My Favorite Mistake, page 12
“No, my wedding. You just did the same thing. You eloped and didn’t even invite me to be part of the wedding party.” She sounds bitter, and I don’t understand why we’re back to discussing this, but then I remember that Milly, just like Mom, likes to hold grudges.
“At least you got to watch it from the comfort of your home,” I joke, taking a forkful of chicken.
“It doesn’t matter. The point is that—” She pauses for dramatic effect. “Polaris, your mother and father are driving me insane.”
This doesn’t surprise me. The fact that Mom is calling her often or that she’s playing the martyr. I’m about to dismiss her when I finally process her words. “Wait, Dad knows?”
“The entire world knows.”
I knew that, but I was hoping it wouldn’t reach my father. This internet thing came to fuck everyone. I never lived in the old days of anonymity, but I’m sure if my mother or father did something like what I did, they’d be able to hide everything.
“Have I ever mentioned I hate social media?”
“No, but we have a more important issue. Your parents would like to speak to you. Call them and sort this out soon.” She sighs heavily. “I can’t believe I’m the adult in this situation.”
“You were due. It’s been twenty-seven years of being a child, and may I remind you that you have children?”
“Stop!”
I wish I could end the call. I can’t even remember why we’re arguing. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this call again?”
“Dad wants to kill Caspian. He’s upset he didn’t ask for your hand in marriage.”
“I don’t recall him asking the same from Ernest.”
“Well, I was already knocked up. The least Ernie could do is marry his daughter.”
“You had two children, but let’s go with that version.”
“Not the point. He might visit you.”
My heart palpitations might indicate I’m about to go into cardiac arrest. “Dad?”
“Yep.”
“Persuade him to wait.” My pleading tone might do the trick. “I’m not living at home.”
“Where are you?”
I almost laugh. As if I’m going to tell her. She might give the address to Dad or sell it to some seedy magazine for millions. “In a secret location, enjoying my honeymoon.”
“While your husband is playing against the Rangers?”
Ugh, bitch, she got me there.
“Listen, I just need you to tell me you’re okay and promise you’ll call our parents. I don’t have time to be you.”
I grab the glass of wine and drink it all. This marriage is going to kill my liver. “What do you mean by being me?”
“You’re the one who makes sure there’s peace in this family. You speak on my behalf to our parents.”
“Maybe it’s time I stop being the middleman between everyone.”
“That would be painful.”
It’s easy for her to say that. She’s not been part of this. Mom says I need to send her more money. Dad wants us to spend Christmas with him this year. They should’ve used their lawyer to make changes to their custody agreement. Milly learned so well from them that I was also talking on her behalf to our parents. I still do.
“It’d be freeing.”
“Sometimes, you can be so selfish.”
“I’ll take this conversation into consideration,” I say instead of telling her that she’s a brat.
It’s around nine when my phone rings. It’s Cas video calling me.
“Hey,” I answer and almost gasp as I stare at his bare, muscled, tattooed chest.
“Like what you see?”
“Maybe?”
“I can’t see much of you, Mrs. Spearman. You have on too many clothes.”
“Is this a FaceTime booty call?”
He chuckles. “It could be if you want. I wouldn’t mind watching you come all over your hand.”
“Cas, let’s not start this conversation with sex.”
He pouts. “Fine, but before we hang up, I want to hear you scream my name.”
I roll my eyes, feigning annoyance, but I’ve no doubt that I’ll be undressing and pulling out a couple of the toys we bought last week before this call is over.
“How was your day, beautiful? Did you go back to work?”
I tell him about Baker’s Creek, my conversation with Leyla—well, except my doubts about our temporary marriage—and the puppies.
“Next time you have to foster a puppy, just bring them home.”
“To your impeccable white-rugs-luxurious-couches-brand-new house?”
“Our house.”
“You’d let me bring dogs into your home?” I repeat, ignoring the our house part.
“It’s your place too, of course I would.”
“Have you ever had a dog?”
“No.”
“The D stands for destructors.”
He laughs. “It’s okay if they chew the entire house. Material things are replaceable. They need a home where they can feel safe and loved. You’ll bring them so we can be their temporary parents, okay?”
And I melt with those words. “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind.”
“What else happened?”
I sigh because I have to tell him about Thad, and I do. He growls. “Send the voicemail to Lang, please. He’ll take care of it. What I don’t understand is why you dated the douchebag in the first place.”
“I felt lonely. Dating seems to be the next step to ticking all the boxes in the game of life. He was there, and he seemed nice.”
“Nice? You dated him because he’s nice?”
“He wasn’t that bad. The last few weeks we were together he was making a real effort, you know. I guess he thought things were over with Cameron.”
Those eyes darken when he asks, “Were you falling for him?”
“I was trying to believe that something was going to happen, but we weren’t compatible,” I say, not ending the sentence with unlike you and me.
“Sounds like you were forcing it,” he states.
“Probably. I don’t want to make a big deal out of this. Releasing the video was enough.”
The way he looks at me makes me miss him. “Why don’t you hop on a plane and come with me? I need you.”
I try to lighten the mood by asking, “You want your own puck bunny?”
He laughs. “If you want to play that scenario, we can do it. You’ll pretend to break into my room, wait for me naked, and I’ll fuck you all night.”
“Has that ever happened?”
Cas flinches. “A few times when I was a rookie.”
“How about now?”
He shakes his head. “My agent makes sure my room is booked under a pseudonym, so no one bothers me. I stopped doing stupid things long ago, and as I mentioned before, after you, I’ve had no interest in being with anyone.”
“Why?”
“Because after that night, I had the feeling that I belonged to you.”
“Cas, we…” I have no idea how to finish that sentence. Don’t leave me, let me go, let’s rewind time and ignore each other in Vegas.
But I don’t want any of that. I want him. Is that even possible?
“We can talk about that later. Why don’t you show me what’s under my shirt? I bet those tits are needy and ready for my mouth.”
I squirm, and for the rest of the call, I just follow his orders and touch myself until I come hard and loud.
One week and he’ll be back home.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Caspian
A week.
It’s been one week since the last time I saw Rys.
Last night I arrived home at midnight. She was sleeping, and I didn’t want to bother her. I slept in the guest room and left the house before six in the morning. I had to run some drills. I did leave a note next to the coffee maker and sent her flowers to the clinic. I used the concierge company Lang recommended so no one can trace Rys to me.
I just hope she comes to our after-game celebrations.
The bar the team frequents is uptown from the arena, just far enough that the fans aren’t likely to be there after a game and close enough to not kill the vibe. Tonight’s game against the Canucks was one of our best in weeks and our first game back on home ice since the break, so drinks are pretty much a given.
Rys texts me, confirming Shelly is picking her up and they’re coming together, which is a relief. The guys have been in good humor about the whole situation, but it will help considerably to calm the waters if Rys puts in a few appearances.
Some of them are concerned that she’s a gold-digging puck bunny who just flits from one player to another until she caught one in a marriage, which is so far from the truth it’s almost laughable.
I understand where they’re coming from—protective of me even when I already have several older brothers for that—but I’m confident once they meet Rys, they’ll be a lot less concerned.
When she arrives, my jaw drops. She looks hot as hell. She glances around before finally spotting me at the bar where I ordered her favorite vodka seltzer. She smiles and makes her way over to me. I take her into my arms and kiss her hard. When I finish, she looks at me flustered.
“Good game,” she says as she sidles up next to me.
“Did you actually watch it?” I ask her, amused, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing her forehead.
“You don’t have to do this,” she whispers.
“What?”
“Pretend with so much PDA.”
But wanting to touch and kiss Rys all the time is as natural as breathing to me. I guess I have to change my tactics because she thinks I’m in this just for the PR and not because I want to be with her. Do I think this fire between us will extinguish? No, it won’t. Every time we’re together the flame gets bigger.
It’s been almost three years since I met her, and she’s always been on my mind. Now that she’s here, I’ll brand my soul into hers and carve her name in my heart.
“Who says I’m pretending, babe?”
“Cas?”
I don’t understand if she’s asking a question, gasping my name because she wants me the same way I want her, or warning me…her tone is too confusing.
“Yes?”
“Please behave. I’m uncomfortable with PDA. More so when people are watching me.”
I pay attention to the room and notice that everyone—everyone—is gawking at us.
Giving her an apologetic smile, I say, “Sorry. I can’t keep my hands away from my strikingly hot wife. So, you were saying you watched the game.”
“I had it on while talking to Milly,” she reports. “Shelly came over during the third so we could make it over here if you guys won.”
“I’m glad she’s including you,” I say honestly.
“She’s nice,” Rys says. “She’s been really helpful.”
“Have you met any of the other wives yet? I’m sure a lot of them will be here tonight.”
Her face twists into a frown, but she just buries it in my bicep. The bartender arrives with her drink while she’s still hiding, so I run a hand through her hair and lean down to ask her teasingly, “Will vodka help?”
This does the trick, and she emerges with eager, grabby hands for the glass. She only takes a short sip when she brings it to her mouth, the color on her lips transferring in a perfect imprint on the rim. I want to kiss her badly, but instead, I squeeze her hip.
“Can I introduce you around?” I ask.
She nods, both hands holding her drink in front of her like a protection amulet. I guide her over to where Spacey is holding down a table with Shelly and a few younger guys who tend to follow him around like ducklings. Shelly slides a supportive smile at Rys as we come over, and Rys seems to stand a little straighter beside me.
Chapter Thirty
Rys
Married life is a lot different from an episode of I Love Lucy.
I don’t love that I have a credit card, a joint bank account, and access to Cas’s schedule. It makes things…not temporary. We don’t speak much about our relationship, but that doesn’t mean we ignore each other. We talk about his family, mine, work, and sometimes we just read in silence before heading to bed.
It’s Tuesday after a game when my phone rings. I’m hoping it’s Cas, but instead Avery’s name appears on the screen. When I slide my finger across the screen to answer, she says, “Tell me again you’re not doing this under duress. Or wait, blink twice right now if you need help.”
I give her a wide-eyed look that I hope communicates how done I am with this conversation. “I’m fine. This is my choice.”
“Yeah, but, Rys, honey, is it a good one?” she asks. “I already asked Ben to go and kick Caspian’s ass. He said he can’t. He fears he might lose a finger or two. It’s not good for a surgeon to be missing digits or limbs.”
I wish she were near so I could throw one of the nearby couch pillows at her head. I notice she’s sipping wine. “How’s life?”
“We’re not talking about me. I’m concerned for you. My sisters-in-law aren’t telling me anything. Something about confidentiality. My brother, Mills, keeps ignoring my calls and sending me vague texts,” she complains.
“You could’ve called me.”
“I did, right after I found out about your nuptials and tried to reach the family.”
“So you found out today? Where were you?”
She glances everywhere but at the camera.
“Avery?”
“It’s not important. Focus on what matters, okay? Rearranging your entire life around a man is not going to work, not for an independent woman like you.”
I roll my eyes at her and march toward the laundry room. I might as well start folding clothes if I’m going to entertain her nonsense.
“It’s not my entire life that’s changing,” I say. “Even if I made a few changes, it’d be because we’re married. Married people do this sort of thing.”
“Tell me what happened. How did you end up with him?”
I should write a tell-all just for friends and family. Maybe a podcast or something I can just hand out or replay because it’s exhausting to recount the worst weekend of my life.
“You don’t have to stay married though,” Avery grumbles at me. “I thought you were trying to make things work with what’s his face, and now you’re married—not dating—married to his archenemy. You barely even know the guy. You slept with him like three years ago, and then you run into him at a casino fresh off finding your actual boyfriend fucking someone else, and now you’re married? You cannot tell me the sex was that good.”
“The sex is even better,” I say. It’s true, and I know it will annoy her. She scowls at me.
“Good sex does not make a marriage.”
I take a deep breath and fill the basket with the warm clothing from the dryer before heading to my room to fold it.
“Rys, don’t avoid me.”
“We’re trying to make this less of a PR disaster for him, so we’re going to be married for a while, okay?”
“I just don’t want to see you getting hurt when this inevitably falls apart,” she says.
“If I already know it will end one day, what’s there to get hurt about? It’s basically a friends-with-benefits thing until then. It’ll be fine.”
I try my best to sound cool and calm about it, even as my words ignite a small flame of doubt in me. When has friends with benefits ever actually been a good idea for anyone? I just hope I won’t catch feelings like they’re the common cold—or I might die.
Avery looks like she’s thinking the same thing, but instead of continuing the fight, she takes a sip of her wine and puckers her lips.
“Fine,” she says after a few more sips. “Suit yourself. But I get to say I told you so when this makes you cry later.”
I sigh.
“Fair’s fair,” I agree. I set the basket on the bed and pull out a shirt.
“What are you doing?”
“Folding clothes,” I say, setting the phone on the nightstand.
“We should go to Paris on a shopping spree.”
“Sorry, my wallet is thinking downtown Portland.”
She laughs. “You should make your husband pay for the trip.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Then how is it? I need to know more. Relationships fascinate me.”
“Ask Ben to teach you.”
She gives me a wicked smile. “I might ask for a little friends-with-benefits treatment. What can go wrong?”
I don’t tell her that having sex with a friend is completely different from what I’m referring to, but she won’t listen. I adore Avery, but sometimes she’s a little too detached from reality.
Mom calls right after Avery hangs up… I can no longer avoid answering. I’ve dodged her so far, but there’s only so long I can do it before she shows up on my doorstep. I swipe to answer the call reluctantly.
“Well,” she huffs as soon as I’ve said hello. “It’s nice to know you’re alive.”
I roll my eyes at the ceiling and lie on the couch. I can sense I’m in for an earful, and I’ve let her build up a full head of steam about it.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” she demands.
“Not much that you probably don’t already know,” I admit. “I got married. Everything’s fine.”
“Married!” she practically shrieks. “After everything I’ve taught you. After how you were raised. Why would you ever even think of getting married to a stranger? You know it will never last.”
Is it possible to build a long-lasting marriage out of nothing more than a drunken mistake just to spite my mother? Probably not, and besides, that’s not what Cas wants anyway. This marriage will fall apart in a few months, but until then, at least it can make my mom uncomfortable.
“I love him, Mom,” I say with a very fake pout. “Why wouldn’t I marry him?”
“Men like that do not stay married, and you know it.”
My mother thought all men were “men like that.” It had been the theme of my sister’s and my education growing up. It’s impressive either one of us turned out somewhat normal when it comes to romantic relationships.
