Page 5 of The Husband Game

Six months!

He was supposed to be making better choices, and his therapist had suggested he try going six months without a casual hookup. He’d barely made it four. She was going to be so disappointed in him.

He could cry right now.

Except there was no fucking way he was crying in front of Dustin Fowler.

Stupid fucking hot hockey players.

Why did I ever agree to come to the stupid fucking NHL awards in Vegas with Taylor and Jamie?

“Hey, don’t hurt yourself.”

Dustin sat beside him, placing a hand on Charlie’s and preventing him from tugging more at the rings.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Charlie shook off his touch, but he did stop yanking at the metal bands. His finger was red where he’d been twisting them, trying to pull them off to no avail.

“Woah, easy. I’m trying to help.” Dustin’s voice sounded particularly low this close. Concerned.

But Charlie didn’t want his concern.

“If you want to help, you can tell me how we ended up in bed together and why we’re wearing very expensive-looking rings!” Charlie glared at Dustin’s stupid chiseled cheekbones and artful dark stubble.

He really wished he didn’t remember the way that stubble felt against his cheeks.

And he definitely wasn’t talking about the ones on his face.

Though he’d lay odds on having some awful stubble burn around his mouth from their making out last night too.

“Uh.” For the first time, an uneasy expression seemed to disturb Dustin’s calm. “Well, we drank a lot. And we flirted.”

“That maybe explains the ending up in bed part.” Charlie thrust his hand toward Dustin. “But not this part.”

“I’m pretty sure we got married last night.”

Charlie gaped at him even though it was really the only logical explanation. If you could call marrying a stranger logical. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“I shit you not.”

“That’s … that’s fucking impossible.” Charlie stumbled out of bed, tripping on the sheets tangled around him.

And to think, he’d been known for his grace on the ice.

Ha. If only the figure skating world could see him now.

Charlie’s eyes burned as he paced the room, not caring that he was naked.

If the vague memories from the night before were any indication though, Dustin had seen—not to mention felt, licked, sucked, and tasted—all of him.

“This has to be a joke. C’mon. Tell me your hockey buddies are playing a prank on us or something.”

“It’s not a joke.” Dustin nodded toward the nearby table. “I’ve been looking over the paperwork. I’ve already sent a scan to my lawyer for verification. She’ll get back to me when she’s done reviewing it, but it all looks legit to me.”

Charlie lurched over to the table, staring in horror at the very official-looking marriage license.

Dustin Theodore Fowler and Charles Nicholas Monaghan III.

Fuck my life, he thought, clutching his hair.

---