Pucking Inconvenient (Granger Brothers #1)
Chapter 1
LOGAN
For a lot of people in Vegas, waking up on New Year’s Day means grappling with the consequences of questionable choices.
But I have a hockey game later today. A professional hockey game. I am, at all times, a professional hockey player. So why am I sure, even before I open my eyes, that the questionable choices I got into last night were life-changing?
A hissing sound cuts through the cotton in my head. The shower. Someone is in the shower in my hotel bathroom.
And that’s when I become very aware of a ring on my finger. A cool metal band on my left hand, where I’ve never worn a ring before.
Lifting my fist, I stare at it, and then the closed bathroom door. Back and forth, back and forth. What the fuck?
Someone is in my shower.
My wife.
That’s my wife in there. The thought is both terrifying and—oddly—thrilling.
I’m married.
Huh.
I climb out of bed, my body aching in a few specific ways that signal a good time was had by all on my—our—wedding night.
I’m naked, but… she’s my wife. It’s probably fine. I should meet her properly, the woman who laughed at all my stupid jokes.
I remember a lot of laughing.
I pad across the thick carpet and test the doorknob. It’s not locked, and through the frosted glass of the shower door, I see a silhouette. She’s small, with curves that my hands vaguely remember in a good, familiar way. An unexpected heat coils low in my belly, and my cock lifts.
He remembers more than I do, probably.
When was the last time I had this kind of instant reaction to a person? Maybe never.
I think I like being married.
Maybe I have a marriage kink. A my wife is cute and hot kink. A—
She turns around and lets out a sharp, piercing scream.
“Shit. Sorry! Sorry, sorry,” I say in a rush, stumbling back. I snatch a towel from the rack and hastily wrap it around my waist. The shower cuts off.
I notice a little red silicone rose sitting on the counter, and two very specific memories from last night come roaring back.
A rose for your wife?
So much laughter.
And then later, in bed… A rose for my gorgeous wife.
Yeah, I definitely have a wife-specific kink, which is very inconvenient because my wife just screamed her head off at the sight of me.
The door cracks open and she peeks out, her face pale, her dark eyes wide. Damp honey-gold tendrils frame her startled expression. “I’m just leaving.”
“Why?”
“For obvious reasons,” she mutters, not that scared after all. “I thought you were unconscious.”
“Unconscious? I don’t drink that much.” Except I did drink enough that the details of who she is are, at least currently, a bit fuzzy.
“You were dead to the world a minute ago,” she says, her voice tight with panic. “I really thought you’d stay that way until I could get out of here.”
Out of here?
The words hang in the steam-filled air between us.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to my hotel.”
But…we haven’t even been properly introduced.
That’s not right, is it? There’s a cold, hard piece of evidence on my left hand that says we’re very well acquainted.
Can I remember my wife’s name right now? No, not exactly. But I know I said it last night, when I was prompted, right before I said I do.
“I know that last night was a mistake,” she says, her words coming out in a rush.
“A really stupid, terrible, epic mistake, because we just got caught up in…you know. Look, I’m sure you have lawyers and people who can…
fix this. I appreciate that so much.” She moves with shocking efficiency, snaking her hand out of the steamed-up enclosure and wrapping a towel around herself in one fluid motion, not giving me an inch of an accidental view.
As I stare, dumbfounded, she scoots past me into the main room.
My hazy recollection of her being clever solidifies into a hard, intimidating fact.
She gets dressed underneath the towel, pulling on panties and a bra with alarming speed.
She’s talking circles around me, and I’m just a naked man covering his junk with a towel, my brain desperately trying to catch up.
I don’t want her to leave.
That’s the one clear thought I have.
She yanks a white satin dress over her head—the same dress she wore up the aisle, I remember that dress!—and is grabbing her purse when I finally get my legs to work. I move between her and the door.
“Hang on a second,” I say, trying to sound calm and not as bewildered as I feel. “You’re my wife.”
She shakes her head, not looking at me. “Don’t worry, I know it’s not going to be legally binding. We were inebriated. Intoxicated. Under the influence of—”
“Sure, it wasn’t the best decision we could have made,” I admit, trying for the Granger smile that usually works on… well, everyone. “But we made it, right? So…”
It doesn’t work on her, not even a little. Her face remains a careful mask of regret.
“Look, Logan…”
So she knows my name, at least.
With a big inhale followed by a carefully released sigh, she pokes a finger into my bare chest. The contact is electric.
“I don’t know what you were expecting me to say, and maybe you don’t even remember as much of last night as I do.
To be honest, I don’t even want to explain it right now.
” He voice gets really tight. “So let’s leave it at this.
I don’t hold you to anything you said last night.
And soon enough, you’re going to understand exactly why we cannot do this.
Why nobody can ever know what happened last night.
But I need to leave right now. Because you have morning skate, remember? ”
I just stare at her, completely lost. Except, fuck, she’s right. I do have morning skate, and a team meeting after that, and I’m going to be late to both if I don’t get dressed.
And if I miss a team meeting, I’ll be healthy scratched again.
“Other than your lawyers—and I trust the Granger family has a very good firm on retainer—no one can ever know,” she insists, her eyes boring into mine. “You and me. We’re strangers. Okay?”
Before I can protest, she sidesteps me and pulls the door open.
As it clicks shut behind her, I’m left with three things: a pounding headache, a towel that won’t wrap all the way around my waist, and a wedding ring put on my finger by a gorgeous little stranger whose name I still don’t know.