Page 16 of Pucked In Vegas

A soft snore breaks the silence.

I freeze, then slowly turn my head.

Holy shit.

She's here. Cassie. Face-down in my bed, platinum hair splayed across my pillow like she's in a shampoo commercial. One leg is kicked out from under the sheets, and from what I can tell, she's just as naked as I am.

Her breathing is deep and even, completely unbothered by the nuclear war happening in my skull.

Something glints on her hand—her left hand—resting near her face.

A ring.

A gold band.

No. Nope. Absolutely not.

I sit bolt upright, ignoring the sledgehammer to my brain. My heart pounds as I frantically check my own hand.

There it is. Matching gold band. Slightly too big, but definitely real.

"What the fuck," I whisper, staring at my hand like it belongs to someone else. "What the actual fuck."

Fragments of last night flash through my mind. Tequila shots at the club, dirty dancing with a boner, her lips on mine, stumbling down the Strip, a chapel with neon lights, an Elvis impersonator with a surprisingly good voice...

A piece of paper folded on the corner of the nightstand, slightly crumpled, glitter-streaked, and official looking.

I pull it closer.

TEMPORARY MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE

Cassie Hawthorne & Jackson Holt

Ceremony performed at: Hitched in a Hurry – Open Hearts, Open 24/7

Officiated by: Reverend Elvis “Blue Suede” Michaels

Beside it, a Polaroid is half-stuck to the surface by what I sincerely hope is champagne.

We’re both in it. I’m shirtless, grinning like an idiot, holding her bridal-style. She’s laughing, veil askew, throwing up peace signs. Elvis is mid-snap-finger in the background.

And just below the photograph is a neon-colored flyer that reads:

FREE BUFFET BREAKFAST FOR NEWLYWEDS!

Served until 11am.

Just show your certificate and rings!

My entire career flashes before my eyes.

Madison is going to murder me. The draft is in five days.Five.

In five days, I’m supposed to be standing on a stage in a suit, holding a jersey with my name on the back, and shaking the hand of a GM who thinks I’m a safe bet. A professional. Abrandfor generations to come.

And now?

Now I’m a disaster. A glitter covered disaster.