Offside Bride (Toronto Titans #2)

1. Maggie

1

MAGGIE

H ot guys can get away with just about anything. It’s science. Look it up.

They’ll use their good looks to lure you in, like whatever the male version of a siren is, and then layer on the charm to get what they want. And when an attractive man treats you like yesterday’s garbage? It’s fine! He’s gorgeous, after all. No accountability.

They can’t help it, really. Women throw themselves at them, which just goes to their sexy heads. Smart women, too. Boss ladies with actual PhDs turn to blushing idiots when a McDreamy winks at them.

I don’t have a PhD, but I consider myself a smart woman. Okay, maybe not science smart, but I am street smart. I’ve never fallen prey to a hot set of biceps and pretty eyes in my life.

Until Sawyer.

Which is part of the reason I find myself standing in front of a judge (who might have been paid off), exchanging vows with the playboy of hockey himself. Sawyer Bonecrusher O’Malley.

Heart crusher is more accurate.

I blame myself…for not resisting even though I knew what he was. For entertaining my fluttery heart when he touched me. For giving in to a meaningless hookup in the store room at my best friend Emily’s wedding. For letting him lift me so high, the fall was stupidly far.

Ridiculously, stupidly far.

When I look back, the signs were there. He told me he was bad news. His hands were all over me at the time, but he did tell me. He’d literally said, “I’m bad for you, Magpie. So bad.” All while nibbling on my neck.

I was too addled with desire to listen. And then, as if I’d spooked him, he dipped. Before dancing. Before cake.

Who leaves a wedding before cake?

There is no cake today at my own wedding. But you better believe I’m going to serve this man a big serving of humble pie before this sham of a marriage is over. Because after he ghosted me, pretending he wasn’t totally into me that day, I didn’t let myself shed one sweet tear over him.

I won’t allow it.

Puck boys like Sawyer aren’t worth my time. I’m a survivor. No. I’m a badass queen! And now, I will make him rue the day he ever made me feel like less.

He’s staring at me now. Face like a stone wall. No expression other than, perhaps, wishing he were doing anything but marrying me. The feeling is mutual, bud. His eyes narrow just a little bit as he presses his lips together so hard, he might wrinkle that utterly handsome face. He exhales fiercely through his nostrils. He’s an angry bull at a rodeo.

I narrow my eyes and stare back at him. Go ahead , I think to myself. Try me.

Someone to my left clears his throat, and I realize the judge is waiting expectantly for me to answer his question.

“Do you take Sawyer O’Malley to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Sawyer already said, “I do.” I suppose that’s why his face is so twisty. Bad smell twisty. Sour milk in his coffee twisty. Marrying me is such a hardship. He can’t even.

I grit my teeth and scowl at Sawyer, reluctantly repeating the vow. I should actually throw my non-existent bouquet at him and run out the door. But something I can’t explain is holding my feet to the floor, making sure I go through with this asinine charade.

“I do.”

There. I did it. That was only moderately painful, considering I don’t mean a word of it. Also, my emotions are a little numb, to be honest. Scorn will do that to a person.

If the judge senses any of this animosity, he doesn’t show it, and continues on. “Then join hands and make these vows by repeating after me.”

Sawyer turns his scowl in the judge’s direction. “Can we skip that part?”

“Uh…skip it?”

“We both said the ‘I do’ bit. Can we just finish please?”

The judge adjusts his collar under the gaze of a hockey player towering almost a foot over him. “Oh, okay. Of course. Do you have rings?”

Sawyer looks to Owen, my best friend Emily’s husband and Sawyer’s teammate on the hockey team. Emily and Owen are witnesses today, along with Sawyer’s other Toronto Titans teammates Hendrix, who’s holding back his laughter, and Griffin, who’s about eighty percent responsible for this whole debacle (more on that later).

Owen hands a ring to Sawyer, who then takes my left hand and slips it on my finger at the judge’s instruction.

His voice is so low, I can hardly hear him as he mumbles, “With this ring, I thee wed.”

I don’t know how he’s going to sell this marriage for a whole year if he can’t even be bothered to speak up.

I want to roll my eyes so hard right now. But I resist and take the other ring Owen has in his outstretched hand.

Sawyer sucks in a breath as I take his left hand in mine. It’s so warm and incredibly heavy. Sturdy and strong. Sawyer has worker’s hands, as if he’s spent his summers laboring in the fields, harvesting stuff from the land. Building fences. Tilling soil. And maybe milking cows, I dunno.

Thoughts of those same hands hot on my skin race through my mind. How his large palms pressed against me—thumb to fingertip, stretched across my entire back, covering every inch. How his other hand squeezed my soft parts like I was a ball of sourdough begging to be buttered up.

Well, maybe I was begging just a little in the heat of the moment. I can’t remember. I can only remember his hot whiskey breath and the deep rumble of appreciation when he kissed me. It purred from his chest like the motor of a race car. I could feel it down to my toes. Sometimes, when I lie in bed at night, I still feel it. Then I take my pillow, and punch it repeatedly, pretending it’s his face.

This ring in my hand is a giant metal shackle—its weight evident as I let it linger at the tip of Sawyer’s finger.

Why did I ever agree to this? Am I that desperate? Yes, I suppose I am. And that makes me so angry, I’m ready to bite someone.

With a sharp inhale, I say the words. “With this ring, I thee wed.” Then I shove the ring over his knuckle with all the pent-up rage and force I’m feeling right now. I may have broken skin.

He barely winces but there’s something in his eyes that seems to say, “Wanna spar with me, wife? Bring it on.”

Oh, husband of mine. You wait. I’m just getting started.