Page 17 of The Fake WIfe Playbook

“Don’t fall in love with me, Finn,” I tease, mainly to keep breathing.

He leans in again, close enough to brush his lips against mine, and says?—

“Too late.”

8

KATE

WHAT THE HELL DID I DO?

“I’ll never forgethis face, or this night…” Kate Riggs

I wake up to sunlight. The kind that judges nights of debauchery because it’s not the warm, peaceful kind that makes one want to lie in bed for days. Nope. This is the blinding,you-made-mistakes-in-Vegaskind. It cuts through the hotel curtains like a slap to my face.

My mouth’s dry. My head’s a drum. My legs feel like I danced all night — probably because I did.

And there’s a very tall, muscular man, who is also very naked, in my bed.

Finn.

Still asleep, his arm thrown across my waist like it belongs there. His dark hair is tousled, and his perfect lips are parted. The sheets barely covered his tattooed back. His entire existence is chaos in physical form — and unfortunately,hotchaos. Like the hottest sex I’ve ever had, not that I’ve had much. I’ll never forget what it’s like to be with him.

He made me feel like the only woman in the room. I know it’s just a hookup, just one night. But Damn, it was mind-blowing.

I slowly lift his arm and slide out of bed like I’m defusing a bomb.Barefoot, naked, and my heart competes with my head because both are pounding.

I don’t belong here. He’s an athlete, and the last time I got involved with one, it didn’t work out so well. They’re all ego, charisma, and trouble.

I have no intention of dwelling on regrets, so I slip out unnoticed. It was one night. I’ve become a cliché. I’ve had a one-night stand in Vegas.

No problem,right?

And that’s when I see it.

Not the mess of my panties on the floor. Not the magnum of champagne in the sink. Not even my boots tipped sideways by the door.

No.

The ring.Onmy finger! Big. Bold. Diamond. It can’t be real.

Can it?

I stare at it like maybe I’m hallucinating. My chest drops to my ankles. Maybe it's one of those dumb costume rings from a bachelorette party.

But it’s heavy. And it fits perfectly.

And it’s onmy left hand.

Holy. Hell.

I glance at my phone. Holy fuck, I’m running late. I slide off the bed. Wheels up in an hour. I toss on my dress. I grab my boots, my purse, and what’s left of my pride. I can’t be here when he wakes up. I need to meet Shay and then catch the plane.

I turn at the door to take him in for one last time. He’s tall, and his hand is lying where I was a minute ago. His dark curls gently cover his temples. His chin is scruffy, and the morning after look is sexy—too sexy.

His body is toned and incredibly solid. I loved raking my fingers over him. He’s the kind of solid man a woman wants to lay her head into when she’s upset. His arms? The best at holding me. And his dick? Well, it’s enormous. To put it simply, I now understand why hockey players can attract any woman they want. Their sticks are, well, long, not to mention their thickness.

He’s a famous hockey player who just won the Stanley Cup. I don’t belong with him. He’s at the top of his career. I’m a wanna be famous singer from Pine Hollow. He’s going to wake up, and he’ll be filled with regret.