of white wine and he opts for a whiskey sour.
He pays, and we take our drinks toward a room marked High Limit. I may be new to Vegas, but I’m pretty sure they’re not talking about alcohol.
The room is empty except for one older couple playing a slot machine in the corner. He pulls out his wallet, grabs a hundred dollar bill, and sits at a poker machine. I sit in the open chair next to him.
“You go first,” he says. “If we double our money or more, we get married.”
I stare at him for a beat.
He’s serious.
And I’m not going to be the one to back down.
I push the button to deal the cards, my heart thumping so loudly in my chest that I’m afraid he’ll hear it. It’s five card draw, so I get five cards, I can discard as many as I want, and I’m dealt enough to make it five again. If I get a pair or higher, I win...or, at least I don’t lose.
I get a two, a four, a six, an eight, and nine. All shit cards. I press the button to get all new cards, and I get about the same shit I had on the first hand.
He tries next, and it’s the same shit, different hand. My heart is still thumping, but the initial nerves over this whole idea are starting to dissipate as I realize there’s no way in hell we’re going to win.
He nods for me to go, and I lose. Zero cards go together to attempt to make any sort of hand.
He goes again, and he loses.
We go back and forth, and when we get down to our last ten dollars, he says, “Let’s push the button together.”
I nod, lean in so close I can smell him, and set my finger on the button. He places his on top of mine and pushes down.
The cards seem to flip in slow motion.
King of hearts.
Ten of hearts.
Queen of hearts.
Ace of hearts.
And a fucking four of spades.
He looks at me with wide eyes, and I’m sure my gaze back mirrors his.
If we snag a jack of hearts, that’s a royal flush, and that’s the top jackpot payout on this machine—twenty-five thousand dollars.