Page 46 of Pucking Curves

She doesn’t have to say anything for me to know the tension between her and her brother is driving her crazy. I see it in the way her brows furrow and her lips turn down when she speaks about him. She misses him. And I’m guessing he misses her the same damn way. He isn’t texting her every day just to piss her off. He’s doing it because he can’t stand not talking to her. But they’re both too stubborn to bend.

Nash told me not to let him stew too long before I stepped in. I think it’s time. This shit has dragged on long enough. He needs to know I’m in love with his sister and that I’m not going anywhere. Doesn’t matter how pissed he is, it won’t change anything. But freezing her out isn’t going to make either of them any happier.

And he’s not any happier than she is. He’s been moping around the arena for a week straight. He’s playing for shit. He tolerates my presence, but he doesn’t really speak to me. He talks around me, acting like I’m not there. It’s frustrating as hell. We need to be on the same page, especially with so much shit coming at the team right now.

Logan’s business is all over the news, thanks to Charles Montaque, a reporter with a hard on for the team. So is Nash and Emilia’s. Things are tense as a motherfucker.

“You really want to tell your brother that we’re married?” I ask Wren, carefully watching her expression. “Dip down and then march again.”

“Yes.” She nibbles on her bottom lip, worry in her eyes as she follows my instructions. I don’t think she even realizes that she’s gliding effortlessly each time she dips down. She’s so focused on me and the conversation, on keeping her arms in front of her, that she doesn’t even notice that she’s already skating for those few seconds. “Do you…not want him to know?”

Fuck. Is that what she thinks? That I said no today because I have reservations about us?

“I was ready to tell him when you woke up in my bed at the casino, Wren,” I say. “But I needed time to convince you to give us a real chance.”

“Britney Spears,” she says, smiling as she dips again.

“Yeah, Britney Spears. I would have said anything to keep you from walking away from this marriage. And he would have demanded it as soon as he knew. At that point, you would have gone along with him.”

“Want to know a secret?” she asks.

“I want all your secrets.”

“I didn’t regret it, Archer.” She meets my gaze, hers serious. “When I woke up in your bed and remembered that we got married, I didn’t regret it. It felt right.”

“Fuck,” I groan, clenching my hands in an effort to keep them off her. She says shit like that, and all I want to do is drag her into my arms and put my hands all over her. I want to make her moan and come and scream. Repeatedly.

She manages to reach me, stopping in front of me. “I’m glad I married you when I was drunk in Vegas.”

I growl, wrapping my arms around her waist to yank her up against my chest. She collides with me. I mean to catch her, but somehow, her skate tangles in mine and we go down.

She squeals in shock, but I’ve got her. I’ll always have her.

I twist, holding onto her so she lands on top of me instead of on the ice. She sprawls across my chest, her body shaking with laughter.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I should have taught you to fall. Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she breathes, lifting her head to look at me. Her eyes are bright, a smile stretched across her face. “I’m probably squishing you, though.”

“Fuck no,” I growl, palming her ass. “You’re right where you belong, Wren.”

Her expression softens as she stares at me.

“Marry me.”

She blinks like a little owl. “What?”

“Marry me.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Agree to be mine, little bird.”

“I’m already yours, Archer.”

“Yeah, but I want you to remember me asking this time,” I murmur. “And I want you to remember saying yes. I don’t want it to be because you’re too drunk to know what’s happening.”

“I wasn’t too drunk,” she whispers.

This time, I’m the one left blinking in shock. “What?”

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