Wild Ever After: A Marriage of Convenience Sports Romance (Wildcat Hockey Book 3)

Two weeks after Jade’s big promotion, Scarlett invites everyone over to celebrate. The girls are in the living room, talking and laughing.

The guys are standing in the kitchen with the food.

“How’s married life?” Ash asks.

“Good. Fine.” Annoyance hums under my skin at the question. It’s hard, and I feel like I suck at it, and I really hate being bad at things.

The guys all stare at me with expressions that range from calling bullshit to feeling sorry for me.

“Her stuff is everywhere,” I say on an exhale. I’m surprised how good it feels to say it out loud.

My friends chuckle.

“She didn’t even have that much stuff.” Leo raises one brow in question.

“I know,” I say. He’s right. It seemed like nothing when I brought it over. “Somehow, it’s multiplied. And she uses like three different mugs every day.”

“Mugs?” Jack asks. “Like coffee mugs?”

I nod adamantly. “She gets one, has her coffee, puts it in the sink, and then five minutes later, she decides she wants more and grabs another mug. Why can’t she use the same mug?”

Ash is holding back his laughter. “You’ve never lived with anyone, have you?”

“Not since I was eighteen.”

“Ask her to put them in the dishwasher when she’s done?” Leo offers the suggestion.

“No. It isn’t about them sitting in the sink. By the time I get in from my morning workout, there aren’t any of my clean mugs.”

“So buy more mugs, man.” Ash shakes his head with a small laugh.

“Oh, no. We have so many mugs, they’re coming out my ears. Mugs of every shape, size, and color. Did you know they make a coffee cup for every holiday? She has all these mugs, but she only ever uses mine. Then I have to drink my coffee using a Lisa Frank unicorn mug.”

Mav bumps me with an elbow. “Forget the mugs. What we really want to know is are you still sleeping with your wife?”

“Dude,” Leo says, “none of our business.”

I’d bet my new contract that he knows. Jade and Scarlett are tight. I can’t imagine any world in which she didn’t share what went down between us on our wedding night.

“Wait still?” Jack asks.

“None of our business?” Mav huffs a laugh. “You weren’t sleeping in the room next to theirs after the wedding.”

All eyes are on me, but I stay silent. I love these guys, but I’m a steel trap on this topic.

“I think you knocked your head against the headboard one too many times that night,” I say to Maverick.

“Oh no. I know what I heard, bro, but if you don’t want to talk about it, all right. Mums the word.” He pretends to zip his lips and throw away the key. With Maverick, that’s highly unlikely.

Jade and I walk home together a few hours later. Besides the presence of her stuff, I haven’t actually seen that much of her. She spends a lot of hours at the office, and even when she’s at the house, she has her laptop open in front of her.

“How’s work going?” I ask, holding open the back door for her.

“Really good.” She beams at me, and I get a reminder of why I’m doing this. For her. To give her the opportunity to prove herself and have the job and life she wants. “Are we still on for the charity event next week?”

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I nod. She’s stayed true to her word and runs events and articles by me. To be honest, the whole thing died down pretty quick for me. A few people in the Wildcats’ front office commented on the magazine, but otherwise, the people in my life don’t really care.

Last week, I went with her to a company picnic and those people were far more excited about all of it than anyone I’ve come into contact with have been.

Inside the house, she kicks off her shoes immediately and leans down to pick them up, giving me a view of her ass. The skirts and dresses she wears to work every day are driving me crazy.

“Well, goodnight,” she says, standing straight and starting for the stairs.

I watch her walk away and that familiar feeling of disappointment at the space between us tugs at me. It’s only midnight on a Friday night, and she’s running off to bed, where I know she’ll stay up for another two or three hours. Jade is a night owl. Actually, I think she only sleeps for about five hours every night.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” The question is out before I can think better of it. This situation is tricky. We have no real relationship. Even the friendship we’d been adamant about keeping by not sleeping together has turned into something more like an acquaintanceship. As if both of us knows that a real friendship is highly unlikely, given our history and the length of time we’re committed to this lie.

But I want to spend more time with her, even if it means going to bed with blue balls every night for the next eleven months.

“Umm…” She pauses three stairs up. “I was going to work a little more.”

I nod my understanding and resolve myself to a night flipping through the channels and trying to forget Jade is in my house, wearing her little skirts and looking so sexy.

“I could bring my laptop down here and hang out while I work, though.”

“Sure. If you want.”

“Okay.” There’s a hint of excitement in her smile before she jogs up the rest of the stairs.

While she’s grabbing her stuff, I pick out a movie. Even though she said she’s going to work, I settle on a comedy that I think she’ll like.

I hear her footsteps on the stairs as I’m grabbing a beer from the fridge. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Yeah. Will you get me a seltzer, if there are any left?”

“You got it,” I say, holding both drinks in one hand as I shut the fridge. When I turn, Jade is standing in the space between the living room and kitchen. My eyes do a slow scan of her, from her bare legs to her red hair piled up on top of her head. The tight skirt might have been safer because the little white shorts she has on make my mouth go dry. She has on a light pink tank top with Strawberry Shortcake on the front and she’s clutching her laptop to her stomach.

“Here you go.” I walk closer and hand her the seltzer. My voice is rough and tight, and I move past her to sit on the couch. I hit play and wonder if there’s some sort of shock therapy to help prevent lusting after someone you know you can’t have.

“What are you watching?” she asks, as she sits on the opposite end of the couch and pulls her legs up underneath her.

“Deadpool. Have you seen it?”

“Of course. I love Ryan Reynolds.”

Perfect. I’m lusting after her and she’s lusting after the dude on TV. Fuck my life.

About halfway through, Jade abandons her work to drool over Ryan Reynolds.

“He’s so funny,” she says, setting her laptop on the table in front of us.

“He’s all right,” I bite out.

She glances at me briefly, confusion knitting her brows together, but then refocuses on the TV.

Great. Now I’m acting like a jealous asshole.

I set my beer on the coffee table, my attention pulling to her laptop in the process.

“What are you working on?”

“Hmmm?” she asks, and then follows my stare to her computer. “Oh. Nothing, really.”

Now, I am even more curious. Jade doesn’t strike me as someone who passes up an opportunity to share her work.

“Tell me,” I push gently.

Angling slightly toward me, she says, “I have this idea. Instead of writing articles about us or what it’s like to be married, I want to interview people who have been married for a long time. Couples at the five-year mark, ten, and so on, then write about what I learn.”

“Is that an article?”

“No.” Her shoulders slump forward. “It isn’t. Or maybe it could be, but it isn’t something I could churn out monthly. I want to really dig in and figure out what it is about two people that makes them compatible and happy for that long. How did they know that they’d found the right person? Is it fate, or do you just reach a point in your life where you’re tired of being alone and settle down with the next person that seems nice?”

“Just because two people get married, doesn’t mean they’re happy.”

“That’s true.” She laughs lightly. “Look at us.”

“I’m not unhappy.” And it’s true. I’m not. Just…frustrated.

She doesn’t give me the words back and I wonder if she regrets marrying me.

“I’m just so curious why some people seem to find their person and make it work for thirty years, while others spend a lifetime searching and come up empty.”

“That’s a lot.”

“I know, and I’m not looking to write some big, scientific study, but I want to hear what other people think and share it as inspiration or something. That sounds far more compelling than twelve articles about newlyweds. What the hell do we know about how to be married?” Jade picks up her seltzer and sips it, then turns the can in her hands.

“Maybe it’s a book. I’d read that.”

“You would?”

“If you wrote it, absolutely.”

Her smile widens. “What do you think makes two people right for each other?”

“Respect, understanding, love.”

“And what about fate?”

“Accepting fate as the reason for good things, means you have to accept that it’s responsible for the shitty things too. I think that lets people off the hook too easily for screwing up. I’m not saying bad shit doesn’t happen to good people, but believing it’s all part of some cosmic plan feels disingenuous.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right, but the idea of a magical intervention transforming you into the right person at the right time sounds pretty appealing too.”

Would I want that even if it were possible? Maybe. I don’t know.

“Do you think you’ll ever get married? Like for real, once this is all over.”

“Do you?” I ask, without replying.

“No. I don’t want to be like my mom, hopping from one great love to another.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that.”

She looks down at her seltzer as she speaks. “My mom said something once when I was a teenager. Another guy had left us and taken our rent for the next two months with him. She said, ‘Jade, honey, there are women out there that get the happily ever after and then there’s us. We’re too much for any one man long-term.’”

My jaw clenches. What a shitty thing to say to someone, let alone your teenage daughter.

“You don’t really believe that, do you? That you’re too much? What does that even mean?”

She shrugs. “I am kind of a lot.” She lets out a brittle laugh. “I know that. I mean, look at the mess I got us into. We’re married.”

“Everyone makes mistakes and finds themselves in tough situations.”

“Have you?” she asks. And then adds, “aside from this one.”

“This wasn’t a mistake,” I say. I believe that, even if it’s gotten messy. “And to answer your question, definitely.”

Crissy crosses my mind for the first time in weeks. I haven’t heard from her, though I hadn’t expected to. I was an ass. Maybe rightfully so, but it still doesn’t feel good. That situation, that was a mistake. This is…something else.

“You never really answer questions, you know that?”

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything. Everything. I still feel like I barely know you.”

When I don’t offer up anything, she asks, “What happened that sent you to live with your grandparents? What are you like as a boyfriend? Where do you see yourself in five years? What’s your favorite color?”

I chuckle at the last question. “Green.”

“Figures that’s the one you answer.”

“I’m not good at sharing.”

She turns fully toward me, legs still crossed. “You like games though, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll play you for answers.”

I feel the surprise of her statement lift my brows.

“Do you have any cards?” she asks.

“In the drawer in front of you.”

She leans forward, opening the drawer of the coffee table, and pulls out a deck.

“How about war? Every turn, winner gets to ask a question.”

“That’s a lot of questions.”

She rolls her eyes playfully. “Some of them will be ones you get to ask. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

I’m hesitant, but she looks so damn excited.

“I’m shuffling,” I say, motioning for the cards.

“Afraid I’ll cheat?” she asks, pretending to be offended.

I shuffle, then let her cut the deck, before I deal out all the cards.

“Ready?” Her voice is eager, and she scoots another inch closer to me. So close, I can see the outline of her black bra under the pink shirt.

“Ready.”

We flip our cards. She has a two of hearts and I pull a five of diamonds. The thrill of competition and victory lights through me.

“Your question,” she says.

I was so worried about not answering her questions, I didn’t think about what I wanted to ask her. I decide to start out easy. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Red,” she says automatically.

“I knew that,” I mutter.

“You did?” She sounds surprised.

“Your car, your hair, your laptop cover.”

“Right.” She grins and moves to flip another card.

I win again. It’s harder to come up with questions than I expected.

“Who was your first kiss?”

“My mom was dating this guy. I can’t even remember his name.”

My muscles tense.

“He didn’t.” She assures me, picking up on my body language. “He had a nephew that he’d bring over occasionally. His name was Justin and he rode a skateboard. I was smitten.”

“Did he kiss you or the other way around?”

“He kissed me. Although I all but put a neon sign in front of my face before he did. I remember I had this Dr. Pepper flavored ChapStick and I kept putting it on my lips. He loved Dr. Pepper.”

“That’s funny,” I say as I laugh.

We go back to the cards, and this time, she wins.

“Same question. Tell me about your first kiss.”

“She didn’t wear soda-pop flavored ChapStick, sadly. A little grape-flavored ChapStick would have really done it for me back then.”

I earn a soft giggle.

“I was in junior high and a buddy had a pool party on the last day of school. I’m pretty sure her friends dared her to do it.”

“She kissed you?!” The idea seems to catch her off guard.

“Hell yeah. I was terrified of girls back then. She marched right up to me, laid one on me, and left me standing there with my jaw hanging open.”

Jade’s head tips back and a big, hearty laugh erupts out of her. She looks so happy and carefree.

We keep playing, asking questions about our childhoods and past relationships. Fun, safe topics.

When we near the end of the deck, Jade flips the winning card and stares at me a beat before asking, “What was your last relationship like?”

“Messy.”

“How so?”

“We wanted different things.”

She doesn’t pry, but I guess she’ll ask me more on that later. I don’t like the idea of laying out my shit with Crissy for her, but I won’t lie about it either.

On my next win, I ask, “How’d you and Sam get together?”

“We met at a frat party my senior year.”

“You approach him or the other way around?”

“He approached me. He gave me some line about how I was the hottest girl at the party and he just had to come over and get my name.”

“A line for sure, but it was probably true.”

We flip the cards again. My muscles are starting to tense. I know the question is coming about my mom and how I went to live with my grandparents. It isn’t something I’ve shared with many people.

When she wins again, I don’t wait for her to ask.

“My mom died of an overdose.”

The smile on her face is gone in an instant.

“Sorry. I just know it’s what you want to know and figured I’d tell you instead of drawing it out.” I tap my finger on the side of my beer.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “I wasn’t going to ask. I did want to know, but I decided about five cards ago that it wasn’t really my business.”

“Oh.”

“Do you want to tell me about her?”

I guess I do because the next words out of my mouth are, “I was at school. I’d won some stupid math competition and couldn’t wait to tell her about it. When I got off the bus, cop cars and an ambulance were outside the apartment. I just knew. I think maybe I always knew, even as a real little kid, that it wasn’t a cycle she was going to stop. She wanted to for me, but not for herself. I think you have to want things like that for yourself. My dad, whoever he is, was never part of my life, so I spent a night with a family friend until my grandparents could get to me, then they packed me up and took me with them. That was it.”

“That had to have been awful.” She reaches forward and squeezes my forearm.

“Worse on my grandparents. I think they blamed themselves for not coming to get me sooner, but I don’t. I was what kept her alive that long. In the end though, I wasn’t enough.” My voice breaks on the last word. I couldn’t save her, even though that’s all I wanted to do.

“Declan,” Jade whispers, and then comes to me, crushing the cards between us, wrapping her arms around my neck and basically sitting in my lap. “I’m so sorry. So sorry.”

She leans back and places her palms on either side of my face. “It wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?”

I nod because my throat is on fire. I do know it, but I can’t help but play the what-if game.

Her stare moves from my eyes to my lips. Heat swirls in my chest. I close the distance between us, kissing her like I’ve wanted to do for weeks. She gives back just as well, like maybe she’s been consumed with the same desire.

I gather her into my lap with an arm behind her back. Our tongues tangle together in a frantic exploration of the other. She feels so good. Tastes so good.

One of her hands drops to my chest and she uses it to push back. “Wait. Wait. We can’t.”

“I’m sorry.” Guilt washes over me. She’s trying to console me, and I’m taking advantage of her kindness. I lift her from my lap and stand. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s just—”

“I know.” I run a hand through my hair. “My brain knows, but the rest of me doesn’t give a shit. I like you. I think you like me. We’re attracted to one another. We’re married.”

“What if we give in and then you stop liking me? This isn’t a normal situation, where we can just walk away.”

Jesus, she’s already thinking about the end, and we haven’t even had a real beginning.

“I’m not walking away. No matter what. I already told you that.”

She bites the corner of her lip, and I can tell by her expression that there’s no convincing her that this ends any way but with us causing more of a mess. Maybe she’s right.

“I’m gonna go to bed,” I say.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“No. I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it.” I take a step out of the room, then turn to face her. “Night, Jade. I’ll see you in the morning.”