Playing House: A Small Town Brother’s Best Friend Romance (The Playboys of Sin Valley Book 1)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  I try to roll over but my thigh muscles shriek with pain and my core aches deliciously. I’m so sore. I peel an eyelid half-open and squint against the afternoon sunlight flooding the room through the wide open curtains.

  Fuck, the entire honeymoon suite is a mess.

  Across the room, I can see a pair of male loafers kicked off in the middle of the bed. The minibar is wide open and candy bar wrappers litter the floor. There’s a tie hanging from the top of the door to the ensuite bathroom and a tipped over champagne bottle on the dresser.

  Random memory droplets drip into my brain like a leaky faucet—drip, drip, drip—dissipating before I can make sense of any one in particular. I feel a warm body next to me, radiating heat and a familiar, manly cologne fills the air. I try to lift my head again.

  More pain. So much pain.

  I take another shot at feeling around for a blanket. But this time, my searching hand lands on hard, warm skin. A penis, to be precise. A thick, long, fully-erect penis.

  Well, that wakes me the heck up.

  On a pained groan, I sit upright and my brain totters around in my head like cargo on a ship caught in a hurricane.

  But when I glance at the long, muscular body stretched out on the carpet of the honeymoon suite, I realize that it’s not my supposed groom at all. I blink again and again and again because what I’m seeing right now makes zero sense.

  The butt naked, muscle-cut body lying next to me—starfish style—does not in fact belong to Rocky Pfeiffer.

  That leaky faucet of memories starts dripping again.

  Me, standing on the courthouse steps, humiliated at the realization that my groom was never going to show up.

  Drip.

  My girlfriends doing tequila shots at the club, trying to cheer me up.

  Drip.

  Jace reluctantly sipping a blue cocktail from a fishbowl through a ridiculous umbrella straw.

  Drip. Drip. Motherfucking drip.

  Oh shit.

  Jace squirms in his sleep and a satisfied grin spreads across his face. Then, his heavy palm covers my hand and squeezes. He moans.

  That’s when I realize that I’m still holding his dick.

  Horrified, I wiggle my arm around, struggling to pull it back but the man has one heck of a grip.

  My panicked movements startle him. With a jolt, his eyes pop open. His chocolate gaze hooks with mine before falling to his crotch where I—we—are fondling his dick.

  “Fuck! Sera!” He leaps backward and bangs his shoulder on the bedside table. He flinches and rubs the wound.

  “Oh, my god, Jace. Oh my god!” I’m sitting on my ass now, one arm banded over my bare chest as I hurriedly scoot across the carpet to where my wedding dress lies in a pile on the floor.

  Rug burn, oh, rug burn. Hello, old buddy, old pal.

  He rises to his feet. He spins around, looking for his clothes and his foot-long cock nearly swipes the lamp off the night table.

  Okay, okay, that’s an exaggeration. But, his ‘thing’ is huge. And I’m not even wearing my glasses.

  I always assumed that Jason Bellino was…well-endowed. But I was not prepared for this level of ‘well-endowededness’.

  Momentarily, I forget about my own state of undress and just gape at it.

  “Sorry…” Jace mutters with a sleepy smirk and clasps both massive hands over his crotch. That barely resolves the issue since them man is hung like some part-human, part-equine creature you’d read about in Greek mythology.

  My pussy clenches, and—ouch!—it feels like it got pulverized all night by a wild and disorderly sex bulldozer.

  Sera—stop ogling the man’s junk. Much more important issues at hand.

  Jace snaps his underwear off of the headboard and turns away to conceal his destructive-looking boner. After quickly scoping out his toned back and tight ass, I take the opportunity to shimmy into my crusty-looking wedding dress.

  My attention catches on something across the room. Forget sexy, one-night stand thongs. That’s my hideous faux Spanx hanging from the lampshade. Jace must have been a real trooper last night because it takes manpower and determination to peel a woman out of those things.

  When Jace spins back to face me, his gaze glides up from the tips of my toes to the peaks of my rockhard nipples straining against my dress. Guilt sweeps across his features when his eyes land on my face.

  He clears his throat. “Uh, sorry.” He’s gonna need to stop apologizing because it’s not helping a thing.

  His erection is in an epic battle against the crotch of his white boxer-briefs. He strokes a hand down the length of it. Not in a pervy way. More in a trying-to-tame-the-wild-beast way.

  But back to freaking the fuck out. “Oh my god, Jace. I think…I think we had sex last night!” I semi-shriek, my hands clutching my chest, trying to get my erratic heart to slow down.

  He flinches again and fumbles with his words. “Well, um…actually…we did a lot more than just sex last night.” With his chin, he motions to my hands while he bends down to peel an empty condom wrapper from the bottom of his foot.

  Adrenaline shoots from my kidneys straight up into my head when I lift my left hand and gape at the cubic zirconia-crusted band parked on my ring finger.

  That’s when the whole night comes back to me as a tsunami of stupid stupid memories crashing ashore.

  Me, slamming my mouth to Jace’s. Him pushing me up against a marble column in the marriage license department lobby. Clutching my face in his hands. Grinding on me right there as the marriage license lady looked on from her desk in absolute shock.

  Crash.

  Us, laughing our drunk asses off. Running arm in arm down the stairs of the Sin Valley marriage license department. Jace gripping our brand spankin’ new marriage license in one hand as we burst into the Kissy Kissy Bang Bang Wedding Chapel around the corner.

  Crash.

  My new husband grabbing me by the hips. Flinging me onto a hotel bed. Crawling over me with the filthiest smile on his lips.

  And then…

  I slap both hands over my mouth to hold back a horrified scream.

  Christ on a cracker. Jesus on a jellybean. What the hell have we done?!

  From across the room, Jace squints at me. At my wedding ring. “Shit…”

  As if the throbbing pain in my head, the achy pulse between my thighs and the blistering rug burn on my ass weren’t enough…

  “Jace—did we…did we get married last night?”

  Six

  Jace

  “Yes. Yes,” I repeat impatiently into my phone. “She’s doing fine, okay?” I grab a block of mozzarella from the cheese compartment and the fridge door slams behind me.

  “And is she eating?”

  “Yes, she’s eating now.”

  “What’s she eating?”

  “What does it fucking matter what she’s eating?”

  Minka sighs heavily across the phone line. “What a woman eats speaks volumes about her state of mind. Is it power greens? Is it comfort food? Is it cookie dough? Jason—if Sera’s eating cookie dough, we’ve got a real problem on our hands.”

  Yes, we do indeed have a real problem on our hands. Literally. A problem in the form of that gaudy cubic zirconia wedding band sitting on Sera’s ring finger. Fuck.

  I scrub a hand down my face.

  My phone has been blowing up all day. I had ten missed calls and dozens of text messages to respond to when I woke up in a hungover stupor next to Sera on the floor of her honeymoon suite. Now, two hours later, we’ve checked out of the hotel and driven across town to my condo and I’m still fielding anxious phone calls.

  First it was her mother and her sister. Then, the girls from her office on a group video call. After that, I had to respond to the flurry of texts Wyatt sent from base. Now, Minka’s back at it, interrogating me like an FBI agent on assignment. I swear she won’t believe a single word I say unless I send her a lie detector, a urine sample and photographic evidence to back it up.


  I don’t want to deal with this right now. I need a second to wrap my head around the shitshow that last night turned into.

  No—I didn’t want Sera to marry Rocky.

  Yes—I showed up at the courthouse to wreck the wedding.

  But, holy shit—I never intended on becoming the groom!

  So now, I’ve got to go sit with her, have a conversation about what we did and what it means and what the hell we’re going to do about it. But these phone calls have been keeping me from getting a minute alone with my wife.

  Oh my god. My wife!!!

  I slice off a chunk of mozzarella and stuff it into my face.

  Cheese usually makes everything better. But today, it isn’t doing the trick. That’s how I know I messed up. Big time.

  “She’s eating the pizza I ordered, so I don’t think your theory has legs, Minka.” I uncap a bottle of sparkling water and pour the fizzy contents into a tall glass.

  It’s a miracle that I managed to order takeout in between answering a million and one questions from Sera’s people. When the food arrived, I set her up in the bedroom with the whole box of pizza and the TV remote.

  On the off-chance that Minka’s theory is right, I’d bet nothing says I’m trying to forget that I accidentally drunk-married some horny idiot hours after getting jilted at the altar like eating your weight in greasy food and watching Sex and the City re-runs while lounging in your accidental husband’s bed.

  Fuck—I’m Sera’s husband!!! Excuse me while I freak the fuck out!

  I can tell Minka doesn’t like my answer, but that’s just too fucking bad. We’ll be on the phone arguing all day if I don’t put an end to this.

  Minka has the best of intentions but she’s just a bit…much sometimes and right now, I’d rather not deal with her. That’s more up Declan’s alley. I think the constant bickering is foreplay for them or something.

  I’m getting a crick in my neck from holding my phone between my shoulder and my cheek. “Look—I’m a grown man, and I know what Sera needs. I don’t need you calling me every ten minutes to make sure your bestie is fed, wearing socks, or has her phone charged. I’ve got it under control!”

  “I’m just worried, Jace.” Minka speaks softly.

  “I understand that. And I’m telling you that Sera’s fine. If that changes, you’ll be the first to know.” My finger hovers over the red button. “Have a lovely day, Minka. Sera will call you when she’s ready.” I fling my phone onto a kitchen towel and bury my face in my palms.

  Leaning against the counter, I force air in and out of my cramped lungs, struggling to piece together the exact chain of events that led to me making the most spontaneous decision of my life.

  I remember that there was alcohol involved. A whole lot of alcohol. That weird blue aquarium thing Sera was drinking. Beer. Tequila shots.

  I remember her cackling gleefully as she fed her and Rocky’s marriage license through the paper shredder. I remember that kiss. Fuck yes—I remember that kiss. How could I forget? Because when I felt her lips and her tongue dancing with mine, my lust hip-checked my common sense out of the fucking way and grabbed control of my brain.

  I remember that freaking courthouse clerk joking around about us getting married. The woman had quipped that, with as much chemistry as me and Sera had, it’d be a crime for us not to tie the knot. We took her literally. Because minutes later, we were standing under the floral arch of the Kissy Kissy Bang Bang Wedding Chapel, exchanging ‘I do’s.

  Then we were in a hotel room and there was sex. So much sex.

  An explicit memory zaps into my head. Sera sweaty and naked and riding me hard. Her luscious tits bouncing with each thrust. My hands kneading her supple ass.

  I don’t remember very much after that. I’m not sure if that’s because of the alcohol or if my brain just shut down to protect me from the shame of how much of an idiot I was being in that moment.

  Fuck. I married Sera.

  I’m such a spontaneous asshole.

  Yesterday afternoon, I stomped up those courthouse steps prepared to do just about anything to keep her from marrying the wrong man. But I never intended that we’d end up freaking hitched to each other.

  This is more than I bargained for. This is crazy.

  Rocky left her hurting and vulnerable. I was supposed to make her feel better. Instead I only compounded her problems by drunkenly exchanging vows with her in a lust-fuelled, middle-of-the-night stupor. What kind of friend does that?!

  I hear Sera calling my name from my bedroom. Shit. I can’t hide out here in this kitchen trying to psychoanalyze my actions forever. I’ve gotta go face the music.

  “Coming!” I shout back. I swallow another piece of cheese for fortitude—and well, calcium—then I grab the glass of sparkling water and head off in that direction.

  I open the door and—dammit—the sight of Sera perched on my bed hits me in the chest. Hard enough to leave a dent. Her luscious legs curled under her while she’s swallowed up in one of my Paragon sweatshirts. Her adorable glasses perched on her dainty nose. Her messy hair and the faint smudges of makeup around her eyes. I can’t tear my gaze away.

  This is what she’d look like. If she were really my wife, this is what she’d wake up looking like after a long night of kissing her and touching her and making her feel good.

  Dude—shut up.

  I don’t want to be married. Hell no!

  That was just a spur of the moment mistake. All I wanted was to get Sera away from the loser she was about to sign her life away to. Rocky took care of that by bailing on his own wedding. I dodged a bullet. Sera’s free from Rocky. Now, everything can go back to normal.

  We can fix this marriage mistake and everything can go back to normal.

  I don’t want to be married.

  She looks up at me, her hair still pinned up in a fancy mess of curls and twists. “Can you help me?” She reaches up, her hand disappearing into the back of her hair. “These pins are starting to poke me, and I can’t see what goes where.”

  I clear my throat. “Yeah. Sure.” I put down her drink next to the pizza box on the dresser and lower onto the mattress behind her.

  Her body is small, warm, feminine. The close proximity between us probably isn’t a great idea. The woman smells like something I want to eat up with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side.

  I stare at the bite mark sitting at the base of her throat. I put that there. Knowing that makes me harder than the iceberg that took out the Titanic. The dainty curve of her neck makes my mouth water. I get flashbacks of the way the soft skin of her throat felt beneath my tongue last night.

  But I push all those thoughts away. I focus instead on the task of freeing her coffee brown hair from the army of little clips holding it captive in that messy rolled up hairdo.

  When I'm done pulling twenty thousand tiny clips from her dark waves, Sera turns to face me. “Thank you,” she says softly when I release a handful of bobby pins into her palm.

  I'm sitting face to face with this beautiful woman. That upturned nose and those hooded dark eyes, her bow-shaped lips looking plusher than a blowup mattress.

  How come I never noticed she was this pretty?

  Hell, who am I kidding?

  Of course I've always known Sera is stunning, but it's always been easier to pretend I didn't see her this way. Easier to pretend she was just one of the guys.

  Right up until I almost lost her. And I made the craziest decision of my life to keep her.

  A part of me is thinking that this is my shot with her. The other part is saying I’d be an asshole to make a move on her right now. What she needs in this moment is a friend. Not some perv trying to take advantage of the situation, knowing fully well he could never be the man she needs.

  “You okay?” I ask, carefully examining her face as I hand her the glass of sparkling water.

  She nods unconvincingly. “Yeah. You?”

  “Yeah. I’m good. I’m cool.” Aside from stress-eating mozzarella
and trying to come to grips with the fact that you’re my freaking wife!

  She looks at me, her bottom lip quivering. “I’m so sorry, Jace. You were only trying to help me last night…and I repaid you by ruining your whole life…”

  “What?! You did not ruin my life.”

  She drops her head and blinks, tears falling into her lap. “Be real. You’re saying you aren’t pissed? You’re saying you don’t regret the absolute shitshow we made? You’re saying you aren’t sorry we did it?” The questions come out as a challenge, dry and brittle with sarcasm. “All of this is my fault.”

  Am I sorry? I mean, honestly?

  There are a dozen socially-defined reasons for regret right now. I woke up drunk-married to my best friend’s freshly-jilted baby sister, after all. So yes, I guess there’s a bit of regret.

  But why is there a tiny part of me that’s alarmingly okay with the whole situation? Wow—I’m being an idiot!

  I grab her by the wrists and something sizzles in the air between us. I ignore it. I wait until she looks at me. “Sera, you were in a vulnerable spot. I should have been the responsible one. I feel like I took advantage of you.” I drop my head and shake it.

  “Don’t you say that! You did not take advantage of me.” Sera’s voice comes out with enough vehemence to make me snap my head up. “You don’t get to be deciding how I feel and don’t feel. It’s like everyone is expecting certain emotions from me right now, and it’s grating on my nerves.” She looks straight at me, her dark eyes narrow with conviction. “I’m not some victim here. On some, dumb, drunk level, I knew exactly what I was doing.”

  Wait—did Sera just…admit that she…wants me? Well, this is…unexpected.

  Seeming to realize what just happened, she blinks down to her lap. Her quiet voice breaks through the tension. “Look—I’m sorry, okay?”

  The rebellious voice in me shrieks, And I’m not, dammit. I gag that obnoxious thought. Wrap it in a tarp. Kick it over a fucking cliff. Never to be seen again. Bye.

  I lift her chin with my knuckles. “I don’t want you apologizing. You hear me?”