Page 1 of Perfectly Wedded

ONE

Sloan

Iwake to the most impossible dream. A strong hand wrapped around my waist, connected to an arm sculpted by years of working out, all roped tendons and chiseled ridges of muscle. Then another sensation: warmth, followed by the heady scent of cinnamon.

I know that smell. It’s my favorite scent in the world.Him.

I force my eyes open, struggling to remember last night. I went to the ice-skating gala before heading back to my hotel room. Someone was with me.

I blink against the dim light filtering through the curtains, and the reality hits—Vale is next to me.In my bed.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand, jolting me back to reality. I grab it quickly, trying not to wake him.

Jaz

What’s going on? Is Vale with you in Vegas?!

I glance at Vale, still asleep, his arm draped over me. My fingers fumble over the screen.

Sloan

He’s just helping meout, no big deal.

I try to wriggle out from under his grasp, but the weight of his arm keeps me pinned down, like he’s not letting me go. I blink, hoping I’m just imagining things.

Yep, still there.

I’ve landed a hockey player in my bed. And not just any hockey player—my good friend. Which means things just got seriously complicated.

Problem two? I can’t remember what happened last night. Ever since the car accident, my memory has gaps—a brief amnesia, my doctor calls it. I struggle to recall specifics until something triggers the memory like a landslide. But without that trigger, I’m left with nothing but what’s in front of me. And what’s in front of me is my very single friend who I’ve had a crush on since he started renting a room in the house I own with my sister.

A sliver of sunlight sneaks through the curtains of my swanky Vegas hotel room. Vale had insisted on separate rooms—he even paid for them—just to make sure I wouldn’t back out of the fancy skating gala. Since my car accident, Vale’s been my self-appointed bodyguard. He’s not just good-looking—Kevin Costner has nothing on him—but he also has stellar reflexes when I faint, which, unfortunately, happens more often than I’d like since the accident.

When I showed up with him at the gala, people couldn’t stop gawking at the hottest hockey player in the industry standing next to me. Too bad everything after that moment is a blank spot in my mind, like someone took a giant eraser and just wiped it clean.

When Vale wakes up, I can’t let on that I don’t know what happened between us. Maybe if I escape this hotel room and head back to the ballroom where the gala was held, something will trigger the memory.

Carefully, I inch toward the edge of the bed, sliding out from under him. The phone buzzes again, louder this time, and Vale stirs. I dive to silence it.

Jaz

Seriously? You never take him to your skating events. Vale rarely asks for time off this close to hockey season. Something’s up.

My mind spins, still foggy, and I wince as I trip over my stiletto on the floor. My memory’s a mess, and I wish I could say it was because I partied hard last night. But I didn’t even have a drop of alcohol.

So how in the hockey did we end up in the same bed?

I’d never risk crossing the line with my friend, no matter how long I have to carry this Olympic-sized torch for him. Telling Vale how I really feel would only jeopardize everything we have.

My gaze lands on his bare shoulders, so unfairly muscular and tanned, it’s a crying shame all that beauty goes to waste. Vale hasn’t dated anyone seriously since he moved to Sully’s Beach to play for the Carolina Crushers. We’ve been friends ever since, but he’s never shown an interest in being more than that, which is why I can’t let this little crush of mine ever become a “thing.” It’s too risky.

Sloan

Nothing’s up. Honestly, Jaz, my memory’s a little fuzzy this morning.

Jaz

What do you mean, fuzzy? Are you okay?

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