Page 37 of Lucky Puck

“You know what this means, right?” He lowers his voice so I can barely hear it, allowing no chance to be overheard. “Martino’s on board with your marriage, so you need to be on board with perpetuating the situation—at least for a while, say, until the end of the season.”

“What?” I lose my cool, and my voice comes out of the whisper. The director turns around and glares at me, then shouts at the crew for another take. I automatically find Brody in the crowd of celebrity athletes and crew on the set. He grins, his dimple showing for a flash, and my tummy butterflies flutter in unison like eyelashes on a flirt. Not helpful.

If he knew we were plotting how to perpetuate the demise of his bachelorhood, he wouldn’t be so… so… carefree.

“I don’t know⁠—”

“Yes, you do. You made this bed.” He pauses and sighs. “We’ll need time to figure out a palatable way to get you both out of this, without making him—and you—look crazy or worse.”

“Right. There’s that. This is a definite case of the truth being stranger than fiction.” We certainly can’t tell the truth without outing Tammi, and without her, we can’t explain the wedding bands without sounding like liars. People will automatically assume our Vegas wedding was all a planned hoax, a publicity stunt. Martino already suspects as much.

We can’t tell the truth or even laugh it off… Oh, it was all a joke. No biggie. We thought it would be a hoot to get wedding bands and pretend we’re married. Fun, right? Haha.

No one would believe it was an innocent accident. There would be cynical suspicion about our motives and all kinds of wild speculation. Everyone loves a conspiracy theory these days.

My credibility would be down the toilet.

“I’ll talk to you when you get back.” He ends the call, and I nod and smile like everything is fine while all the butterflies in my gut sink like lead.

Brody returns to the shoot, and they finish up after a quick round of congratulations from his commercial co-stars. Sabien keeps me company, picking up my slack in the conversation with the animated Carlotta and the pleased-as-shit Martino, while I try not to think of the implications of my predicament when we get back to Portsmouth.

It’s not long before the director calls out, “It’s a wrap.”

Without thinking about it, I find myself rushing to Brody’s side, bypassing several curious high-profile athletes, including a champion golfer, a super tall basketball MVP, and a Super Bowl MVP. Shit.

He raises a brow at me while everyone watches us with interest as if we’re filming a drama, possibly a tragedy. I’m glad the cameras aren’t running—or at least I don’t think they are. He wraps an arm around my shoulders, and we walk back towards Martino.

“Everything okay?” Brody asks in a murmur, his breath whispering against my skin, raising all kinds of excitement. “Martino looks happy.”

I whisper in a rush, trying to keep my body’s reaction to him under wraps, “He’s too excited about our Vegas marriage—I mean very excited. He loves all the publicity we’re getting, and Jett wants us to keep up the newlywed charade until the end of the season.” I take a breath and watch for his reaction.

Brody’s eyes go wide for a flicker, and then, as we approach Martino and Carlotta grinning at us like over-satisfied customers, he shrugs with that signature lady killer smile tugging at his lips.

Then he aims his movie star blue eyes at me, and my entire body heats up while a giant wave lets loose in my belly like I’m hosting a zoo of butterflies inside, and every one of them is fluttering their wings like ballerinas as he lowers his mouth to mine.

The room gives a collective gasp of oohs and aahs followed by murmurs as if they were guests at our wedding.

He kisses me long and slow, and if part of me is aware this is a performance, the rest of me doesn’t care as I sink into the marvel of his mouth seducing mine with heady pressure and heat, and the intimate exploration of his tongue nearly making me fall off my four-inch heels.

When he lets me go and the wave of dizziness passes, I collect myself. “We need to talk,” I say under my breath out of pure instinct in the name of self-preservation.

“There’s more?” There’s disbelief and humor in his voice, but whatever it was that I had to say evaporates from my head and Martino takes over.

“Great shoot, Brody.” Martino puts out his hand to shake his. “Much luck and happiness with your new bride. I think we’re all very happy how the excitement over your nuptials lined up with our promotion.”

“Thank you, sir. Now if you don’t mind⁠—”

Martino chuckles, “Not at all. Go have your honeymoon.” He winks at me, and I don’t need to be kicked in the pants with my cue to get out of here.

I take his arm and mutter something about being in touch with him and wave to Carlotta as she follows us to the door. Sabien, as always it seems, is ahead of us. We reach the exit of the hangar-sized studio into the hallway that’s blessedly empty if you don’t count some security personnel.

We lose Carlotta, and then I stop and lean against the wall as if I’m suddenly going to collapse.

“You okay? Don’t stop now. We need to get out of this crazy place before they discover we’re imposters.” He’s smiling, but I see a hint of realness about the statement and wonder.

“Don’t worry. You turned out to be quite the actor. You even had me convinced for a second that we’re married.”

He takes my arm, and we catch up to Sabien at the door to the outside. “You enjoyed that kiss, didn’t you?”