Page 38 of Lucky Puck
“Don’t get a big head about it.”
He chuckles as we step out into the unrelenting sunshine of the Vegas desert to find our car. He dips his head, his mouth close to my ear, and I tense my body against the onslaught of sensual overload and my stupid stubborn attraction. He whispers, “What if the kiss wasn’t an act?”
“Stop teasing me. This town is making us all crazy. Let’s get out of here.”
He nods, and we reach the car where Sabien is waiting for us. Once we’re all inside, where I’m squished between the two men once again, I breathe a sigh something like relief—which is crazy because if I found myself in the middle of a Brody and Sabien sandwich a week ago—even with my clothes on like this—I would have fainted dead away.
Brody puts an arm behind my shoulder and says, “My question is, now what? Mrs. Brody Holden? I feel like we just took a giant leap from the frying pan into the fire, and my ass is burning.”
I elbow him in the ribs automatically because I’m on high defensive alert, but I belatedly hope I didn’t hit a bruise or something. “Don’t be a smart ass.” That’s all I can think to say to his concise summary of the very thoughts I’ve been trying to avoid.
Then I look him in the eye, straight at those sexy blues like I’m daring to look into the sun, prepared to go blind, with everything in me humming, my volume is turned all the way up, my engines revved to the red line. “We’ll handle it. I’ll handle you.”
His mouth slowly widens into a grin, the kind that shows a big measure of admiration. “You are one badass lady.”
I want to enjoy the compliment, but I can see in his eyes there’s more, that he’s about to drop a giant anvil of a BUT.
“But?” I beat him to the punch.
“But no matter what Jett and Martino think, we can’t go back east playing this newlywed charade. We’re going to have to come clean about the whole wedding band and Vegas wedding story sometime—sooner than later.”
Sabien chortles. “You can’t be serious? No one would believe the truth now that they have a perfectly good story.”
I glare at him. “Thanks to you.”
“You’re welcome. Don’t think I didn’t notice how well the story went over. The media loves it, the fans love it, and I think even Stubichuk was touched by your recent marriage.”
Brody gives him the finger.
I ask Brody, “You really think we should tell everyone it was all a misunderstanding or a joke or a mistake and move on?”
“Yes. That would solve the problem. Because think about it—if we continue the charade, we’d have to move in together. And I know neither of us wants that.” He’s right.
I glare at him because I’m feeling mildly insulted even though I know I have no business thinking that way because, of course, fake or not, he doesn’t want to be married to me—or anyone. And neither do I. If I were going to get married, wouldn’t I want to choose someone more mature, more stable, more—then it hits me.
“You’re right. Neither of us wants to be married for real. But telling the truth about our fake marriage would create a whole new problem.”
“What problem is that?”
“You would like a crazy man, and my reputation would be trash.”
Chapter Sixteen
BRODY
Ilean in and brush my mouth over the shell of her ear. “We can handle it. If not, you’d have to handle me as my wife.”
She shudders and then steps away from me. “Don’t play games. Not now. We’re in hot trouble, and we need to keep our heads and figure a way out of this charade that won’t make us lose credibility.”
She looks at me, her eyes glittering with intensity and looking a little shaky, very un-Brooks-like.
“Hey, we got this. We’ll figure it out, and we’ll cash in on the situation in the meantime.”
“Easy for you to say. It won’t hurt your career to be caught in a fake marriage. You’ll still be a hockey phenom at the end of the day, scoring goals left and right. But for me, credibility is everything, and if people find out this is a sham, or worse, if they believe it was all some kind of publicity stunt, then I’ll lose the professional respect of everyone in the industry.”
“You won’t lose mine.”
“Or mine,” Sabien chimes in.
