Blind Pass (Carolina Comets)

by Teagan Hunter

  I know deep down none of that matters though.

  I can hear my phone buzzing on the bedside table, which can only mean one thing: I did not imagine us videoing the wedding and posting it online.

  The nail is already in the proverbial coffin. There’s no way I can walk this back now without looking like a complete fool. I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen and forget it.

  I wish I could though. I wish I could forget it all.

  Except for the part where she kissed me. The way her soft lips felt under mine. The way she melted into my touch. Those little noises she made as our tongues collided.

  That I do not want to forget.

  Or the part where we couldn’t keep our hands off each other after that and spent the Uber ride back to the hotel with our mouths pressed together.

  The moment I pushed open the hotel door, she stripped down to her underwear. Somewhere in my drunken brain, warning bells started to ring, and I had to put a stop to what we were about to do.

  The look in her eyes when I turned her down about killed even drunk me.

  But I’m glad I did it. I don’t think I could manage the aftermath of that on top of everything else.

  My phone buzzes again and Ryan groans. I should silence it before she wakes up.

  As slowly as I can, I roll over and grab the phone from the table.

  The first thing I catch sight of is a message from my mother.

  * * *

  Mom: ADRIAN TYLER RHODES! THIS HAD BETTER BE A JOKE!!

  * * *

  Shit. Middle name and double exclamations. That’s how I really know I’m in trouble.

  My eyes wander to the text from the general manager of the Carolina Comets.

  * * *

  David: I expect a phone call with an explanation.

  * * *

  I wince.

  Fuck.

  Usually, the organization is cool and doesn’t give too much thought to what you’re doing as long as you’re not breaking any laws.

  But when you start making headlines…they start caring. And I know this has already made headlines.

  I click on the NHL app, and there it is, the first article of the day.

  * * *

  ADRIAN “THE BEAST” RHODES MARRIES BEAUTY INFLUENCER RYAN BELL

  * * *

  I cringe at the nickname the media won’t drop. It was something I got back in my early days of hockey, and I haven’t been able to live it down. I guess that’s what happens when you take a skate blade to the face and get cut just an inch under your eye, through your lip, and down your chin.

  The aftermath of that? Two surgeries, over a hundred stitches, and a big, ugly scar that’s changed everything for me.

  So, yeah, I guess I do look like a beast.

  I’m sure tacking on about thirty pounds and six inches and constantly holding records for most hits in a season doesn’t help.

  I click away from the article just as a slew of texts come through, my phone buzzing like crazy in my hand. They’re coming in so fast I can hardly keep up.

  * * *

  Britt: UR MARRIED

  * * *

  Britt: Is this sum joke????

  * * *

  Britt: Dammit! ANSWER ME! I’ve been calling you for 30 mins!!!!!

  * * *

  Britt: Srsly! Ur jealous I’m engaged to sum1 else, so u get married in Vegas to sum slut??? GROW UP!

  * * *

  Britt: So glad I don’t have to waste NE more time on u

  * * *

  Britt: Hope she’s worth it bc WE R DONE

  * * *

  I want to text her back and remind her that we were done when she let another man—especially my teammate—put a ring on her finger, but it’s pointless.

  More texts appear, some I really shouldn’t be ignoring, but I do anyway, silencing my phone and setting it facedown so I can’t see whatever else is coming through.

  I should get up. I should deal with this whole mess.

  Instead, I close my eyes and force myself to lie back down, hoping this is just one really bad nightmare.

  3

  RYAN

  I am a self-proclaimed hopeless romantic. I love everything about love. The meet-cutes, the soft touches, the shy smiles and subtle glances across the room as you begin to fall in love. The slow, sweet build into something epic. I’m even a fan of the ugly parts because, hey, that’s what makes it so special, right?

  I love watching romantic comedies and those damn tearjerker sappy love stories and reading romance novels. Valentine’s Day is my favorite holiday, and I truly believe everyone has a soulmate out there waiting on them.

  I naively thought I’d found mine with my ex-boyfriend, Steven, thought all the troubles we were going through were just ugly parts that were leading up to the big, beautiful ones.

  But, man, I was way off.

  Just hours before I hopped on a plane to Vegas with my best friend, Harper, and her NHL superstar boyfriend and some teammates of his, Steven texted me to tell me he was going to be a dad.

  The only problem? I’m not pregnant.

  It’s safe to say our already troubled relationship was over after that.

  I wish I could say I was responsible and did the mature thing, like send him a congratulations text or something like that.

  But no.

  I did what most heartbroken women would do during a night out in Vegas—I downed too much booze and danced with way too many men. I drank and drank and…well, I still felt like complete shit.

  The biggest gut punch was having to watch my best friend and her boyfriend be happily in love all night. Don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled Harper found love. I’ve known her since our first year of college, and I can’t remember a time when she was this happy. She deserves it. Lord knows she’s pushed it away long enough.

  But seeing her and Collin together…I broke. It made everything feel ten times worse because I want what they have. I want that connection with someone else. I want that closeness. I want that commitment.

  I just didn’t expect it to come like this…

  On cue, the massive arm around my waist tightens and the body it belongs to rolls, dragging me along for the ride. I push myself up, ready to climb off him, but freeze when his breathing changes.

  I wait, holding my own breath, but he doesn’t open his eyes or move.

  He’s still sleeping.

  I peer down, studying the man I’m currently straddling. When he’s awake, he’s always sporting a scowl, and apparently, it’s no different when he’s sleeping.

  But glowering or not, there’s no denying one thing—he’s beautiful.

  I thought it the very moment I laid eyes on him. It took me so long to drag my eyes away that it made even me uncomfortable, which is a difficult feat. That’s how striking he is.

  His long, dark lashes brush against his cheeks. His ochre hair, which is in desperate need of a cut, is a complete mess, and there’s a smidge of dried drool at the corner of his full lips.

  “I can feel you and your tits staring at me.”

  I should be ashamed that I’m straddling him topless and staring at him, but I can’t seem to find any fucks to give about the situation.

  I used up a lifetime’s worth of embarrassment last night.

  “Your wonky one is looking right at me.”

  Even though he still has his eyes closed, I glare at him. “It is not wonky. It’s just…bigger. And only slightly.”

  He peels his eyes open and glances down at my boobs, and I try not to squirm as he blatantly stares at me…especially not with his dick beginning to stir to life against my ass.

  When he finally drags his eyes back to mine, he lifts a brow. “Why are you straddling me topless again? Was last night not enough for you?”

  A frown pulls at my lips. As embarrassing as it sounds, I can’t clearly remember what we did—or didn’t—do last night.

  His hazel eyes that are way too captivating fall to slits. “What? Upset yo
u slept with the ugly guy on the team?”

  Well, I guess that answers that question.

  I try not to roll my eyes at his words.

  He’s always doing that, always calls himself ugly.

  Any ugliness about him has nothing to do with how he looks. It’s all in the way he acts.

  Like a dick.

  I try to push off him, annoyed. With him. With myself.

  But he doesn’t let me go.

  I glare down at him. “What.”

  Not a question. More of a Say something else asinine, I dare you.

  He doesn’t take the dare.

  Instead, he loosens his grip and lets me go. I roll off him and settle on the edge of the bed, facing away from him. I glance around, trying to find any clues as to what the hell happened last night after we got back to his room and I cracked open nearly all the bottles in the minibar and downed them. It’s all coming up dark though.

  The parts before that? Those are a little less fuzzy, though I wish they weren’t.

  I squeeze my eyes tight against the memories assaulting me and push them aside.

  Clothes, Ryan. Put your damn clothes on and get out of here before you start freaking out.

  I snap my eyes back open and continue my search. My bra is lying on the coffee table. My short black leather skirt is on the dresser, my burgundy velvet camisole is draped over the lamp, and there’s one black stiletto on the chair. I have no clue where the other one is.

  I didn’t pay much attention last night—or at least I don’t think I did—but this is easily the most extravagant hotel suite I’ve ever been inside. I guess it’s a perk of my best friend dating an NHL player, I suppose. You start hanging out with them and getting to experience the finer things in life.

  I do wonder how that lamp got broken though…

  I push up off the bed and gather my things, including my phone that’s sitting on the dresser too. I make the mistake of tapping the screen. It’s filled with notifications. Like more than I’ve ever had before. Including one from my brother, which means the news must really be out because he’s a world away and usually never all up in my business.

  I power the device down, put off dealing with it, and begin to pull my skirt up my legs.

  From behind me, I can hear him moving around and sighing. I wonder if he’s checking his phone too.

  “We didn’t.”

  His voice is soft, a little scratchy from sleep and probably the lack of hydration considering how much we drank last night.

  I snap my gaze to him. A big mistake because the sheet is now around his waist as he sits on the edge of the bed, all those hard muscles he works overtime for on display.

  I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “What?”

  “Last night…we didn’t sleep together.”

  He stands up, and I really wish he hadn’t.

  I wish he hadn’t because now Adrian Rhodes, the top defenseman for the Stanley Cup-winning Carolina Comets, is standing in front of me naked.

  Naked naked. Like he has no care in the world that his cock is staring directly at me.

  And unfortunately for me, it’s gorgeous.

  Which is extra annoying because it’s a dick. They can be pretty in passing, sure, but they aren’t supposed to make my mouth water. Not like this.

  He takes a step, and it bounces, knocking me over.

  No, seriously—I’m now on my ass.

  I am on my ass because I was so busy staring at his dick while I was trying to put on a freakin’ leather skirt—why did I think this was a good idea?—and not paying attention to anything except the thing I want to lick.

  Oh shit, am I still drunk?

  Not lick—punch.

  I want to punch him because Rhodes is a jerk. A complete ass. I mean, he just called my tit wonky. That’s asshole behavior if I ever saw it.

  He doesn’t rush over to help me. He just stands there naked as the day he was born, watching me roll around on the floor like an idiot.

  This is going swimmingly so far.

  After taking entirely too long to do so, he finally asks, “Are you okay?”

  I ignore him and continue trying to get my skirt pulled up. How I’ve managed to get myself all tangled and am still on the floor, I don’t know, but I’m blaming Rhodes and his stupid, beautiful dick for this.

  He lets out a hefty sigh as he pads across the room, his footfalls heavy on the carpet my cheek is currently attached to—and not in a fun way.

  His hands curl around my waist and he plucks me off the floor with zero effort on his end.

  He doesn’t let me go. He holds me there, my skirt half around my thighs, my back to his still obviously naked front.

  We don’t move for a long time, and the reality of…well, everything, settles over us.

  We didn’t sleep together, but that doesn’t erase everything else that happened. Hell, I would have preferred if we had slept together. That would have been better than what we actually did. Sleeping together is something I can forget and move on from. Not like it would be my first one-night stand.

  But this?

  I squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe we didn’t do it. Maybe it was all just a really, really stupid dream. Maybe I’ll wake up at any moment and all of this will have been in my head. I’ll be alone in my bed and I’ll laugh and laugh because there is no way I could possibly be this dumb.

  His grip tightens, and I look down at his fingers curled around me.

  There it is. The evidence.

  It wasn’t a dream.

  We’re married.

  I pinch my eyes shut in an attempt to hold back the tears that have started to sting my eyes.

  We stand here for several moments, me trying not to cry, Rhodes holding me against him. I still don’t have a bra on, and the longer we stand here, the more I’m unable to ignore his hardening cock that’s brushing against the small of my back.

  I want to crack a joke about his boner just to lighten the mood, but I doubt it would go over too well.

  “Let go,” I say softly instead.

  He doesn’t. He tugs me closer and rests his head against mine, breathing me in.

  I let him.

  I let him because deep down, I need this, and he knows I need this.

  I hate that he knows.

  “Please, Rhodes,” I beg, unable to take it anymore.

  With another sigh, he releases me, and I finish pulling up my skirt.

  I grab my bra from the coffee table and slide it on, followed by my shirt, all while ignoring him as he (finally) pulls on a pair of underwear.

  I find my missing shoe—it was in the bathroom—and slip that on too.

  Rhodes doesn’t speak to me until my hand is on the door handle.

  “Are you okay?”

  I pause, my back to him, and let out a sigh.

  It’s the same thing he asked me before.

  “I’m not sure,” I tell him, because I’m not sure if I’m okay. I’m still trying to wrap my head around…well, everything that’s happened over the last twenty-four hours. “We really…”

  I don’t finish the sentence. I can’t.

  He understands anyway. “Yeah.”

  “And it’s…” I say, turning to him. He nods, confirming my worst fear, and I blow out a breath. “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  I laugh quietly. “I don’t really know what else to say, Rhodes.”

  Another fucking nod. I’m starting to hate his nods. “Where are you going?”

  “My room. To change. We have lunch with Harper and Collin and the guys before our flight tonight.”

  He looks upset by my words like he was expecting something else. Like he was expecting me to stay.

  And really, I should. We have a lot to discuss. But if I don’t get out of this room right now, I might break.

  I can’t break.

  “Right. Lunch. With everyone.”

  His phone buzzes against the bedside table.

  “Are they blowing your p
hone up too?” I ask.

  “Of course. I have texts from Collin and your best friend.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. “What…what are we going to tell them?”

  “You mean how the fuck are we going to explain that we’re married now?” He lets out a sardonic laugh. “I have no damn clue, but we should talk.”

  “I know. I just… Please, Rhodes. I…I need some space. Need to think.”

  He doesn’t say anything else, and he doesn’t try to stop me either.

  I pull open the door and walk away from my husband.

  4

  RHODES

  It wasn’t a dream at all.

  The door clicks shut behind Ryan and I grab the thing nearest to me, chucking it across the room.

  “Fuck!”

  The scream echoes off the walls as I shove my hands through my hair.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

  I pull at the strands over and over again like I’m trying to pull out some magical fix for this fucked situation. But it doesn’t work.

  I need a shower. I need to think, need to clear my head. There has to be some work-around for this.

  I head into the bathroom, and just as I flip on the water, there’s a pounding on the door.

  I sigh, already knowing who it is.

  I ignore him too.

  “Dammit, Rhodes, I know you’re in there! Open the fucking door!”

  He pounds on it, sounding like the police trying to break it down.

  I switch off the water, not ready to face the music but needing to anyway. The last thing I want to deal with on top of everything else is security coming up here and busting my ass with a noise complaint.

  I don’t bother putting clothes on before pulling open the door to find a scowling Collin on the other side, hand raised, ready to pound again.