Making His Play: Sister's Best Friend Hockey Romance

by Mari Carr

  Charley stood as well, glad once again that she hadn’t worn heels. Even in flats, the tequila had her swaying.

  Marcus gave her a hug, his own drunkenness lowering his inhibitions. “You look fucking hot, Charley. Damn, girl.”

  She laughed, glancing at Alex. She thought he’d be amused too, but his eyes had narrowed.

  Was he jealous?

  No way.

  He couldn’t be.

  “You wanna dance?” Marcus slurred.

  “She promised me the next one,” Alex answered for her.

  There was just enough malice in Alex’s tone to penetrate through Marcus’s alcohol-soaked brain, and hers.

  Shit.

  He was jealous.

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry ’bout that, man,” Marcus stammered. “Maybe I’ll catch up with you two later.”

  Marcus continued stumbling toward the dance floor, and she was about ninety-five percent sure that tomorrow he wasn’t even going to remember seeing them.

  “Marcus looks good,” she teased, pretending to ogle the other man’s butt.

  Alex leaned closer. “Stop looking.”

  Charley was pretty sure he meant those words as a serious warning, but his deep, sensuous tone paired with his hot breath against her cheek sent her thoughts to the raciest, kinkiest places on the planet, and suddenly she had an image of her bent over Alex’s lap, naked, as he spanked her with those big hands of his.

  So as far as threats went…that one failed.

  “Or?”

  Her gaze drifted to said hands, her face suddenly very hot and no doubt flushed.

  Alex’s eyes narrowed briefly and a slight grin crossed his face. “Hold that thought for later,” he whispered as they sat back down.

  She took another sip of water, though at this point, she could drink three gallons and it wouldn’t be enough to stave off tomorrow’s hangover.

  Alex’s hand slipped under the slit in her dress and he lightly caressed her knee.

  The touch vanished when someone bumped into their table, jarring it loudly.

  Ben stood across from them, shooting daggers at Alex. It looked like he wanted to say something, but Beverly was there in an instant, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the dance floor, giving Charley a look that could kill.

  “Open bar,” she murmured. “Two words that spell recipe for disaster.”

  Alex didn’t seem to hear her—or appreciate her joke.

  The jealous look was back.

  And damn if it didn’t turn her on.

  There was no way they were making it to dessert.

  He stood, reaching for her hand to pull her up too.

  “Is it later?” she asked.

  “Almost.”

  Charley noticed he swayed slightly, her first indication that he wasn’t unaffected by the tequila either.

  Of course, standing only drove home how wasted she was too.

  “I don’t wanna fuck dance anymore,” she said. “I just wanna fuck.”

  Alex chuckled. “That’s exactly what we’re gonna do. Later.”

  Again with the later.

  She had no idea what the hell he was planning and he didn’t bother to explain.

  Instead, he kept hold of her hand, dragging her out of the ballroom. They didn’t make it to the cake cutting, but she didn’t care.

  It was almost time for the fun stuff.

  Or at least she thought…

  Alex bypassed the elevators, heading for the front entrance of the hotel.

  “Hey,” she protested, trying to pull him back the other way.

  Alex paused just briefly, just long enough to face her, leaning down until his nose nearly touched hers. “Walk out of here with me on your own, sweetheart, or I’ll toss you over my shoulder and carry you out.”

  Charley blinked a few times, trying to make sense of his words.

  Unfortunately, he was using that caveman tone again that sent her mind straight to the gutter. “But my room is upstairs.”

  He smiled and gave her a quick kiss. “And we’re going to get there, believe me. But we need to do something else first.”

  “What?”

  “Get married.”

  Chapter Seven

  The stunned look on Charley’s face cracked Alex up. The entire night had been…well…fun.

  Every single second of it.

  Until the other guys began hovering around them.

  Then he started to see red.

  He’d come to the wedding, expecting to drown his sorrows, nurse his wounded pride.

  Not laughing his ass off.

  Not fingering his kid sister’s best friend in a bathroom until she came.

  Not dragging Charley Matthews to the altar because he couldn’t stand the way Marcus and Ben were looking at her.

  “But you don’t want to get married,” she said.

  “If we talk about it, it stops being impulsive and crazy.”

  As far as reasons went, that one was pretty lame.

  But Charley accepted it lock, stock, and barrel.

  For about two seconds.

  She resisted again, trying to pull her hand from his. “Alex.”

  He’d never considered marriage a part of his future, but he could see now that his world had never presented any appealing options.

  Most of the women he met fell in the barracuda range, not the…he stumbled for a moment, but the only other range he could think of was the Charley range.

  You fucked barracudas.

  You married, then fucked Charleys.

  The fact that made total sense seemed to justify his reasons for dragging her to the chapel even more.

  Jesus.

  He’d had way too much tequila.

  “Alex. Be sensible.”

  “No.”

  Alex pulled her to the curb. One of the valets came over to them.

  “Need a cab,” Alex explained.

  Charley was still shaking her head, but he couldn’t tell if that was a refusal or her attempt to shake some sense into her tequila-soaked brain.

  Either way, he managed to get her into a taxi before she could continue resisting.

  “Nearest wedding chapel,” Alex said to the driver, who grinned in the rearview mirror.

  “Nice,” the guy said.

  “Alex. You can’t be serious about this.”

  “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”

  And he hadn’t.

  The second he’d heard Charley talk about her dream wedding, he had this inexplicable feeling, this urge to be the one to give it to her.

  Of course, he hadn’t intended to act on it until she’d looked in Ben’s direction and Alex realized she was actually thinking about the fucker fondly.

  He didn’t like that look.

  Didn’t want her backsliding to the dick.

  Didn’t want her with anybody…but him.

  Alex wasn’t used to feeling jealous or possessive, but there was no way he could deny that was a big part of what prompted this trip through the city.

  After all, Charley had just wasted three years of her life with the wrong guy. Least he could do—as a friend—was give her the wedding of her dreams, give her a chance to live out the fantasy for one night.

  “So…what…this is just like a dare or something?”

  While Alex was feeling no pain, thanks to the liquor, Charley was even farther gone. She was really struggling to wrap her head around what they were doing.

  Which only played into the Vegas eloping cliché even more.

  Just when he thought the night couldn’t get any more perfect.

  He grinned. “We’re in Vegas, Charley. It’s an adventure. I’m giving you your dream wedding.”

  She rolled her eyes, swaying slightly in the seat as she did so. “It’s not just the damn wedding, Alex. You’re forgetting the important parts—the vows, the future, the forever.”

  She rattled off three of the most terrifying words in the history of language.

/>   And for the first time in his life, not one of them felt scary.

  He blew out a long breath as he tried to figure out what that meant.

  “Alex,” she prompted.

  “I’m not forgetting anything, Charley.”

  She frowned, chewing on that in silence until the cab slid to a halt in front of a small chapel.

  He was kind of chewing on it too. He’d really only thought this plan through until they wrapped up the honeymoon sex…hopefully in a week or three.

  After that…

  “Here we are. This one look okay?” the taxi driver asked.

  Alex glanced out at the small, quaint, rustic-looking chapel. “What do you think?” he asked Charley, who’d mentioned cheesy. This place didn’t seem to fit that bill. “Want Elvis instead?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “No. This is sort of perfect.”

  Alex paid the guy, then took Charley’s hand and led her inside.

  She’d become surprisingly complacent, but he wasn’t sure if that was because of the tequila or if he’d convinced her to treat the night like a fun adventure.

  Or…

  Those three words drifted through his mind again.

  Vows. Future. Forever.

  He brushed them aside for three more appropriate words.

  Adventure, lark, honeymoon sex.

  Wait.

  That was four.

  “Hello.” A perky, balding man in a cheap suit greeted them as they entered. “Welcome to the Chapel of…hey, you’re Alex Stone!”

  Alex smiled, used to being recognized. “You must be a hockey fan. My favorite kind of people.”

  “Well, I have to admit,” the man said, “I gotta remain true to my Knights, but you were unbelievable in that last…”

  Yep.

  That was about as far as most people got before they remembered he’d fucked up and lost his team the game.

  “Thanks. And I won’t hold your allegiance to the home team against you,” Alex joked, letting the guy off the hook.

  For the first time since getting knocked out of the Stanley Cup race, he didn’t want to crawl into the nearest bottle of whiskey to drink it all away.

  Probably because he’d already reached the bottom of the tequila bottle.

  The man grinned, then reached for a piece of paper and a pen. “You think I could get an autograph?”

  “Sure.” Alex signed his name on the paper, then tugged Charley, who was looking around the lobby and peering through double doors that led to a small chapel, closer to him, drawing her into the conversation. “Guess you know why we’re here.”

  The man smiled, his attention turning to Charley.

  No doubt he was curious to see what sort of woman had managed to drag Alex Stone to a Vegas wedding chapel.

  That same unfamiliar feeling of jealousy surfaced when the other man’s eyes widened appreciatively.

  Alex released Charley’s hand, opting instead to wrap his arm around her waist. It felt like a bigger claim.

  The man glanced back at him. “Of course, Mr. Stone. Do you have the marriage license?”

  Fuck.

  “Actually, we don’t.”

  “Forgot about the marriage license.” Charley wiggled out of his grip. “Sounds like we’re outta luck.” She shrugged it off good-naturedly. “Don’t worry. We gave spontaneity the college try.”

  Alex smiled at her, perfectly aware it was a wolfish look.

  Her eyes widened slightly.

  If there was one thing he’d learned during his time in the NHL, it was that money talked.

  “Mr.?” Alex prompted.

  “Davis. Peter Davis,” the man replied.

  “Mr. Davis. My girl, Charley, has her heart set on eloping in your fine city. I promise I can make it worth your while if you could find a way to help us get married tonight. Hockey tickets to the Knights opening game when the season kicks off again. Maybe front row, behind the goal? Or club seats?”

  “You could do that?”

  Alex nodded. “And, of course, I’m willing to pay for your extra efforts on our behalf. Substantially extra.”

  Mr. Davis fell silent for a moment, then said, “Let me make a few calls. In the meantime,” he turned toward an open door behind the counter. “Dolores,” he called out.

  An older woman emerged, her eyes lighting up in a way that felt very rehearsed when she saw them.

  “Mr. Stone and Charley…”

  “Matthews,” Alex supplied.

  “Ms. Matthews,” he continued, “have come to get married. I need to make a few phone calls. Perhaps you can see if they need anything else.” Mr. Davis looked back at Alex. “Like rings? Flowers? Pictures? Limo?”

  He nodded. “We need all that.”

  The man’s eyes lit up. “Very well.”

  Mr. Davis nodded at Dolores, who pulled a tray of wedding bands out of the glass cabinet, built into the counter, before he left the lobby, presumably to go to his office.

  “Now, dear,” Dolores said to Charley. “What size is your ring finger?”

  Charley glanced at him. “Is that something I should know?”

  He laughed, figuring his sister knew exactly what size every finger on her hand was. Bella was never without countless rings. Hell, she even had a couple she wore on her thumb.

  Alex lifted Charley’s hand, taking in her bare fingers.

  Not a single ring.

  He liked that.

  Meant the one he was about to put there would stand out.

  Studying the tray of rings, he pointed to a thick gold band. “That one’s pretty.”

  “That one’s expensive,” Charley murmured. “Maybe we should downsize considering…” She launched into pig Latin. “It’syay ustjay ayay okejay.”

  Their hockey team had perfected the use of pig Latin when they were all freshmen and sophomores in high school. Alex hadn’t used it since then, but damn if he couldn’t understand every word she’d just said.

  “I never skimp on my jokes. Oryay adventuresyay.” He pointed to the expensive one again. “It’s that one.”

  Dolores measured Charley’s finger, then found the appropriate size. “That’s a wonderful choice.”

  “And I’ll have that one,” he said, pointing to the tray again. “Size ten.”

  “You know your ring size?” Charley asked.

  “Yeah.”

  His resigned tone must have given him away, reminded her that he’d been pretty damn close to getting a Stanley Cup ring. Looked like he’d be using that finger for a different ring tonight.

  “Oops,” she said, giving him the most adorable, regretful grin.

  Dolores walked them through the photography packages, then set up a stretch limo—complete with champagne—to take them on a nighttime drive through the city before dropping them back off at the hotel.

  “Now then…the bouquet,” Dolores said. “We keep quite a few here. They’re fresh-cut flowers that are brought in daily. I have one with pink roses that’s absolutely beautiful.”

  Alex remembered Charley turning her nose up at the idea of carrying what she called “froufrou” flowers. She didn’t strike him as a roses kind of woman.

  “What’s your favorite flower?” he asked her.

  “Um…daisies?”

  “Are you asking me if that’s your favorite or telling me?”

  She shot him an annoyed look. “Daisies,” she repeated with more assurance.

  “You have any bouquets with daisies in them?”

  Dolores nodded. “Of course. If you don’t mind waiting here, I’ll get the rings and bouquet ready. Then, once Mr. Davis returns, we can begin.” She stepped through the back door.

  “Are we seriously doing th—” she started.

  Alex kissed her. A long, openmouthed one with a lot of tongue.

  Charley might not be all in on the wedding idea yet, but she was sure as fuck down with the kissing.

  He pulled away after a minute, reluctantly.

  Charley w
as a good kisser.

  “We’re getting married.”

  She sighed. “This is going to be a huge mess to fix come tomorrow.”

  “No. It won’t.”

  “Alex. If Mr. Davis gets that license, we will legally be married. That means we’ll have to legally undo it.”

  He shrugged. “I have a great lawyer.” Colm Collins, Padraig’s twin brother, was one of his closest friends. He didn’t doubt for a minute Colm could extract him from this…eventually.

  She laughed. “Jesus. Doesn’t that seem like a lot of hassle, not to mention money, to go through just for a night of impulsive fun.”

  “If that was what this was about, we wouldn’t be here.”

  Charley frowned. “Then what’s it about?” Before he could answer, Charley did. “This is because of Bella, isn’t it? Because of what she said about you never falling in love. Believe me, Alex, this isn’t going to change anything as far as—”

  “That’s not it either,” he interrupted, though in truth, he wasn’t sure that was entirely true.

  Until Bella called him out on it, it hadn’t really occurred to him that he’d been putting love into the same bucket as marriage, tossing them both aside.

  Then he realized what he’d felt the other night, coming home to an empty house, after the most devastating loss of his life.

  It hadn’t been depression.

  It had been loneliness.

  “Alex?” Charley waved her hand in front of his face. “How drunk are you?”

  He brushed off her question.

  He was very drunk, hence all the bullshit thoughts running through his head.

  Time to get the night back on track.

  “We’re here because of you.”

  “Me?”

  “I felt like shit when I got here, pretty sure the weekend was going to be more of the same. A bunch of people trying to commiserate with me, trying to make me feel better after blowing the game of a lifetime.”

  “Not to mention being forced to take your sister’s best friend to the reception…the ultimate pity date.”

  “Only person I pity is Ben. Fucker didn’t realize what he had, and now it’s too late for him.”

  She tried to brush off his compliment, something she’d been doing all night.