Hey Charli—can you bring your All Stars medal to practice today or tomorrow? And if you could be a few minutes early, I’d love to get some photos.
Oh. Phew. Sure. No problem, I reply.
I get up and tiptoe into Neil’s bedroom with the goal of stealing a pillow, but the giant king-sized bed beckons. I climb onto it, resting my head on a luxury goose-down pillow covered in a crisp linen case.
It’s much more comfortable here. Maybe I’ll be able to sleep. But my stupid brain pokes me with the terrifying truth: I’m married to the man who owns this bed.
I’m his wi—
Nope. Still can’t do it.
SIX
EGGPLANT JOKES
Neil
It would usually embarrass me to be even two minutes late for a video meeting. But today my timing was perfect. I’d slipped into the back of the tape room just as the session was starting, leaving my friends no chance to razz me for missing the jet.
And no chance to ask awkward questions about last night.
Sure, several heads turned to give me the once-over. My friend Anton’s gaze had lingered the longest. You okay? he’d mouthed.
I’d nodded quickly. Nothing to see here.
Then the session had begun, with me sitting up straight in my chair and paying close attention. I’m the kind of guy who always shows up on time and does what’s expected of him. Last night was an anomaly, and I need management to know that.
Let the healing begin.
The meeting is pretty dull, though, and after a while, I take a surreptitious glance at my phone. This must be how criminals feel after the heist has been accomplished—uneasy, like they’re waiting for cops to show up.
Anyone could have seen us in that wedding chapel. Las Vegas was crawling with hockey journalists for the All-Star events. That’s why I’m nervous. Anton used to frequently find himself on the gossip rags. I’d like to avoid the same fate, thank you.
Luckily, none of my new messages are from the publicity department. There are dozens of texts from my teammates, though, and these are almost as scary. If I was drunk enough to get married last night, who knows what else I did or said?
One mortification at a time, please.
I skim through a series of emails where my teammates razz me over missing the jet. Dude, what happened? Anton says. I thought you were joking when we argued about the flight time.
Well, that’s embarrassing. But it’s only Anton. He’s done worse. For example, the captain tells every rookie that he has to get a Brooklyn Bridge tattoo on his ass to prove his loyalty.
Anton is the only one who fell for it. He wears that sucker proudly now.
But I guess I can’t feel too smug about it anymore. I’m the only one in this room who accidentally tied the knot in Vegas.
Not that I’ll tell anyone. I don’t want to look like a dumbass.
And Charli would kill me.
When the video session ends, most of us head to the weight room. After a day spent in planes and cars, we need to move around.
So the room is crowded. I stretch, check my blood sugar and wait my turn on the bench press.
Castro refills his water bottle beside me. “Where did you go last night? I lost track of you after the clerk’s office.”
“Oh, here and there,” I mumble. I unwrap a granola bar and shove half of it into my mouth. “You?”
“We played some blackjack. It was awesome. Beacon won a grand. And Heidi Jo won three grand.”
“Of course she did.” Castro’s wife is a total shark.
“How’s the hangover?” Castro chuckles. “Musta been brutal if you missed the jet.”
“Yeah, brutal.”
“Who were you drinking with?” Castro glugs his water and waits for an answer. Why won’t he just let it go?
“Charli mostly,” I say with a shrug.
His eyes widen. “Oh yeah, I remember you guys drinking whiskey at dinner. You and Charli. She missed the plane too, right? Did you guys…?” He wiggles his eyebrows.
“No way. No,” I say awkwardly. “It’s not like that with us.” He doesn’t have to know how close we came. Charli would hate to hear people gossiping about her, almost as much as she hated waking up next to me this morning.
Although, I didn’t hate that part at all. I don’t need the whiskey to want her, either. I’d do her drunk or sober, any time of day. I’ve always had the hots for Charli.
I thought there was no conceivable way she’d be attracted to me, though, so of course I never said anything. And now I have sketchy memories of tumbling into bed with her. Making out. Unzipping her dress…
“You okay, Drake?” Castro asks, poking me. “You seem a little dazed.”
“I’m fine,” I say quickly. “Long day, right?”
“Yeah,” he says, giving me a sideways glance. “I love Vegas, though. Totally worth it. Did you hit the casino at all?”
“Uh, nope.” I shake my head. “Not a fan of gambling.”
“You’re up, Castro!” the new guy calls, saving me from this conversation. The big defenseman—a recent trade from Chicago—trades places with Castro. “How’d you get home, Drake?” he asks, squeezing my shoulder. “Thought you’d miss the video session at least. Felt like a dick when I realized you weren’t on the plane.”
“No worries, Newguy,” I say quickly. His real name is Newgate. But of course, we don’t call him that. Not with the perfect nickname just dangling there in front of us. “It was easy enough for me to get a flight.”
“He’s not kidding,” chirps Silas from the leg press. “Drake basically owns a whole fleet of aircraft.”
A few guys chuckle, and I clench my jaw. Like I said—calling on Daddy’s private jets is not a good look on me.
But it’s my turn on the bench, so I shake it off.
The workout is just what I needed. An hour later, I’m sweating out last night’s bad decisions on the treadmill after a quick upper body workout. I’m feeling much better about my life and ordering groceries via voice commands on my phone.
But then Georgia appears in my peripheral vision, and the team publicist is wearing a cautious frown.
Uh-oh.
I remove my ear buds without breaking my stride. “Hey, Georgia. What’s up?”
“Do you have a minute?”
“For you? Sure.”
She hits the STOP button on the machine, and my stomach sinks further. “Step into my office, please. We have a situation.” Then she leaves the cardio room.
Oh shit. This is bad.
Two minutes later I enter Georgia’s office to find Charli standing there, arms crossed, her green eyes full of hot fury.
“I’ll get right to the point,” Georgia says from her desk chair. “A journalist saw you two go into a wedding chapel last night. He left me a message asking if there was any exciting news in the organization.”
“Well…” I chuckle nervously. “Do you see anyone excited here?”
“I’m sure not,” Charli growls. “I already told her the truth, Neil. This is bad.”