Perfectly Wedded (Perfect Crush #1)

1. Sloan

ONE

Sloan

I wake to the most impossible dream. A strong hand wrapped around my waist, connected to an arm sculpted by years of working out, all roped tendons and chiseled ridges of muscle. Then another sensation: warmth, followed by the heady scent of cinnamon.

I know that smell. It’s my favorite scent in the world. Him.

I force my eyes open, struggling to remember last night. I went to the ice-skating gala before heading back to my hotel room. Someone was with me.

I blink against the dim light filtering through the curtains, and the reality hits—Vale is next to me. In my bed.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand, jolting me back to reality. I grab it quickly, trying not to wake him.

Jaz

What’s going on? Is Vale with you in Vegas?!

I glance at Vale, still asleep, his arm draped over me. My fingers fumble over the screen.

Sloan

He’s just helping me out, no big deal.

I try to wriggle out from under his grasp, but the weight of his arm keeps me pinned down, like he’s not letting me go. I blink, hoping I’m just imagining things.

Yep, still there.

I’ve landed a hockey player in my bed. And not just any hockey player—my good friend. Which means things just got seriously complicated.

Problem two? I can’t remember what happened last night. Ever since the car accident, my memory has gaps— a brief amnesia , my doctor calls it. I struggle to recall specifics until something triggers the memory like a landslide. But without that trigger, I’m left with nothing but what’s in front of me. And what’s in front of me is my very single friend who I’ve had a crush on since he started renting a room in the house I own with my sister.

A sliver of sunlight sneaks through the curtains of my swanky Vegas hotel room. Vale had insisted on separate rooms—he even paid for them—just to make sure I wouldn’t back out of the fancy skating gala. Since my car accident, Vale’s been my self-appointed bodyguard. He’s not just good-looking— Kevin Costner has nothing on him —but he also has stellar reflexes when I faint, which, unfortunately, happens more often than I’d like since the accident.

When I showed up with him at the gala, people couldn’t stop gawking at the hottest hockey player in the industry standing next to me. Too bad everything after that moment is a blank spot in my mind, like someone took a giant eraser and just wiped it clean.

When Vale wakes up, I can’t let on that I don’t know what happened between us. Maybe if I escape this hotel room and head back to the ballroom where the gala was held, something will trigger the memory.

Carefully, I inch toward the edge of the bed, sliding out from under him. The phone buzzes again, louder this time, and Vale stirs. I dive to silence it.

Jaz

Seriously? You never take him to your skating events. Vale rarely asks for time off this close to hockey season. Something’s up.

My mind spins, still foggy, and I wince as I trip over my stiletto on the floor. My memory’s a mess, and I wish I could say it was because I partied hard last night. But I didn’t even have a drop of alcohol.

So how in the hockey did we end up in the same bed?

I’d never risk crossing the line with my friend, no matter how long I have to carry this Olympic-sized torch for him. Telling Vale how I really feel would only jeopardize everything we have.

My gaze lands on his bare shoulders, so unfairly muscular and tanned, it’s a crying shame all that beauty goes to waste. Vale hasn’t dated anyone seriously since he moved to Sully’s Beach to play for the Carolina Crushers. We’ve been friends ever since, but he’s never shown an interest in being more than that, which is why I can’t let this little crush of mine ever become a “thing.” It’s too risky.

Sloan

Nothing’s up. Honestly, Jaz, my memory’s a little fuzzy this morning.

Jaz

What do you mean, fuzzy? Are you okay?

I sigh, guilt bubbling up.

Sloan

No, just the usual... you know, since the accident. I’ll fill you in later.

Jaz

Does Brax know Vale is in Vegas ?

My stomach knots. I forgot about problem three—Vale’s brother is my sister’s husband. This problem of mine has now become a family affair.

Sloan

How should I know? We’ll talk when I get home. Must get coffee first.

Jaz

I can’t wait that long!!!

My phone buzzes in my hand repeatedly. Jaz is trying to call me.

I grab my stilettos and sling them over my shoulder before glancing down at my black nightie. I can’t wear this out. But I also can’t stay and risk waking up Vale with the noise. And my sister’s in no mood to let me off the hook.

Besides, this is Vegas, and no one will bat an eye if I wear a nightgown like a dress. Anything goes in this town, and I mean anything .

I tiptoe across the suite, grabbing my wallet on the way out.

A sleepy voice breaks the silence. “Where are you going?”

I wheel around to face Vale, my face flaring with heat.

He’s sitting up in bed, the sharp outlines of his bare muscles reminding me that he’s more gorgeous than any man should be. His long waves are mussed up just enough to be sexy. Everything in me begs to crawl back into bed next to him, but if I did, I’d probably be electrocuted by all that hotness.

“I’m just heading out for a walk,” I say, linking my hands behind my back.

“In your nightgown?” he asks with a frown.

I’m so busted.

I glance down at my sleepwear and paste on a smile that feels as fake as the Vegas strip. “Couldn’t it pass for a dress?”

He looks it over, and something heats in his gaze before his eyes snap shut, like a wet blanket over a flame. “I can’t let you go out like that.”

“Vale, it’s Vegas. No one will bat an eye.” I motion at the door with my thumb. “I was grabbing coffee. You want some?”

“Let me make you a cup,” he says, springing out of bed toward the fancy coffeemaker.

For the first time, I see that he’s wearing clothes—joggers that show off his narrow waist and hips. I swear the man could look good in a plastic shopping bag. I let out a puff of air, relieved that he isn’t wearing less. Because if he were, I’d die right here on the spot.

I hold up my hand to stop him. “No offense, but I want a latte.”

“Then I’ll go with you,” he says.

“I was hoping to go alone.”

Vale’s lips tighten, but he doesn’t argue.

I hate letting him down, but right now, I need to leave and sort through my memory of last night. For some reason, Vale felt obligated to sleep next to me and I want to know why.

Because that’s what I am to him: an obligation. Nothing more.

He frowns, then nods. “Here. Take some money.” He plucks a twenty from his wallet and tosses it on the table.

“No, thank you,” I say firmly, spinning on my heel. “I can pay for my own.”

He catches my arm at the door, places the bill into my hand, and closes my fist around it.

“Sloan, take it,” he urges, then grabs his suit coat hanging from the back of a chair. His eyes graze across the strap of my nightgown before his face flicks to mine. “And my coat, to cover you up.” He slides it around my shoulders, his fingers grazing my skin like a hot match.

I let out a nervous laugh. “Why should I? It’s not like we’re on a date.”

He looks at me, puzzled. “You’re right. We’re not on a date. But I think I’m allowed to be a little protective. After all, I am your husband.”

My heart skips a beat. Did he just say husband? I wheel around, sure I misheard him. A panicky laugh escapes my lips, because this is hysterical. Vale and I couldn’t be married, because I would remember that .

“Wait—what did you say?” I stammer. “Because I thought I heard you say husband .”

He looks at me, dead serious. “I did. Which means I’m paying for my wife’s coffee.”

My wife.

The words knock the breath out of me as memories flood in from last night.

A bubblegum-pink Vegas chapel.

A kiss fumbled at the altar.

The memories slam into me as my stomach rolls.

I accidentally married my best friend last night.