Page 29 of Sin Bin (BU Hockey Season 2, #1)

Fallon

I ’m about two seconds away from freaking the hell out.

I woke up next to a very naked Ollie Jablonski.

I’m still wearing his boxers.

There’s a diamond ring on the third finger of my left hand.

And Ollie made half a dozen social media posts announcing our newly-married status.

There’s no doubt that we got married last night, but I still have no clue what led us to the altar.

Ollie and his friends are on the other side of the bathroom door, but I know from the look on his face a few minutes ago that he’s just as confused as I am.

I need someone to help me make sense of all this. Someone to help me figure out what the hell to do because the only solution I can think of is to climb out the bathroom window and get the hell out of here.

But we’re on the twenty-fourth floor. And there’s no window in this bathroom, so that’s not a viable option. Picking up my phone, I debate watching one of the many videos Ollie posted, but instead, I tap my messages app.

Fallon: Are you awake? I need advice STAT.

Fallon: Oh my god. Why aren’t you answering? Shouldn’t you be chugging a protein shake and running on a treadmill?

Fallon: Please text me back.

After patiently waiting another two seconds, I give up on my SOS and decide that if my life is about to explode from the fallout of a marriage I barely remember, at least I can be clean while I watch in horror.

I put my hearing aids in their charging case and plug it in.

Since I can’t wear them while I shower, they might as well charge a bit.

I turn the water on, and then strip out of my borrowed clothes, and step under the spray, letting it wash away the remnants of last night’s makeup, and all the questionable decisions I made.

I mean, they have to be questionable decisions, right?

After witnessing my dad’s controlling ways, I decided at a very young age that marriage wasn’t for me.

But even if I were to consider walking down the aisle, there’s no way I’d want Ollie at the other end of it.

That’s ludicrous. Absolutely batshit. Freaking crazy. We don’t even like each other. Do we?

As I rinse off my shampoo and coat my strands with conditioner, a memory clicks into place.

In my mind’s eye, I can see us sitting at the bar drinking margaritas.

I can see Ollie looking at me, his expression earnest as he apologizes for what happened at that party a few years ago.

He asks for a truce. I agree, and then I can see us dancing.

Then a bartender hands me a shot of tequila.

Just as quickly as it appeared, the image is gone.

I try to call it back up again as I lather myself with body wash and rinse my hair clean, but it’s no use.

The water is starting to run cold, so I turn it off and grab a towel, all the while trying to make sense of the fact that Ollie and I seemingly made up last night.

That’s a good thing, sure. But how did we go from declaring a truce to saying “I do”?

That’s not a straight line. That’s a giant fucking leap.

One I can barely begin to process right now.

I’m rooting through my makeup bag for some lotion when it occurs to me that I have no clothes to change into.

They’re still in my suitcase. Dammit. I’ll have to put Ollie’s t-shirt and boxers back on…

except they’re in a puddle by the side of the tub.

Crap. I mustn’t have closed the shower curtain all the way.

Wrapping a towel around myself, I peek through the door, hoping to get Ollie’s attention. I don’t have to wave him over, though. He’s standing a few steps from the door with a pile of fresh clothes in his outstretched hand.

Smiling gratefully, I take what he’s offering and then step back into the bathroom to change. Otherwise, I might have been tempted to give him a kiss, and that’s just plain crazy.

Yeah, we’re technically married, but that won’t last long. He’s probably searching for how to get an annulment right now, and if he’s not, I need to..

My phone lights up with an incoming call and for a second, I wonder if it’s Ollie.

Maybe he can read my mind and he’s found a lawyer who can void our marriage before anyone else finds out about it.

Maybe the lawyer already sent the documents.

Maybe Ollie can just slip them under the bathroom door and I can sign them with my eyeliner. Or maybe they’re digital. Even better.

Or maybe that’s all wishful thinking. It’s not Ollie calling.

It’s my sister, Emersyn. She must’ve seen the series of texts I sent ten minutes ago.

I join the video chat and quickly sign that my hearing aids are charging.

It’s better if we stick to signing, anyway, since I don’t really want anyone on the other side of the door to hear me as I brainstorm how to get out of this mess.

Propping my phone up against the mirror, I look at my sister.

I’m trying to determine where to start, but Em beats me to the punch, as usual.

Congratulations! she signs, her face beaming.

All I can do is stare back at my little sister.

She looks beautiful, as always, and far older than her seventeen years.

She’s sitting at an outdoor cafe, coffee cup in hand, congratulating me like getting married in Vegas to a man you’re not even dating is the most normal thing in the world.

I’m still too stunned to form words, so Em picks up my slack.

Um, hello, Fallon? Are you not going to respond?

Or are you so blinded by marital bliss that your brain no longer functions?

Was the sex that good? It had to be. Is his cock as big as I think it is?

Is that why you said yes? Or is he just really good at using it?

Or is it both? For your sake, I hope it’s both.

Stop , I sign. Oh. My. God. Stop. You are never allowed to mention my husband’s penis again. Also, how do you even know we got married?

My sister just laughs. It’s all over Ollie’s socials, and I’ve been following him since before I was “allowed” to have a phone.

Your hubby is hilarious. And you two are so cute together.

I think you should have worn something a little sexier to say your vows, but that’s just me.

You can show off your ta-tas when you have a reception at Christmas or over the summer.

There won’t be a reception at Christmas or next summer because we’re not staying married, I sign back immediately.

Emersyn always has been the wild card out of the three of us, but she’s really living up to her reputation now.

Ollie and I clearly made a mistake last night, and we need to fix it. There’s no other option.

What? Why? Em signs, and for once, she appears to be totally serious.

Why? Because we were drunk. Because we’re barely even friends. Because I can’t be married. I don’t ever want to be married. You know this.

That’s exactly why you should stay married, my sister signs, as though it’s the most logical statement ever made and I’m a dumbass for daring to rethink my marital status.

Maybe my brain is still swimming in tequila , I sign, because what you’re saying makes no sense at all.

It makes perfect sense , Em insists. You said Gran and Grandad have been trying to fix you up, right? Well, how can they set you up on dates if you’re already married.

Huh. She has a point. Still, marriage seems like an extreme step, I sign because someone has to be the voice of reason, and it’s not going to be Emersyn.

Have you seen the videos? she asks. You look really happy in them, Fallon. Not just drunk, but actually happy. And staying married has multiple benefits. Not only will it get Gran and Grandad to back off, but you’re pretty much guaranteed hot sex for however long you decide to stay married.

Stop talking about sex with Ollie, I sign, making a face . Just stop talking about sex in general. You’re my baby sister and it’s weird.

Em rolls her eyes at me. Fine. Censor me if you must. But I’m right about you staying with Ollie. It’s the out you need.

Am I actually considering this? And would Ollie even go for it? No. It’s ridiculous. And that’s what I tell my sister. People are going to think we’re crazy. Who gets drunk married in Vegas and actually stays married?

People who want to bone , she signs, then smirks.

Oops. Sorry. I forgot the “no sex talk” rule.

Seriously, though, what’s the alternative?

You confess to getting hammered and hitched, and then Gran and Grandad have good reason to want to control every little detail of your life.

They’ll probably want you to move in with them permanently so you don’t have to share living space with your ex-husband.

You know I love Gran, but she’ll use this to her advantage. She’ll say it’s for your own good.

Em’s words hit me hard. She’s absolutely right.

Gran thinks she knows what’s best and when you pair that with my history of teenage rebellion, this is all the ammunition she’ll need to exert a little more control.

I wouldn’t let her do that, but I also don’t want to cause a rift in the family. We’ve all been through enough.

So, as crazy as it sounds, I might actually want to stay married to my husband.