Page 42 of Puck Yes

“Thanks, King,” she says.

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he says, out of the side of his mouth.

Three minutes later, I join my teammates at the front of the tiny chapel, where Dev is nudging Stefan, and Stefan is nudging Brady, and they’re saying something about how I’m a gamer, and there’s nothing I’ve wanted to be more.

Elvis stands at the front of the chapel, decked out in his white sequined suit, big sideburns, and thick glasses. Next to him, a showgirl twirls a feather boa.

Kana strides in, playing the temporary maid of honor. Brady wolf whistles at his wife as she walks. When she reaches us, the music starts. It’s not the wedding march.

It’s Elvis himself crooning “Can’t Help Falling in Love” and it’s coming from a giant jukebox in the corner. As soon as the King warbles about fools rushing in, Ivy comes through the doorway.

Holy fuck.

She changed.

She’s not wearing her jeans and that crocheted top she had on post-game. A white dress is tied at her neck and clings to her curves, teasing me with the swells of her breasts. The skirt is swingy, the fabric satiny. She looks prettier than she did the night I met her in the elevator, and that’s saying something.

Next to me, Stefan lets out a softwow.

I seize the chance for us to admire her together, something I fucking love doing. I lean closer to him. “I know, right?”

“She’s gorgeous,” he whispers. “Those fiery eyes.”

“Those lush lips,” I say, and a tension I wasn’t even aware I was carrying lessens. This is our first spoken admission of the shared attraction, and while I knew he felt it, it’s freeing to voice it to him.

“And her hair,” he mutters, just for me. “Think she’d like it wrapped around my fist?”

“While I tell her how good she looks when I smack her ass,” I add.

We’re a chorus of praise for my temporary bride as she walks down the aisle. But also, I can’t miss how my pulse spikes as the King sings about whether it’d be a sin to fall in love.

That won’t be happening.

No room in my life for that. No way. But right now, as Ivy strides toward me, I’m having a hard time remembering why I’m supposed to resist her. Don’t want to resist her tonight.

Stefan doesn’t seem to want to either since he lets out a rumble of appreciation, unbidden it seems. I relax even more. At least I don’t need to keep this secret. Ilikeadmiring a woman with him. It’s risqué in ways I crave.

“How badly do you want her?” I whisper to him.

“More than anything,” he says.

“Me too.”

When Ivy reaches me, she’s smiling—a warm, sweet glow that’s part the memory of tequila and part laughter. She glances around like she isn’t sure what to do with the flowers. Kana reaches for them. “I’ll hold them, hun.”

Ivy hastily thrusts the flowers at her and the music fades away.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here this evening…” the Elvis impersonator begins the affair, reciting a script he’s no doubt performed hundreds of times before.

One minute later, he’s saying to me, “Do you take this woman to be your wife?”

For a moment, I pause, considering my actions. I squint, picturing the photos the others showed us at the bar. Did they really get married or are they putting me on? Hmm. I have a feeling. But it doesn’t matter. One look at Ivy and those red lips, and I make my choice. We’ll untie the knot in the morning. “I do.”

“And do you take this man to be your husband?”

Ivy grins. “When in Vegas, I do.”

Dev hands me the ring, and I slide it on Ivy’s left hand. Brady gives her one, and she puts it on my finger. I stare at my hand like it belongs to someone else. But when Elvis declares, “You may kiss the bride,”that—a kiss—belongs to me.

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