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ten

MIRA

I think I may throw up.

After stashing my wedding band in my toiletries bag, a long, extra hot shower, a first-class freak out, and a pep talk in the mirror, I make my way down to the hotel restaurant where we’ve all agreed to meet for lunch.

Luckily, I didn’t run into anyone when I fled from Griffin’s room, and no one knows that Griffin and I are— gulp— married.

But I feel like they’ll all know as soon as they see me.

Like there’s a neon sign blinking above my head that reads this dumbass drunkenly married the left winger last night, and that’ll be that.

Maddox will flip out, the guys will look at us like we’ve lost our minds, and Isla will try to tell me everything will be all right while my brother murders my accidental husband in public, then gets locked up for the rest of his life.

Oh my god. My husband .

The hostess points me toward a table in the corner when I arrive. I’m the last one here, which is unfortunate, because that means I don’t get to choose where I sit. There’s only one chair left, and it’s beside Griffin.

“You can do this,” I mutter under my breath before pasting a fake-ass smile on my face. One I hope is convincing enough. If anything, they’ll probably assume I’m hungover. Which I am.

“Mira! I was just about to come knock on your door to make sure you weren’t still sleeping.” Isla stands, wrapping me in a tight hug. “How late did you and Griffin stay out last night?”

I refuse to look Griffin’s way. “Uh, not too much later than you guys, I think.”

Lie number one. Something tells me I’ll have racked up quite the collection of lies by the time this meal is over.

And I hate that. I hate that I’m lying to the woman who is going to be my sister-in-law, my brother, and the rest of our friends.

I hate that Griffin has put me in this position.

But mostly, I hate myself for getting drunk and doing something so epically stupid in the first place.

“What did you end up doing?” Maddox brings a glass of water to his lips and takes a sip as he studies me. Does he know something’s off?

“We went and saw the Bellagio fountains,” Griffin answers for me. “And an Elvis impersonator.”

Oh no.

I shoot him a quick look that screams shut the hell up, you idiot! He just smirks.

“Old Elvis or young Elvis?” Logan asks. What is it with these guys and that question?

“Young,” Griffin says with a grin. “Obviously.” He looks between Logan and Sebastian. “How was your night?”

Logan chuckles. “Mine was better than Navarro’s. He didn’t feel like company, so I entertained both ladies.”

Ew. Entertained means he banged them both. Honestly, who does that? Sure, Logan is good looking, but what self-respecting woman goes along with a threesome just because the guy is hot?

What self-respecting woman drunkenly marries their roommate because they’re hot? my inner bitch taunts.

Touché, self. Touché.

Griffin shakes his head but mostly ignores what Logan said. Instead, he turns to Sebastian with a look of brotherly concern that does funny things to my insides. “You okay, man? You’ve been more withdrawn than usual lately.”

“I’m fine,” Bash says. “Just wasn’t in the mood to hook up with some random woman, you know? I know it never gets old for you and Byrne, but it does for me.”

“I get it.” Griffin nods his head in understanding. “I’ve been feeling that way for a while, too.”

That draws the attention of my brother and Isla. While Maddox looks at Griffin with his brow at his hairline, Isla cocks her head to the side and studies Griffin like he’s a specimen under a microscope. Her eyes narrow slightly, then flick my way for half a second.

Crap.

“Really?” My brother stares at Griffin. “When did that happen?”

Griffin lifts one shoulder. “You made me promise not to bring random chicks home while your sister lives with me, and I’ve realized I don’t miss it. I’m done with that life.”

I knew my brother must have said something to Griffin about that.

The table goes silent until Logan scoffs. “Bullshit. There’s no way you’re done enjoying a beautiful woman’s company.”

“Nah, man, not done done. I’m just ready to be a one-woman man.”

Isla’s eyebrows arch, but instead of giving Griffin a hard time the way Logan and Maddox do, she reaches across the table and squeezes his hand. “That’s great, Griffin. I’m sure you’ll find the right woman for you.”

My for-now husband smiles brightly, squeezing her hand back. “I’m sure I will too. Now, tell me how it felt to wake up this morning an engaged woman with a giant rock on your finger?”

Conversation turns to Isla and Maddox, but I remain mostly quiet. Stuck in my head with the words Griffin said, trying to figure a way out of this mess.

“Griffin?” I step inside our apartment with my stomach a mess of nerves.

Since the team flies on their own plane, they made it home a solid two hours before Isla and me.

It’s almost seven, and I’m exhausted. All I want is to eat a late dinner, take a shower to wash away the travel grime, then go to bed.

“Welcome home, wifey,” Griffin calls from deeper in the apartment. Probably his bedroom. “You hungry?”

I roll my carry-on farther into the place and notice a vase full of fresh roses on the kitchen island, along with a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket of ice and two crystal flutes. What the heck?

“Uh, yeah. I was going to order some pizza or something.”

“No need.” Griffin strolls down the hallway in nothing but a pair of those damnable gray sweatpants guaranteed to make me horny. “Dinner should be delivered in about…” He checks his smart watch just as someone knocks on the door. That has him smiling brightly. “Now.”

Griffin heads for the door, and before I can make my way to my room to drop off my suitcase, he asks me to set some plates and silverware out on the table.

I’m starving and grateful that he ordered dinner, so even though I want to complain and make a beeline for my room, I don’t.

I set the table while he tips the delivery driver and carries a large paper bag to the island.

The smells coming out of it are absolutely divine, and my stomach rumbles in anticipation.

“Hungry?” Griffin asks, amusement lacing his tone.

“Starved,” I reply as he takes my plate and fills it with steak, roasted vegetables, and fresh bread. Since he seems to have things under control and I’m exhausted, I sink into my chair and watch him. “You went all out.”

The twitching of his lips shouldn’t be as sexy as it is. “Of course, I did. We’re celebrating.”

“We are, huh? And what are we celebrating? Lying to my brother and our friends?”

That makes him scowl. “No. That was your idea, not mine. We’re celebrating our first dinner in our home as Mr. and Mrs. Wright.” He fills a plate for himself, then pops open the bottle of champagne and fills the flutes.

“I’m not Mrs. Wright,” I tell him. I’m already tired of this fight.

But Griffin simply smiles at me as he places the plate and champagne in front of me. “You don’t have to change your name if you don’t want to. I could change mine.”

I almost choke on the sip of bubbly I just took. Coughing and sputtering, I stare at Griffin as he sets his own plate down. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m a modern man and a feminist. It’s not fair that women are always expected to give up their names.

But I do want to share a name with my wife, so if you’d prefer not to be Mrs. Wright, I’m happy to become Mr. Graves.

” He cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyes.

“Though that may get a little confusing on the ice. But we’ll figure it out. ”

“I don’t… You can’t… No one is changing their name!”

“We can wait if you want time to consider it. That’s completely reasonable.” He nods, like he didn’t say something so utterly ridiculous I don’t have words for it, and cuts his steak. “Oh man. This is so good.”

Still at a loss, I take a few bites of my own dinner, and we eat in silence. Only the sound of our silverware clanking against the ceramic dishes fills the apartment.

“How was your flight?” Griffin finally asks. He’s making small talk. He conned me into staying married for six months, and he’s making small talk. Exhaustion presses down on my shoulders.

“Cramped,” I say, shrugging one shoulder. “Isla and I got stuck next to this businessman with long legs, and he manspread into my space the whole flight. It was annoying as hell, and I wanted to stab him with my keys.”

“Sorry, baby. That sucks. Next time, buy first-class tickets.” Griffin sips his champagne as I stare at him.

“I can’t afford first-class tickets, Griffin,” I say, exasperated. “I’m still getting my business off the ground.”

“You can totally afford first-class tickets.” He looks at me like I’m silly.

I want to scream.

“We’re married, so what’s mine is yours. And my wife will never have to fly in coach again.”

What? No way in hell am I spending Griffin’s money like some gold-digging jersey chaser. Absolutely not. Never going to happen.

“No.”

Griffin fights a smile. “You seem to love that word today. But this isn’t a battle you can win, wifey. Even if you buy tickets in coach, I’ll call and pay to upgrade them. Why waste my time and yours when you can book them first class from the get-go?”

“You can’t do that,” I say, sounding very much like a petulant toddler, before shoving the last bite of food into my mouth.

“I can and will. Resistance is futile.”

Steam may be coming out of my ears. “We’re not on an episode of Star Trek , Wright. This is real life. My life.”

“Is that where that quote is from?” Griffin tilts his head and considers it. Then he simply goes back to finishing his dinner without addressing the rest of my statement. It’s infuriating. He’s infuriating. How dare he think he can go over my head like that?

Yes, my inner bitch drawls, how dare he offer to fly you across the country in the lap of luxury?

Gah!

Pushing away from the table, I level Griffin with a glare.

“Thank you for dinner, but I’m tired. I’m going to go to bed.

” Grabbing my carry-on, I roll it down the hallway without another glance at Griffin’s smug, stupidly handsome face.

I’m grumbling nonsensical insults as I go to my room, slam the door, and let out a huff.

I can’t believe this is my life right now.

Too tired to unpack, I shed my clothes and open my dresser drawer to grab clean pajamas.

Except, it’s empty.

What the hell?

I open another drawer. Empty. And another. Empty.

Someone stole all of my things! Rushing to the closet, I fling the doors open and instead of my clothes, I find an empty space. Not even a single solitary hanger to be found.

What. The. Hell?

Pissed and panicking, I rush to my bathroom and find all my towels, toiletries, and makeup gone. I know I have decent taste, but I’m broke, so it’s not like anything I own has any real value. Why would someone steal my stuff?

“Griffin!” I shout from the bathroom. My hands press against the vanity as I lean forward and drag air into my lungs.

The weight of everything is pressing down on me—the marriage, the lies, the feeling of control slipping through my wedding band-clad fingers—and I’m dangerously close to losing my cool.

The door to my room opens and Griffin’s footsteps grow closer. “Yes, my wife?”

“Someone stole my stuff!” I shout, turning to face him. And completely forgetting that I’m wearing nothing but a simple cotton bra and panty set. Griffin’s eyes take me in hungrily, and I try not to notice his thick cock as it rises to greet me, but I’m only human, and he’s clearly free-balling it.

Damn him. Damn gray sweatpants.

“No one stole your stuff,” he says, chuckling.

I’m going to punch him in the dick. Throwing my hands out to the sides, I say, “Obviously they did, because everything’s missing!”

“It’s not missing. It’s in our room.”

Our room.

Our. Room.

“Excuse me?” I’m two seconds away from exploding. From epically losing my shit. He better not have done what I think he did.

“I didn’t want you to have to move everything when we got home.

I knew you’d be tired, so I asked the housekeeper to move everything for you.

” He says it all so matter-of-factly. Like it’s not crazy and invasive to ask the woman who deep cleans his apartment twice a month to move my goddamn underwear.

He turns, walks out of the bathroom, and makes his way to his room.

I silently follow because I’m too pissed for words.

Ignoring the calming dark green walls and the massive bed in the center of the room, I trail Griffin to a walk-in closet that’s twice the size of mine.

He waves his hand toward the right wall where I find all my clothes hanging neatly, my shoes in individual cubbies, and my intimates folded in a small dresser.

My breathing grows shallow and comes in quick bursts as I stare at my clothes hanging across from his. I don’t know why this is the thing that’s going to push me over the edge, but it is.

“This is too far, Griffin.” I turn to face him. His eyes twinkle with mirth. The smug bastard. “Why would you do this?”

“Because you agreed to give us a chance, remember? For the next six months, you agreed to give this marriage a real chance. Which means, this”—he sweeps his arms out to indicate the closet and the bedroom—“is your bedroom too.”

No, no, no. I didn’t think he’d actually try to enforce sharing a bedroom. It’s crazy. And a recipe for disaster. Because as much as I can deny my attraction to Griffin until I’m blue in the face, I know my damn body will betray me at every turn.

“I’ll let you get ready for bed.” He presses a kiss to my forehead while my mouth flaps open and shut like one of those stupid, singing fish people hang on their walls, then walks out of the closest. “I’ve got a few things to do to get ready for practice tomorrow. I’ll be in soon.”

Ha. Joke’s on him. I’m still going to sleep in my own bed.

“Oh, and Mira?” Griffin turns and levels me with a dangerous smirk. “Don’t even bother trying to sleep in your old bed. I’ll just carry you back to ours.”

He would, too, the jerk. It’s becoming all too clear that Griffin Wright was completely serious about giving this marriage a go for six months.

I’ll think of a way out of it tomorrow. For tonight, I’m far too exhausted to play these games.

I take a shower, get ready, and crawl into his unfamiliar bed. Right in the middle. And then I starfish my arms and legs.

If I won’t be comfortable tonight, neither will he.