Page 18 of Pucked In Vegas

"Funny story about that," I start, clearing my throat. "So... last night was..."

She sits up, clutching the sheet to her chest, blinking rapidly. Her platinum hair stands in wild directions, mascara smudged beneath those ice-blue eyes. Even hungover, she's gorgeous.

"Please tell me we just had wild sex and I can leave now," she whispers.

I hold up the marriage certificate. "Not exactly."

Her eyes widen, darting between my face and the paper. "No. No, no, no."

"Yeah."

"Oh my god, I'm married." She grabs the certificate, staring at our names. "Oh my god, I had sex with a stranger."

"About that—"

Her head snaps up. "Oh my god, I married astranger I slept withwho might be a stripper. Or an actor. Or both."

"I'm not a stripper," I clarify, running a hand through my hair. "And I don't think we actually—"

"This couldruinmy career." She presses her palms against her temples. "Mydadwill literally drop dead."

I try to look calm despite my internal panic. "Look, we'll get it annulled. No big deal."

"No big deal?" She laughs hysterically. "We need to get this undone before the world finds out and my dad starts throwing pucks at people."

That makes me pause. "Pucks?"

"Don't ask," she mutters, scanning the floor for her clothes.

"Yeah... well... not ideal for me either," I say, watching her scramble around.

Her freak-out is next-level, and I’d chalk it up to the hangover… except for that one word.Pucks.Not a common choice. Unless you're someone who knows hockey.

Or worse… lives it.

And her dad? She said he’d drop dead.

Who the hell is her dad?

She yanks her dress from under the bed. "Did we even...you know?"

I raise an eyebrow, some of my confidence returning despite the disaster around us. "I don't think so. If we had sex, that's something you would definitely remember."

"Wow. The ego on you." She rolls her eyes but can't hide a slight smirk. "I really wasn't thinking straight, was I?"

"I'm just saying—"

"Stop talking." She struggles into her dress. "I need to process this without your..." She gestures vaguely at my bare chest. "…everything."

"I'll handle it," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "The annulment."

"You better." She finds one heel, then the other. "I have enough problems without being Mrs... wait, what's your last name?"

"Holt," I answer automatically. "Jackson Holt."

She blinks. “Holt…”

Something flickers in her expression. Like the name tickles the back of her brain, but then she shrugs it off and grabs her heels.

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