Page 60 of Puck Yes

It’s the pic of Ivy and me getting hitched, and something in my chest stirs as I stare at it. She looks…happy.

So do I.

I stare down at my ring, a heaviness taking over in my chest—a heaviness that doesn’t belong. SayingI don’tshouldn’t have me so twisted up. Especially considering what the three of us did after my dare of anI do.

Good sex never fills me with so much angst the next morning. Hell, Stefan was right when he said sex makes me happy. Sex makes me play better. Why do I feel so down then?

My mind flashes to that moment at The Winning Hand, when it was just Ivy and me at the table, when she could tell it made me happy to be called by my name. Then back to the texts she sent after my first game with the team. My heart feels a little tender.

Grabbing my travel kit, I yank up the zipper and breathe out hard, trying to focus on the day ahead. Like I’m getting psyched up for a game, I blot out distractions. Like feelings, like frustrations, like the voice in my head of my ex saying I’m a jerk.

But there are other voices echoing too. Voices from long ago. From my mom leaving, saying breezily,I’ll be back next summer. That was true enough, but it hardly mattered—her once-a-year reappearance in my life was like a comet that was gone before it even arrived. I can never find comets in my telescope anyway.

All these thoughts bombard my brain annoyingly as I get dressed for the charity breakfast. When I’m at the door, I check the confirmation I got a few minutes ago from the annulment place Dev hooked me up with. They’re expecting us. With dread in my gut, I text Ivy.

Hayes: I’ll call a Lyft now, K?

Her response is swift.

Ivy: Great!

It’s the exclamation point that kills me. The excitement over the end. As I walk down the hall, I can’t stop staring at the ring on my finger. The gold band is so basic. Just a simple ordinary band. I shouldn’t care about it so much.

I head down a flight of stairs to Ivy’s room a floor below me, but she’s already left, and she’s marching toward me at the elevator banks. She looks focused and ready.

“The Lyft should be here soon,” I say, taking a businesslike approach to this uncoupling too. “It shouldn’t take too long once we’re there.”

“Then you can get to your breakfast with the team.”

“And then we’ll just have that photo as a memory,” I say dryly, trying to make light of this whole uncomfortable morning as the elevator arrives.

When we step inside, she turns to me, lifting a brow in a question. “What photo?”

“It’s one Kana took last night.”

“I want to see it,” she says in a determined tone.

I click over to it, showing her the shot. It’s not the almost shot. It’s us sayingI do.I want to look at it one more time too.

She bends closer, and I catch a hint of her scent. It wafts past me, blackberries and something sweet that makes me crave another night with her. One time did nothing to quench my desire, and I barely notice when the elevator slows at a floor. I’m inches away from Ivy, her long, dark hair falling in a soft sheet near her face, her scent intoxicating me, her gaze locked on the picture of us on the screen. I steal a glance at her face. Her smile seems to take her hostage. “That was fun, Hayes,” she says, vulnerable and warm.

The dreamy sound hooks into my heart.

“Yeah, I liked marrying you last night,” I say, right as the doors open and I look up.

At the face of the team owner.

22

IT’S KIND OF A FUNNY STORY

Hayes

Oh, shit.

Jessie Rose is shooting a closed-mouth smile at us. Her brow arches, and I swear I can see wheels turning in her brain.

“Good morning,” says the polished, poised woman as her misses-nothing gaze strays to my hand, then Ivy’s, then the picture splashed across my phone screen—Ivy and I pledging to love each other in front of Elvis and a couple teammates.

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