Page 15 of Pucking Curves

I rise from the bed, defiance surging through me in a black cloud as I stalk toward her. “Too goddamn bad,” I growl, yanking her into my arms to kiss her hard on the mouth. “It’s happening. We’re married and we aren’t getting a divorce. Get used to it.”

“Archer!” she cries as I grab my duffle, striding toward the bathroom. “Archer, dammit!”

“Go get ready, wife. We’re leaving for the airport in fifteen minutes.”

Chapter Four

Wren

“Iamnotspending the night with you,” I hiss, glaring at Archer as the chartered plane catapults us toward DC. The infuriating man made me sit with him and Micah. He didn’t even ask if that’s where I wanted to sit, either. He simply pointed at the window seat and told me to sit there like I was a little girl who needed to be told what to do.

Micah was too busy arguing with Logan about the overhead bin to hear him. And he didn’t utter a single complaint about Archer sliding into the middle seat beside me, either.

There’s a lot more legroom in the chartered plane than there is on a commercial flight, but I’m trapped on a plane with my overprotective brother and the man I married while drunk in Vegas. Frankly, I might as well be sitting in my own personal sauna in hell.

My only saving grace is the fact that Micah passed out half an hour into the flight. He’s been snoring ever since.

“Yeah, you are.” Archer cocks a brow at me. “Or I can tell Micah what we really did last night.”

“You wouldn’t.” I gape at him, shock lancing through me.

His wicked smirk tells me that he absolutely would. What game is he playing? Why would he risk telling my brother that he married me?

Good Lord. Where’s calm, cool, collected Archer? You know, the rational one? The devil seated beside me isnotthe same man I’ve known for the last year. This one is…intense. Actually, he’s always been intense. But there’s something downright smoldering hot about his intensity now that he’s decided to unleash it all on me at once.

Would he seriously risk everything just to get me to spend the night with him? Judging by the look on his face…yes. Yes, he would.

“Fine,” I growl, giving in gracelessly. “You win.”

He leans toward me, getting all up in my personal space. And I want to be so damn mad at him, but he smells like sin and feels even better. It’s hard to keep it together when I feel his breath rasping against my ear.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t love waking up with me all over you this morning, little bird,” he growls against my skin. “I still taste your joy on my fucking tongue.”

I whimper softly as a heatwave rolls through me. Archer Graves is a dangerous, dangerous man. He may also be slightly unhinged.

I donotlove it.

Maybe if I tell myself that often enough, I’ll actually believe it.

He nips my skin and then settles back in his seat with a triumphant smirk. I scowl at him, which only makes that damn smirk grow.

Why isn’t he freaking out about the fact that we got married last night? Micah is his best friend. He should be losing his shit right now. Actually, he should have been freaking out when we woke up married this morning. But did he? No. He seemed hurt when I brought up divorce. Or pissed.

I narrow my eyes on him, my mind rife with suspicion. “How drunk were you last night, Archer?”

“What?” His brows furrow like he doesn’t understand the question, but I’m not buying what he’s selling. Because he tenses ever so slightly and his smirk slips. I’m not sure if it’s guilt or regret or something that might as well qualify as both, butsomethingflickers in his eyes before he manages to school his expression. “What do you mean?”

It’s a simple enough question, and he’s far from stupid. In fact, he’s one of the most intelligent men I know. He had full ride offers from three different Ivy League colleges before he decided to draft instead. He knows what I’m asking, and he’s trying to buy himself time. Trying to think his way out of a corner.

“How drunk were you?” I ask again, my eyes locked on his face, looking for any little sign that he knew what we were doing last night.

My own memory has holes big enough to drive a Zamboni through.

I remember video poker and the way he kept brushing up against me and whispering in my ear. I remember kissing him on the elevator. I even remember saying yes when he suggested getting married. The only memories after that are kaleidoscope flashes of a wedding chapel and him slipping a ring on my finger. And then there’s nothing. No kiss. No signing the certificate. No getting undressed and crawling into bed with him. My memory is just soup and then a void.

And somehow, even though I should regret it…part of me doesn’t. That’s the part that scares me. It’s the part that worries the hell out of me. I married my brother’s best friend while I was drunk in Vegas, and I don’t entirely regret it.

It was a terrible decision. One that may just rip their team and their friendship apart at the seams. And I’m starting to suspect that Archer knew what he was doing the whole time.

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