Stress Ink & Short Circuits
Chapter twenty-four
Marlow
“I’m just going to get this over with and stick to my guns. Simple as that,” I chant, over and over again.
Still, my hands are sweating as I walk the long hallway leading to the locker rooms. My heels click against the polished floors, echoing like warning bells in my ears. I’m doing this. I’m going to face him. The man I married.
The man I left without so much as a note.
The man whose kiss I can still feel like it’s tattooed into my skin.
I round the corner, and there he is.
Declan Agassi.
He’s in front of the press, smiling that lethal smile that’s been haunting my dreams. He’s charming the reporters, talking about the goal he just scored and how he’s helping boost team morale. Like he belongs here.
I hang back in the shadows, keeping to the side as flashes go off and mics are thrust into his face. He says all the right things. He’s magnetic. And mine.
No. Not mine.
Just technically. For now.
I’m about to turn around. Maybe I’ll come back later. Or never.
But then the reporters disperse toward another teammate, and his eyes lock on mine like a heat-seeking missile. Like he felt me there before I had a chance to get away.
Everything in me jolts because I see him in an instant. Everything we began that night in Vegas.
“Maddy! How did you find me? What are you doing here?” he nearly yells. Then he runs toward me, across the room like no one else exists. His arms are around me before I can blink. “I thought I’d lost you for good.”
I push him back, my palms flat against his chest, my heart pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears.
“What the fuck?” he says, stunned.
“Not here,” I whisper. “Come with me.”
I don’t wait for him to respond. I grab his hand and drag him into the nearest supply closet, where balls and nets and adrenaline live.
The second the door closes, he’s on me again. His lips crush mine and my entire body betrays me—melting into him, kissing him like I’ve missed him for years, not weeks. It’s salacious. Addictive. Sexy.
It’s heaven.
When we finally break apart, gasping, breathless, I feel the ground shift beneath my feet.
“Why the fuck did you leave me?” he growls. “Without so much as a fucking word or telephone number?”
He’s beautiful. Angrier than I like seeing him, but still, god, so beautiful.
And then I notice them. “You got more tattoos?”
Before, they were mostly hidden, limited to just his chest and back. Now they’ve started creeping down his arms, curling around muscle and skin like temptation in black ink. And I’m trying really hard not to drool.
He shrugs, chest rising and falling with barely restrained tension. “I misplaced a wife.”
I blink. “I don’t see how the two correlate.”
“I stress-ink.”
“You what?”
“I get tattoos when I’m stressed. It’s a thing. For me, anyway. And you left.”
His hands grip my waist again. “As long as you’re here, the need to ink goes away.”
“Declan,” I whisper.
“You remember my name now, I see.”
He pulls me closer, and I feel every inch of him. His desire. His frustration. His determination to have me.
“I need to say this.” I place my hands on his chest again, trying to push logic between us. “Las Vegas, what happened in Vegas, it was a mistake. We can’t be married. I can’t be your wife.”
His face falls. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He lifts his left hand, points to a fresh tattoo on his ring finger. “We made vows.”
My eyes widen. The date, June 12th, is permanently inked into his skin.
“Are you kidding me? Declan, it wasn’t real. That night wasn’t real. I have a real life and a real job and a real reputation that I’ve worked my ass off to build! We can’t happen. Not right now.”
He looks like I’ve hit him. But he stands tall. Proud. “Then when?”
“When, what?”
“You said not right now. So, I’m asking you when? When can we be together?”
I let out a sigh, saying the hard thing. “We need to have our lawyers speak. Figure out how to get this annulled.”
He turns away and picks up a ball, throws it so hard it bounces off the wall with a loud bang. “Fucking hell, I will! You’re my wife!”
I let out a sigh. Why am I suddenly emotional? “I’m some girl you married in Vegas! It happens all the time!” My voice cracks, a single tear falling. “Fucking Vegas, Declan!”
He stares at me. “It’s Vegas? I don’t know what that means. All I know is that Vegas is where my wife left me.”
Of course he doesn’t get it. No one’s explained to him how Vegas and mistakes work.
“Covered in vomit, by the way!” He adds.
“Oh yeah. I’m really sorry about that. In my defense, I tried to wake you. You were dead to the world.”
He steps closer again, and I swear, my body starts vibrating from the memory of him. I vividly remember what it felt like to have him under me. Over me. Inside me.
I can’t do this.
“The prize money, Maddy.”
I freeze when I become painfully aware that I also never told him my real name.
“What?”
“There’s a million dollars on the line. If we stay married for a year.”
“I remember,” I say carefully, “but Declan, you’re a professional athlete. Surely you don’t need—”
“Don’t pretend to know what I need.”
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Just say you will? Say you’ll stay married, even in secret, so we can get the money.”
“I’m sorry. No. It’s too risky. If the press finds out—”
“About your mistake, you mean?” he finishes, voice cold now.
He’s hurt. But too proud to beg.
“Fine,” he says through gritted teeth. “Can I have your phone number, at least? So I can put you in touch with my lawyers?”
I nod. He hands me his phone. I type in my number and email address, hit save.
“It’s under Marlow. Marlow Mills.”
He lets out a humorless laugh. “Fucking hell. I didn’t even know your real name.”
“I’m sorry, Declan. Really sorry.”
“We’re not done, Americana.”
But I turn towards the door and don’t look back.
I just walk away, shutting the door behind me, leaving him in the dark.
Now to go air-dry my panties. Because apparently, he has more tattoos, and sweet hell, I had no idea ink could short-circuit my entire nervous system the way it just did.