Page 13

I wasn’t asleep.

I tried to fall asleep, but I couldn’t. I knew Becca was stalling in the bathroom, and I honestly thought she might try to sleep in the bathtub. So when she finally emerged, I kept myself completely still as I waited to see what she would do.

She watched me sleep.

It was so hard to keep my breathing even. As soon as she was under the covers, my body moved on its own accord, rolling toward her and yanking her into the middle of the bed. Becca fit perfectly into my arms, an exquisite little spoon to my big one.

And after her telling me sometimes it took her hours to fall asleep, Becca fell asleep before I did.

It was still a surprise to find her cuddled against me in the morning, with me on my back and her head on my shoulder. I manage to sneak a peek at my watch, seeing it’s just after seven, and I know I need to get up. But feeling Becca against me is like the first hit of a drug, and I can’t seem to force my body to move. And then I realize she’s cupping my morning wood.

It takes me a minute or two to realize the sensation I’m feeling, and I bite my tongue to keep from groaning out loud. Her hand isn’t moving, but the pressure — and knowing it’s her fucking hand — is enough to get the endorphins going.

Okay. I have a bunch of options here.

I can gently lift her hand by her wrist, relocating it to anywhere less erogenous.

Or, I carefully slide out from under her and bolt to the bathroom.

I could lay here and visualize every coach I’ve ever had completely naked, hoping my hard on deflates.

There’s always thrashing around like I’m having a bad dream, thus dislodging Becca’s hand, then roll over to hide my erection.

What I should do is daydream about her touching me for real, then come in my boxer briefs.

Wait. That was very clearly a thought from my engorged and miserable cock, who hasn’t had any real action in quite some time. Since well before I even met Becca, but there wasn’t a chance since we met. My mind — and my dick — have been focused on her since that day.

Alright. The best option here is probably to escape to the bathroom. Inching my left foot closer to the edge of the bed, I slowly begin moving my right leg. Becca threatened to steal all the blankets, and she did do that, because all I have between her and my skin is one thin sheet and my boxers. Which is probably why the movement of my legs wakes her up. I figure she’ll freeze, feel mortification, remove her hand and run to the bathroom.

Instead, she lifts her head, looks at her hand, and fucking squeezes my length. Who is this vixen?

“Oh,” she whispers, as her pinkie finger hits the barbell frenum piercing on the underside of my cock. She curiously traces the metal for a moment before giggling to herself and climbing out of bed. Once the bathroom door closes, I let out the deep exhale I didn’t know I was holding.

Holy shit.

This morning has not evolved how I thought it would.

An hour later, after getting our marriage license at the county courthouse, we arrive at Vegas Weddings, only because it’s a block away from the courthouse. As we look at all the options, I’m suddenly apprehensive. I don’t really know Becca that well. Will she be okay with this ceremony? Should I offer up anything different?

Fortunately, both of us have clothing that is appropriate for a wedding, but as I see a couple waltz out of the venue wearing a bikini and an adult Stitch onesie, I guess we can wear whatever. Becca could be dressed in a paper bag, and I’d still find her beautiful. I’d still want to marry her, regardless of the circumstances.

It just so happened that I packed my favorite purple plaid tie, and it perfectly matches Becca’s purple dress. Kismet? Serendipity? Meant to be? I sure as fuck hope so.

“Oh my God, they have one with an Elvis impersonator!” she shrieks, then slaps a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. That was really loud. I’ve just always had a thing about Elvis. It would be cool to be married by him.”

“Seriously?” I ask, a smile spreading on my face. This woman keeps surprising me.

She gives me a coy look. “I like his music. And I find his life story to be incredibly fascinating.”

“So you’re really okay being married by an Elvis impersonator?”

Becca nods. “I think it’s a cool idea, and a great memory to share.”

As we’re waiting for the chapel to open up, Becca gasps. “What?”

“We don’t have rings!”

“Shit. We’ll stop at a jewelry store on the way to the airport.”

“Don’t we need them for the ceremony?” she asks.

“Uh, sir?” A voice calls out. “We sell rings here.”

“Great,” I reply, standing to go see what rings are available. Becca follows behind me, and we pick out simple silver bands.

The ceremony is a trip. Why do all Elvis impersonators pick the period of his life where everything is bedazzled and he wears those awful looking oversized sunglasses? Why don’t they feature him when he first began his career. Or when he was in the military. How about the time right before he died when he was overweight and miserable? Nope. We all get Elvis with the bell bottoms from the late sixties.

“Repeat after me,” Elvis says to me. “I take you, Becca Stephens.”

Looking deep into Becca’s eyes, I feel my world tilt. This isn’t just to help her out. It’s not me just being a good guy. I believe wholeheartedly that this is my forever. “I take you, Becca Stephens.”

“To be my wife, for better or worse.”

Becca inhales sharply as I continue. “To be my wife, for better or worse.”

“For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health.”

“For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health.” A sheen of tears covers Becca’s eyes.

“To love and to cherish, until death do us part.”

I squeeze her hand as I slide the silver band onto her ring finger. “To love and to cherish, until death do us part.”

Becca repeats the vows to me, and the reverence I hear in her voice is like a balm to my soul. I think she knows this is more. I have no doubt she’ll fight me, assuming I want something different for my future. No, darlin’. All I want is you.

“By the power vested in me by the great state of Nevada, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Lay one on her, man.”

Grinning, I pull Becca into my arms and kiss the hell out of my wife.

Quickly heading back to the hotel to get our suitcases, I Google jewelry stores. I’ll be damned if my wife is going to wear a simple wedding band. Frankly, I want her to wear the biggest fucking rock I can find that lets everyone out there know that she’s spoken for. I know it sounds medieval of me, but there’s something about Becca that makes me feral.

“Why are we stopping?” Becca asks a little while later. Her eyes zero in on the jewelry store sign. “Jacob, no. This ring is fine. I don’t need anything else.”

“ You may not need it, but I do.”

“You need a different wedding band?”

“No, I need you to get another ring,” I tell her, before turning to the taxi driver. “Keep the meter running. I’ll pay for it.”

“I know you will. You’ve got the money,” the driver answers with a chuckle. “I watch hockey, and I know how much your last contract is worth.”

Shaking my head in amusement, I help Becca out of the cab and quickly walk into the store. “Where are your engagement rings?”

A speechless employee points in the direction of a case of diamonds. I pull Becca toward the case as I peruse the options. “No, those aren’t big enough. Nope. She doesn’t like gold. Marquis is a weird shape. Oh, this cushion cut is nice. Can she try it on?”

“How did you know I don’t like gold?” Becca whispers, her eyes wide.

“You never wear gold. I’ve seen you in different silver necklaces, some silver earrings, but never gold. And before you ask how I know all of this, I’ll admit I may have done a little Internet stalking of your social media posts. How many carats is this?”

“It’s a little over two carats, sir,” the woman says. I study Becca’s reaction to the ring, and watch as her eyes keep darting to another ring. The stunning ring has a sign next to it saying it’s a custom design by some famous jeweler I’ve never heard of before.

“Let’s try a different one, baby,” I say quietly, as I carefully take the ring off.

“Okay,” she replies, her eyes still on the other ring.

“I think this one is a good one,” the woman says, also aware of what Becca is looking at. “The center diamond is just at two and a half carats, but the band holds another carat in pavé diamonds. I think it’ll work perfectly with your wedding band.”

I take the ring out of her hands and slowly slide it onto Becca’s finger. Her hand trembles ever so slightly as she stares at the ring. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Yes, she is,” I murmur, my eyes on Becca’s face.

“It’s a lovely choice,” the salesperson says. “Will you be purchasing today? I can get the ring shined up for you.”

“Yes, we’re definitely taking the ring,” I respond. Becca reluctantly removes the ring and places it on the glass display case. Once the salesperson leaves, Becca finally looks at me.

“Did you even look at the price?” she asks.

“No,” I laugh. I don’t care if it was a hundred thousand dollars. That ring is meant to be Becca’s.

“It’s probably thousands of dollars!” she hisses.

“And? I’ve got the money, Spitfire. I couldn’t give you the wedding of your dreams. Let me give you this.”

“You’re already doing too much,” she whispers, her head dropping.

“Hey,” I tell her, grabbing her chin between my thumb and forefinger. Pulling her chin up, I wait until I can see her gorgeous eyes. “I don’t regret one moment of the last couple of days. Well, I take that back. I regret not punching your brother.”

Becca giggles. “I’m glad you didn’t. He’s a litigious jerk, and I’d hate to see you dragged in the media because you were protecting me.”

“I’d happily deal with a PR nightmare every fucking day if it meant shutting your brother up,” I say with a grin, then lean forward and quickly kiss her lips. “Let me take care of you, darlin’.”

Becca excuses herself to use the bathroom before we leave, and the salesperson brings out the ring immediately after. “Will you be financing the purchase?”

I chuckle again as I pull out my Black Card. “No.”

“It really is amazing how the ring fit her perfectly,” she comments. “Like it was made for her.”

“Completely agree. It was definitely made for her.”

Once the sale is finalized, I wait for Becca to finish before we head back out to the waiting taxi.

“Oh, wow. It’s over a hundred dollars for the fare already,” Becca comments.

I couldn’t care less. “We were in there a while.”

“We didn’t have to stop for this.”

Yes, we did. “I’m happy we did. This ring is perfect for you.”

Becca sighs as I open the box, pull out the ring, and slide it back onto her finger. “It really is perfect. How much was it?”

“Enough.”

She slaps my arm. “Don’t play that game with me. It had to have been at least a couple thousand dollars. How much?”

“Sure, we’ll go with that,” I respond with a devilish smile. Eight thousand is the same as a couple thousand, right? “It doesn’t matter how much it was, Spitfire. The only thing that matters to me is seeing how happy this ring makes you.”

Becca’s head falls to the seat behind her as she gives me a sweet smile. “You really are a good guy, aren’t you?”

“I’d like to think so,” I say, then lean toward her so I can whisper in her ear. “But not all the time.”

I don’t miss the shiver that wracks her body.

Looking up at the board with all the flights leaving the Las Vegas airport, I feel Becca’s hand slip into mine. “How much trouble are you going to be in?”

“I don’t know.”

Our nonstop flight to Cleveland is delayed, meaning I won’t make the game on time. It was already going to be dicey, with our arrival time only an hour before puck drop, but I’d hoped to at least get there and be moral support if Coach decided to keep me on the bench.

“Can we find somewhere to go so you can call your coach?” Becca asks.

“Yeah, there’s a lounge past security. I’ll call from there.” Even though I have TSA Pre-Check, I’ve chosen to wait with Becca in the standard security line. I’m apprehensive about leaving her alone for even a few minutes right now. It’s probably unlikely that her brother sent someone after us, and I doubt he tracks her location. But if something happens to her because I’m impatient and waited in a shorter line, I’ll never forgive myself.

Once through security, I grab Becca’s hand and lead her into the private lounge I only know about because Levi pointed it out on a weekend trip a couple of years ago. Grabbing a loveseat, I take out my phone.

Here goes nothing.

“Jax,” Coach Davenport says. “You got an ETA?”

“I’d just like to start off by saying that I feel I’ve been an exemplary employee, and I’ve never been late to anything,” I blurt out.

Coach sighs. “What the hell happened?”

“Our flight is delayed.”

“Our?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Some stuff went down, and Becca’s coming with me.”

“Alright. So the delay means you wouldn’t get here before the game? It’s five hours from Indy to Cleveland, man. Rent a car.”

“So,” I clear my throat, “I’m not exactly in Indianapolis anymore.”

Silence.

“Coach? You still there?” I ask.

“What did you do.”

“That didn’t sound like a question,” I joke.

“It wasn’t. Just explain what happened, please.”

“Long story short, Becca’s brother tried to demand she marry some dipshit who’s dad was friends with their dad, so I said she was already married to me. Since we weren’t exactly married yet, we took a red eye to Vegas and got married this morning.”

Another loud sigh. “So your delayed flight is actually in Vegas.”

“Yes.”

“Jesus Christ,” Coach mutters. “I’d really love a week where all of you behave and I have zero public relations disasters to deal with.”

“Sorry,” I murmur.

“Alright. You are correct about always being on time, and while this PR will be a nightmare to cover, you’re definitely one of the better behaved on the team. I’ll put you as a healthy scratch for a private personal matter, and I’ll have the PR team reach out to you to work on a strategy for a statement if needed.”

I let out a relieved exhale, smiling at Becca. She’s been attentively watching me, waiting on a reaction. I see the moment she relaxes, and she lays her head on my shoulder.

“Thanks, Coach. Should I still come to Cleveland?” I ask.

“Yes. You can still fly home with the team tomorrow morning. I’ll have your wife added to the manifest so she can fly with us.”

“Wow,” I breathe, slightly stunned at how my heart jumps in my chest.

“What?” Coach and Becca ask simultaneously.

I look over at Becca. “He called you my wife.”

“Do I really need to explain the concept of marriage to you?” Coach asks dryly.

“I just didn’t realize how much I’d like the sound of it,” I confess.

A sweet smile breaks on Becca’s face. “And you’re my husband.”

“Fucking hell,” I swear. “That’s even better.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Coach mutters. “I’m hanging up.”

As he hangs up, I vaguely remember hearing a few shutter clicks, but I can’t peel my eyes away from Becca to see what the sound is.

Click! Click, click, click!

And that’s how Becca and I are unknowingly photographed together for the first time, staring adoringly at each other in the Las Vegas airport.