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“Fine.” I drop the teasing, even though she’s so damn cute when she’s smiling. “Let’s get you something else. But whether you’re a bubbly aficionado or not, no champagne, all right?”

“Fair enough,” she says, still hoarse from the scorched earth the tequila left behind. “Let’s go with something that won’t leave me gasping for air or weighed down with even more regret.”

I give her a sympathetic smile. I understand regret—and that the best move is to get the fuck past it. “What’s the least wedding-appropriate drink you can think of?” I ask, eyeing her dress and tiara. “I’m guessing keg beer or a Jell-O shot. Want one of those?”

She wrinkles what is probably the cutest nose I’ve ever seen and shakes her head. “You’re really leaning into the trashy theme here.”

“Just trying to cause some good trouble,” I say innocently.

That seems to spark her interest, and she raises a curious eyebrow. “Are you a troublemaker, Tyler?”

“Maybe I was. Back in the day,” I say.

Her lips shift in amusement. “Think you’ve still got it in you?”

“Those are fighting words.” I drum my fingers on the counter. “How about trouble in the form of a spicy margarita? Can you handle the heat?”

Her smile falters for just a second, as if I’d asked about more than a drink. “I don’t even know.”

Her blue eyes flicker with something deeper—with uncertainty, maybe, or a vulnerability she’s trying to hide. Or possibly…interest. Since for a moment her gaze lingers on me, roams over me, like she’s trying to figure something out.

Like what she wants me to do to her tonight ?

What the fuck?

That is not a thought I should be entertaining. Too bad my lust-struck mind is already running away with the image, imagining what could have been if she wasn’t wearing that damn ring. Not today, brain. Stand down.

“Let’s find out,” I say, as I resume the role of runaway-bride wingman. I change her order, and when the bartender returns with the margarita, we toast again, her with her cocktail, me with my lager, which—as Ike promised—is incredibly good.

“To the opposite of today.”

“The opposite,” she echoes, her gaze…curious.

But I don’t want to read into it even though I want to read everything into it.

I have ever since I first laid eyes on her last fall when she stepped onto the ice at the Sea Dogs arena during intermission in one of our games.

She performed a routine that captivated the crowd and, well, me.

I watched it from the tunnel, even though I was supposed to be in the locker room.

But Sabrina was impossible to look away from.

She’s impossible to look away from, too, when she coaches my kid.

She’s always worn that ring though. So I’ve kept all my secret wishes locked up tight. I still need to since she’s barely single. And I’m not the kind of guy who’d take advantage of a woman when she’s vulnerable.

“All right.” I lean toward her, waving off the ball game playing on the big screen. “Want to talk about what went down? I’ve already stopped caring about the baseball game.”

“Me too,” she says, then takes a cautious sip of her drink before nodding her approval of it. “If you’re wondering how the wedding went south, it was kind of my fault.”

I raise an eyebrow, bracing myself for her story as I lift my beer to finish it off. “How so?”

She sets the glass down and twirls it absently, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “See, I caught my groom singing to the foster cat about how he was going to get a blow job from the maid of honor. And I thought, why not play the voicemail for everyone to start the ceremony?”

My beer freezes halfway to my mouth. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did.” She’s grinning now, a mix of pride and mischief lighting her face.

“I had the wedding planner cue it up on the sound system, unbeknownst to her, and play it for all two hundred and fifty guests. You should have seen the worry in Chad’s eyes when his own voice started echoing through the venue. ”

For a second, I can’t do anything but laugh—this low, disbelieving sound that rumbles out of my chest. I’ve had my share of wild nights, but nothing quite like this.

And nothing with someone like Sabrina—gutsy, raw, and somehow still magnetic.

“You’re telling me you broadcast the evidence of his infidelity to everyone? ”

Her answering smile is deliciously satisfied. I almost applaud.

“I sure did,” she says.

Then, fuck it. This woman deserves some applause for standing up for herself today. I slow clap for her—nice and deliberate, like she just nailed the long program at the Olympics.

She waves a hand as if to say stop, stop. But with real concern in her voice, she asks, “You don’t think I’m horribly selfish?”

“Not in the least. Why would you even think that?”

“Because that’s what my parents said. But the thing is—it wasn’t just revenge, my playing the message. It was karma. Chad deserved every single eye on him after what he did. He’d walked down the aisle lying to me and everyone in there who showed up for us. I was just shining a light on it.”

I lock my gaze with hers, making sure she sees my eyes, knows how serious I am. “Some things call for public sharing and public shaming. Cheating at any point but especially on your wedding day? Top of the list, Sabrina. Top of the fucking list.”

Sabrina’s face lights up, and I can’t help but think—this woman is a fucking legend.

“Thanks, Tyler. I needed to hear that,” she says, her tone sweet and genuine and making my chest feel far too tight.

I ignore the sensation as I say, “And I think you need to hear this too: I believe you’ve earned a gold medal in being a total badass.”

“I accept,” she says, then dips her head, pretending to receive said prize. I mime putting it over her neck.

And wouldn’t you know? My fingers graze her soft blonde strands. Her breath hitches as I touch her, and in a heartbeat, she raises her face. Her tongue darts over her bottom lip, then she sets a hand on her chest, where the medal would be. “How does it look?”

That tightness in my chest amplifies, turns hotter as I hold her gaze, unable to resist saying, “Very pretty.”

The silence extends for several beats, like a note held long on a guitar.

But then it’s broken when the bartender slides the plate of nachos between us, the cheese still bubbling and jalapenos gleaming under the bar lights. “The best in Cozy Valley,” he says.

“Thanks, Ike,” I say, refocusing on the task at hand—wingmanning. Not flirting. I gesture to the towering snack, thinking back to the comment she made before we ordered it. “Your mother would be scandalized.”

Sabrina grins, not missing a beat. “Good. I’m aiming for maximum scandal tonight. She’d faint at the sight of me eating finger food in my wedding dress. Especially since she nixed my chocolate chip cookie idea for the wedding. ”

This woman. It’s hard to keep up with her, but I am here for the keeping up. “Explain.”

“I’d thought it would be nice to have an array of desserts at the reception—cake, ice cream cake, and chocolate chip cookies. The kind that my friend Mabel makes. They’re perfection. But that was too scandalous .” She shudders, imitating her mom, I suspect.

“We need to get you cookies soon too.”

Her eyes sparkle. “Yes! Let’s be scandalous,” she whispers, almost salaciously.

I could think of many scandalous things to do, but instead I shovel a chip, load it with guac, and offer it to her. “Be scandalous, Sabrina.”

She takes it and crunches down, then moans in pleasure. “Second-best thing to happen today,” she says, after she finishes the bite.

“What’s the first? The cat-sitter saving the day?”

She pffts. Pauses. Then nods toward me, that vulnerable look flashing across her irises once more. “No. The company.”

I shouldn’t. Really, I shouldn’t.

But I pull my stool closer to the bar and settle in next to my daughter’s suddenly single skating coach.

What started as a simple night off has turned into something unforgettable.