Anton is the only one who fell for it. He wears that sucker proudly now.

But I guess I can’t feel too smug about it anymore. I’m the only one in this room who accidentally tied the knot in Vegas.

Not that I’ll tell anyone. I don’t want to look like a dumbass.

And Charli would kill me.

* * *

When the video session ends, most of us head to the weight room. After a day spent in planes and cars, we need to move around.

So the room is crowded. I stretch, check my blood sugar and wait my turn on the bench press.

Castro refills his water bottle beside me. “Where did you go last night? I lost track of you after the clerk’s office.”

“Oh, here and there,” I mumble. I unwrap a granola bar and shove half of it into my mouth. “You?”

“We played some blackjack. It was awesome. Beacon won a grand. And Heidi Jo won three grand.”

“Of course she did.” Castro’s wife is a total shark.

“How’s the hangover?” Castro chuckles. “Musta been brutal if you missed the jet.”

“Yeah, brutal.”

“Who were you drinking with?” Castro glugs his water and waits for an answer. Why won’t he just let it go?

“Charli mostly,” I say with a shrug.

His eyes widen. “Oh yeah, I remember you guys drinking whiskey at dinner. You and Charli. She missed the plane too, right? Did you guys…?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“No way. No,” I say awkwardly. “It’s not like that with us.” He doesn’t have to know how close we came. Charli would hate to hear people gossiping about her, almost as much as she hated waking up next to me this morning.

Although, I didn’t hate that part at all. I don’t need the whiskey to want her, either. I’d do her drunk or sober, any time of day. I’ve always had the hots for Charli.

I thought there was no conceivable way she’d be attracted to me, though, so of course I never said anything. And now I have sketchy memories of tumbling into bed with her. Making out. Unzipping her dress…

“You okay, Drake?” Castro asks, poking me. “You seem a little dazed.”

“I’m fine,” I say quickly. “Long day, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, giving me a sideways glance. “I love Vegas, though. Totally worth it. Did you hit the casino at all?”

“Uh, nope.” I shake my head. “Not a fan of gambling.”

“You’re up, Castro!” the new guy calls, saving me from this conversation. The big defenseman—a recent trade from Chicago—trades places with Castro. “How’d you get home, Drake?” he asks, squeezing my shoulder. “Thought you’d miss the video session at least. Felt like a dick when I realized you weren’t on the plane.”

“No worries, Newguy,” I say quickly. His real name is Newgate. But of course, we don’t call him that. Not with the perfect nickname just dangling there in front of us. “It was easy enough for me to get a flight.”