Page 87 of Pucking Forbidden

She reaches past me, grabbing her phone off the nightstand. The screen is flashing Grace.

“Hello?” Hadley’s voice is thick with sleep. She clears her throat, sitting up and pulling the duvet to her chest. “Yeah. No, I'm okay. What time is it?”

She glances at the digital clock on the nightstand. Her eyes widen. It's nearly noon.

“Right. Yes. The wedding!” She sounds a lot more alert now. Her cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink as she avoids looking at me. “I’m on my way. I’ll be there in ten minutes to start getting ready. Bye.”

She hangs up and slides her legs out from under the covers. The sudden distance leaves me feeling cold. She stands up, smoothing down the emerald dress, her movements just a little bit self-conscious now.

“I have to go,” she murmurs, finally looking up to meet my eyes. There’s a vulnerability there that cuts right through my hangover. I want to say something…anything! But it’s like my brain and mouth have totally disconnected. All I can do is look at her. “But...I hope we can talk later, Julian.”

She steps closer to the edge of the bed, her voice dropping and taking on a fierce edge. “Please stop avoiding me.”

Before I can answer, she leans down. Her lips brush my cheek. It’s a completely innocent gesture, but it sets my blood on fire. I ball my hands into fists to keep myself from reaching out and wrapping her in my arms.

She turns and makes it all the way to the heavy suite door, her hand resting on the brass handle, before something inside my chest snaps.

Seeing her last night in that tiny, lethal emerald dress had nearly driven me out of my fucking mind, but it’s the memory of her wearing my jersey that’s lit a territorial fire in my veins that I can’t put out. She had been wearing my number. She had chosen me.

“Hadley.”

Her name leaves my mouth before my brain can stop it. I’m out of the bed in a single stride. My hand catches her forearm, and I pull her back against my chest, twisting her around until her back hits the door, and then I lean down and slam my mouth against hers.

It’s not like the bruising, desperate kiss in the stadium hallway. This one is deeper…more significant. She tastes so sweet, and she lets out a small gasp against my lips before she melts into me, her hands rising to grip my shoulders. I kiss her until my heart is hammering against my ribs, stopping just long enough to pull back an inch.

“Okay,” I rumble, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw. “We'll talk, and I’ll stop avoiding you.”

A small, breathtaking smile spreads across her face. “Okay.”

She slips out of my hold and out the door, leaving me alone in the quiet suite.

I lean my forehead against the wood, exhaling a long, ragged breath. I’ve missed her. God, I’ve missed her more than I ever wanted to admit to myself. Trying to freeze her out for the last two weeks didn’t change a damn thing. I thought distance would help me want her less, but she’s constantly on my mind and entirely under my skin.

So maybe here, in Vegas, I can just stop fighting. For now, anyway. Before the Chicago contract catches up to me, before the world pulls us apart, or before she eventually realizes who I am and leaves me. I just want to be with her.

By six o'clock, my hangover is gone and has been replaced by a tight, hyper-focused adrenaline.

I stand in front of the mirror in the groomsmen’s suite, pulling the stiff collar of a white tuxedo shirt together and fastening the bowtie. I adjust the cuffs three times, ensuring exactly half an inch of white fabric shows past the sleeve of the jacket.

The material is flawless. Custom-tailored. Italian silk-lined. I smooth the lapels down, staring at my reflection, but a familiar, uneasy knot tightens in my gut. No matter how much money is sitting in my bank account, or how many high-end designer suits are hanging in my closet, putting this shit on always feels a little like wearing a disguise.

“Hey, Wilder, stop flexing at yourself and help me before I choke,” Carson mutters from across the room.

The guy is an absolute basket case. His shaggy dark hair is a mess from him running his fingers through it, and his hands are shaking so badly he can’t get his cufflinks through the holes. He looks like he’s about to face a fifty-shot night against a team of clones.

“Hold still, Monroe,” I murmur, stepping over and taking his wrists. I slide the silver links through smoothly, clicking them into place. “What are you freaking out for? I figured marrying Skyler would be the easiest thing you ever do.”

“I just don't want to screw it up,” Carson breathes, looking at me with wide, panicked blue eyes. “What if I trip? What if I say the wrong name?”

“You're a professional athlete; your balance is fine, and her name is Skyler. It’s six letters. You can handle it.” I clap a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You got this, man. She’s already at the chapel. She’s not running.”

“I'm telling you, Carson, it’s a good thing Wilder’s got your back. If you faint on the altar, I’m not catching you,” Jensen says, his deep voice carrying over the din. He’s leaning against the wet bar, fully suited up.

“Screw you, Jensen,” Carson mutters. “I'm fine. I'm totally fine. I just...does the room feel hot to anyone else? Jayce, turn the AC down.”

“It's set to sixty-five, you lunatic,” Jayce laughs, adjusting his own tie without looking. “You're just sweating through your layers because you realized Skyler is about to legally trap you in a room with her forever. No more escape. Just video games and feelings.”

“Good,” Carson cracks. His voice is dangerously tight. “That's exactly what I want. What if I mess up the vows, though? What if I stumble over the wording? Say something stupid?”