Page 3 of Perfectly Wedded

Because that’s what I am to him:an obligation.Nothing more.

He frowns, then nods. “Here. Take some money.” He plucks a twenty from his wallet and tosses it on the table.

“No, thank you,” I say firmly, spinning on my heel. “I can pay for my own.”

He catches my arm at the door, places the bill into my hand, and closes my fist around it.

“Sloan, take it,” he urges, then grabs his suit coat hanging from the back of a chair. His eyes graze across the strap of my nightgown before his face flicks to mine. “And my coat, to cover you up.” He slides it around my shoulders, his fingers grazing my skin like a hot match.

I let out a nervous laugh. “Why should I? It’s not like we’re on a date.”

He looks at me, puzzled. “You’re right. We’renoton a date.But I think I’m allowed to be a little protective. After all, I am your husband.”

My heart skips a beat.Did he just say husband?I wheel around, sure I misheard him. A panicky laugh escapes my lips, because this ishysterical. Vale and I couldn’tbe married, because I would rememberthat.

“Wait—what did you say?” I stammer. “Because I thought I heard you sayhusband.”

He looks at me, dead serious. “I did. Which means I’m paying for my wife’s coffee.”

My wife.

The words knock the breath out of me as memories flood in from last night.

A bubblegum-pink Vegas chapel.

A kiss fumbled at the altar.

The memories slam into me as my stomach rolls.

I accidentally married my best friend last night.

TWO

Vale

THE NIGHT BEFORE

“My personal Kevin Costner,” Sloan says as we walk across the ballroom of the skating gala. “Can I call you that for the weekend? How about Kev, for short?”

“Only in Vegas,” I say. “But please don’t introduce me as your bodyguard.”

She tilts her head, a smile playing on her full pink lips. “Then how should I introduce you tonight?”

“That’s up to you, but if you call me ‘Kev,’ I might have to start calling you ‘Whitney’—forThe Bodyguardvibes, obviously.”

She laughs and her smile is as mesmerizing as the silver sparkly gown she wears, clinging to her body in all the right ways. I can’t stop staring at her tonight, and it hits me—if I make the NHL, I’ll have to leave this behind. Leaveherbehind. The thought gnaws at me, but right now, she has no idea how stunning she looks, or how hard it is for me to stay focused on anything else. But I can’t let myself want her that way—not when we’re only just friends.

“Has anyone told you that you look amazing tonight?” I ask.

She slides a hand across the waist of her gown. “In this old thing? I wear it to clean the house all the time.”

I laugh. “I’d like to see that when we get home. So what’s first on the agenda? Dancing? Food? Dodging that idiot ex of yours?”

“Definitely the last one,” she says glancing around.

So far, we haven’t seen Anthony, and I want it to stay that way. I never thought Sloan would accept my offer of accompanying her to Vegas last-minute. She’s ridiculously stubborn about being independent, even though her coaching income is a sliver of my hockey pay.

“I know how awkward this event must be for you.” She glances toward the crowd before her gaze lands on the buffet table, which looks like it’s about to collapse under the weight of an enormous feast.

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