Balls: The Complete Players Collection (Sports Romance Box Set) Page 12

  Our journey here lulled Baylor into a near-slumber. He nods and takes a seat on the floor in front of the elevator. Joey tries to move him—in vain. Meanwhile, I go on ahead to our suite to make sure that Rachel isn’t there. After the Oscar-worthy performance she gave when she tried to convince Baylor that it was all a misunderstanding and that Desmond was actually a sexual predator, I don’t put anything past her.

  Just thinking about it is enough to turn my stomach and get me raging. So I opt out, scan the suite and all of its rooms, and then return to where I left Baylor and Joey. I flash an all-clear signal to her. Together, we haul Baylor to the room, tuck him into his bed, then tip toe out into the common area.

  “Wow.” Joey crashes into the couch. “What a roller-coaster of a day.”

  “God bless alcohol,” I say. “The night would have ended a whole lot differently if Baylor had to get through it sober. I see quite a few alcohol-soaked days in his future.”

  “I can’t believe he caught Rachel in the act. How the hell did you guys manage to do that?”

  “It’s a long story.” I yawn. “And who cares? Rejoice, the witch is gone.”

  “‘Witch?’” Joey air-quotes. “That has to be the single most adorable thing you’ve said all night.”

  I beam. “It’s the most generous word I can think.”

  “And then there was no wedding to be had.”

  “I wonder if the universe balances that out in some way?” I muse. “Okay, this is going to sound ridiculous, but what if there’s a certain number of weddings that are fated to happen. Think about that, okay? And then, now that Rachel and Baylor won’t be getting married, it causes some kind of huge imbalance to the fates.”

  Joey bursts out laughing. “How drunk are you?”

  “I’m not drunk, I’m happy,” I correct her. “And you? You seem to be holding your liquor pretty well. And here I thought you were a lightweight.”

  “So you think that it might mean a great tragedy for the world that Baylor and Rachel aren’t getting married? Explain this theory of yours to me, please.”

  “Not a great tragedy to the world. It’s not as apocalyptic as all that.” I stumble over the word apocalyptic. “Anyway, it’s more like, Vegas is owed one wedding that it’s not getting.”

  “Well, people decide to get married on a whim all the time.” Joey slides her shoes off. “I’m sure that Vegas will have no trouble reaching its, uh, quota.”

  A light bulb went off in my head.

  “Maybe you and I should get married,” I say.

  Joey gives me a bemused look. “Sure.”

  I stand up only to get on my knees in front of her. “I mean it. Marry me.”

  Joey’s eyes widen when she realizes I’m not joking. She starts to say something but stops herself before the words come out of her mouth.

  “Don’t leave a fella waiting on his knee. I beg you, fair maiden, to please say yes and make me the happiest man in the world.” I add a little hand flourish to make her laugh.

  But she doesn’t. “You’re serious? Because if you’re not, this isn’t funny. Not even the Baylor-like Renaissance speak can make something as serious as a proposal funny if it’s all a joke.”

  “Joey.” I kiss her hand. “I’m not joking.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “Joey, I am asking you to marry me because I want to be with you.” I pause. “So I’m going to ask you again. Joy-Lynn Torrence, will you marry me?”

  Joey starts to let her guard down. She breaks into another one of her dazzling smiles and vaguely shakes her head. “Oh, no, I wasn’t shaking my head!” She then jumps to her feet, pulls me up, and jumps in my arms to give me a kiss.

  “So is that a yes?” I ask.

  “That’s a hell yes,” she says.

  I sweep her off her feet—literally, I mean—and carry her toward the door.

  “Wait, where are you going?” Joey shimmies down from my arms.

  “To the chapel.” She stares at me. “You know, the place where they marry people?”

  “You want to get married right now?”

  “Don’t you?” I counter. “Or maybe we should exercise some restraint. You know, date for a couple of years. Move in together. Do that whole song and dance. And then we can come right back to this square we’re on now and get married.”

  Something about what I said speaks to her because after mulling it over for a couple of seconds, she jumps back into my arms, kisses me again, and says, “Fair gentleman, take me to the chapel and make an honest woman out of me!”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  JOEY

  “This is a real marriage license and a wedding in Vegas means a real marriage. Real.” The county clerk scrutinizes Kieran and me. His half-moon glasses perch low on his nose. It looks so campy and old-fashioned that I want to laugh. “Do you two lovebirds understand?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Kieran intones. “We do solemnly swear that we—”

  “Kier, I think the ‘yes’ will do.” The clerk fixates on me. “Uh, right, Your Majesty?” I giggle, trying to amp up the silliness the best I can so the clerk will think I’m at the very least tipsy too.

  And yes, I feel guilty for doing that. I don’t really know why I’m trying to create this specter of plausible deniability when Kieran insisted that he wants to get married—for realsies, to borrow from the clerk’s vernacular. I have this unshakable, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. It kinda reminds me of guilt, but I’m not sure.

  Especially because I don’t know what I have to be guilty about. I love him and I want to be with him. He loves me and he wants to be with me. So what if he drank a little? So what if he thinks I’m drunk too? When he wakes up tomorrow, my blood-alcohol level won’t make an ounce of difference, right?

  Plus, I did my due diligence. I prodded and probed his proposal a thousand different ways. He is adamant he wants to get married.

  And then there’s also the fact that an honest-to-God civil servant—a real clerk—saw us and deemed us fit to be married.

  I’m no princess. No big, expensive, fancy-pants wedding suits me fine.

  I go over it in my mind while we wait for the couples ahead of us in line—yes, there is a line—to say their vows and prance off into the sunset of marital bliss. The receptionist is a Dolly Parton impersonator, down to the triple-J or whatever bra size Dolly has, and she croons the names of both parties before the couples walk down the aisle. When the chapel doors open, I catch a glimpse of the Elvis impersonator. I’m impressed at the decent resemblance between the chapel worker and the real deal.

  “I know this is tacky,” Kieran whispers into my ear as he wraps his arm around me, “but I think it’s gonna make for one hell of a story.”

  I smile nervously. “Indeed!”

  He squeezes me tighter. “One hell of a story with one hell of a woman.”

  He sounds pretty lucid. He has to have sobered up at least a little bit by now, right?

  “You’re sweet,” I tell him.

  “Joy-Lynn Torrence and Kieran St. James,” Dolly Parton calls. “Do we have a Joy-Lynn and a Kieran with us?”

  Kieran’s arm shoots straight up, like we’re still in school and he’s teacher’s pet. It’s ridiculously endearing. He springs to his feet and gives me a hand to get up.

  “We’re here and we’re ready to get hitched!” Kieran announces.

  There’s a round of applause from the other couples—all of them clearly drunk off their ass, and some who were perfect strangers before tonight. Dolly Parton belts out our names and the wedding march begins.

  Before we enter the chapel, Kieran pauses. The music follows suit. The eyes of all of those present in the reception area—Dolly included—are on us.

  “Is there a problem, sweetheart?” she asks.

  “I just need a minute,” Kieran assures her.

  For a brief moment, I think he’s about to 86 the entire thing. Instead he fishes out a small box from his pocket.

  A
small, jewelry box.

  My field of vision narrows, blurring around the periphery. The only thing I can see is that small, delicate, velvet box. My lower lip starts trembling without me even realizing it at first. I wait with bated breath as Kieran opens it, revealing a pair of white-gold wedding bands.

  “Couldn’t forget about this now, could we?” He offers me a lazy smile, complete with his adorable dimples.

  I’m speechless as I watch him pass it to Dolly, who nods in mutual comprehension and then hands it off to an aide to give to Elvis.

  We walk down an aisle adorned with an old-timey Hollywood-style red carpet. There’s a disco ball attached to the ceiling and confetti scattered all over the floor. I take it all in as we proceed toward the altar, where Elvis awaits. He wears the signature white costume that Elvis is renowned for and dons these shades that can’t make it easy to, you know, see things indoors, but he leans his head down to take a good look at us as we approach.

  Ladies and gentlemen, Elvis is in the house… I think, using humor to try to ease my nerves.

  It doesn’t work too well.

  Next thing I know, we’re holding hands in front of Elvis. He clears his throat, regards us with an air of austerity that doesn’t seem befitting to his character, then starts performing his official duties and officiates the ceremony.

  It’s short and sweet and I think it’s supposed to be entertaining—Kieran bursts out laughing several times—but I can’t focus. Am I doing the right thing? That’s the question that’s front and center in my mind.

  Each and every time I start to waver, I only need to look at Kieran and how excited he seems. It wards off the crippling doubt for a few seconds, anyway.

  And then it’s time for the vows, so, you know, the do-or-die moment.

  Elvis produces the rings from some inside pocket of his costume. He gives the one that’s meant for me to Kieran and Kieran’s to me. The metal band is heavier than I expect, and so is my reaction to having it in my possession. It’s another real, concrete reminder this is happening.

  Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

  “Do you, Kieran St. James, take Joy-Lynn Torrence as your lawfully wedded wife?” Elvis asks.

  Kieran takes my hand in his. He looks deep into my eyes before declaring, “Yes. I do.”

  He gently slides the ring on my finger. The light in the chapel catches on its metal surface, bouncing off to create a truly breathtaking luster.

  My breath catches.

  “And do you, Joy-Lynn Torrence, take Kieran St. James as your lawfully wedded husband?” Elvis asks.

  I look at the officiant. At the ring that will soon be on Kieran’s finger. Then, finally, at Kieran himself.

  In that very moment, I feel light as air, like there’s no rocking my resolve. It’s the easiest question in the world to answer. “Yes, I do.”

  And then I, too, seal my vow by putting the ring on Kieran.

  Our hands lace together. United as one.

  Elvis turns to Kieran. “You may now kiss the bride.”

  Holy shit, I’m a bride.

  And yes, I’m well aware of how ridiculous my mental processes are at the moment, but it’s all so much. So much unexpected excitement, so much newness, so much that’s... bizarre.

  But the crazy thing is, I can get behind this.

  That much is clear to me when Kieran leans in to kiss me. I taste a faint trace of alcohol in his mouth, but it’s so miniscule I’m convinced that all is well.

  With all the mental hurdles out of the way, I really lean into the kiss.

  With my husband.

  Holy shit-balls, Kieran St. James is my husband.

  My hands creep up around him, tangling in the soft tufts of his hair. I pull him deeper, allowing my tongue to—

  The lights dim all around us.

  Pop! Pop! Pop!

  Kieran and I pull away just as confetti swirls around us, coming in from everywhere at once. The disco ball spins overhead, producing pretty, dancing lights projected on the walls that surround us. One single, glaring spotlight falls on Elvis as he starts serenading us while gyrating his hips. I don’t recognize the song he’s performing, but it’s festive and upbeat.

  All in all, I feel like I’m in a flash mob during Mardi Gras.

  Laughter spills out of me and tears swell in my eyes. I look at Kieran and discover that he’s just watching me, his hands resting on my waist.

  “You’re right,” I whisper in his ear. “This is one hell of a story.”

  *

  We hail a cab back to the hotel and race to the elevator. It feels stupid to say this given I’m twenty-two, but I feel like a teenager sneaking around with the love of their life. Kieran twirls me in the air during the elevator ride up, showering me with kisses.

  I can get used to this.

  We pause the ongoing celebrations as we enter the suite, just in case Baylor somehow magically was able to purge all the alcohol from his body in order to get out of bed. Thankfully, he’s still snoring so loud we can hear him through the door. We tip toe into my room and then both of us look at each other and fall over giggling.

  It’s such a rush. I’ve always been fiercely devoted and single-minded in my pursuits, but I’ve never been so… Spontaneous. Despite not having had so much as a sip of any cocktails or beer, I have a buzz on.

  No self-doubt. No doubt at all, actually.

  In this little bubble of ours, I feel happy and free.

  Secure.

  Wanted.

  Loved.

  After we’ve recovered from our fit of laughter, Kieran pins me against the wall and kisses me like he means it.

  Just like that, my entire body starts burning with need. His knee drives a wedge between my legs. He presses his thigh against my pussy and I grind against him, purring softly from the explosion of pleasure that ripples through me.

  My hand finds his cock, grabbing it over his jeans.

  I hesitate.

  “Kieran,” I say.

  He starts kissing my neck, reaching all the way to the soft skin under my ear. I struggle to concentrate, my eyes fluttering shut. I want to turn my brain off and just be. Just take this night at face value.

  But something is stopping me, and I can’t put a finger on what it is.

  I put my hands on his chest and gently push him away.

  “Kieran,” I say again. “Wait a second.”

  His eyes snap open and he stares back at me, his expression rife with concern. “What’s wrong, Joey?”

  “I…” I take a deep breath, and I find that I need it. “Give me a second.”

  I motion for him to give me some air. He takes a step back, his eyes never leaving my face. I offer him a weak smile and then walk past him and sit on the bed. I fold my hands together. My gaze is fixed on the floor as I try to gather my thoughts.

  Everything is happening so fast. A little part of me wants our first night as husband and wife to be… I don’t know. Is it crazy that I want to wait until the cold, sobering light of day to make sure that this is really it? That this is real? To see how he’ll react when the dust settles just a tad?

  I realize my biggest fear is that he’ll wake up and regret marrying me.

  Kieran takes a seat next to me. Slowly and carefully, he places a hand on my forearm.

  “Hey,” he says tenderly. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I shake my head. “Nothing. I just needed a moment to…”

  “To what?”

  “This.” I gesture at the room—nothing in particular. “I can’t believe tonight happened.”

  Kieran flashes a devastatingly beautiful smile. A smile I think only exists for me. “It’s pretty incredible.”

  He leans in, like we’re in slow motion. Parts his lips. Cups my head with his other hand, the one that’s not on my lap. Brings his mouth to mine, planting a kiss that’s light as a butterfly on my lips. Tingles cascade down my spine. I pull him closer, and it’s like I’m communicating with him al
l the things I can’t put into words.

  Crazy as it sounds, I feel like Kieran gets it.

  He’s letting me set the pace, I can tell.

  This is the turning point. I can’t fight my need or my feelings anymore, so I decide to give in. To offer myself to him completely.

  I kiss Kieran harder. I swing one leg over him, straddle him. He embraces me tightly, kissing me with a sudden burst of urgency. I arch my back, pushing my breasts against him. He grabs my ass with both of his hands and grinds against me, his erection perfectly in line with my sex.

  In a feverish haze, Kieran hikes my skirt up. He slips a couple of fingers under my panties and rubs my clit. I reach down and pull the fabric to the side, exposing my throbbing, wet crotch completely. Kieran’s pupils are dilated, his eyes like saucers, as he trails his fingers along my slit.

  Without warning, he slides three bunched fingers inside me.

  I gasp. He thrusts, his rhythm hard and fast. My body shakes and for a few instants, my vision blurs from a surge of pleasure that overpowers me.

  “Fuck me,” I whisper. “Now.”

  Kieran pulls his fingers out. I hear a muffled tear and realize he’s ripped my panties off.

  It gets me even wetter.

  I raise my hips to give Kieran room to get his pants open. While he unzips, I get off my knees and steady myself on my feet, each firmly placed to either side of Kieran. Just as he pulls his jeans and boxers down, freeing his cock, I lower myself, grabbing on to his shoulders for support, and halt when I’m a breath away from his cock.

  “Fuck, Joey.” Kieran moans. He angles his hips up, but I distance myself a little bit more. Always just a hair out of reach. “I want you.”

  All of a sudden, I push down, taking him inside me all at once. It’s a startlingly tight, delicious fit.

  Kieran lets out a low, guttural moan.

  I use my feet to propel myself up again, stopping when only the tip of his cock is inside me.

  I clamp down again.

  Over.

  And over.

  Kieran stops breathing, watching, awestruck, as I bounce on his dick. I go faster, the walls of my pussy pulsing, squeezing and gripping out of control.

  Kieran’s hands lock on my hips and he immobilizes me as he pounds into me with short, rough thrusts that leave me raw and wanting.