She shoved my shoulder. “Don’t be obtuse. You know what I mean.”

“She’s your best friend and you’re a good judge of character, what’s not to like?”

“Nothing. She’s sweet and perfect.”

She lingered on perfect, and I shook my head. “Please tell me you didn’t set all this up, fly her out here just to have this night happen.”

“No, of course not.”

She spoke way too fast and gave me wide eyes.

My sister was the top five worst liars on the planet. But dear God. She had to be kidding me.

“Heather.”

Heather shrugged, looked out to the dance floor where Emmersyn was dancing with Gabby and holding one of Garrett’s boys on her hips, holding his little hand and laughing her head off.

“I mean, it wasn’t when I sent her here. That was just me panicking, but after I had some time to settle down and think about it…”

“Are you sitting here telling me you are actually trying to set me up with your best friend?”

She gave me a sassy grin. “It worked, didn’t it? You’re married to her now.” I opened my mouth to tell her this was all fake, that we’d end it in a year, just like Emmersyn and I agreed to, but she pushed to her feet, wincing as she did. “And don’t get me all of this, this is fake crap, I know you, and any marriage would mean way too much for you to not at least give it your best effort.”

She hobbled off, leaving me reeling.

My fucking sister had just trapped me into a marriage.

And the bitch of it was—she wasn’t that wrong.

My alarm went off at eight, hours later than I normally get up to start doing day after post-game stretching, but after the late night, I figured my body would need the rest.

A groan slipped from me as I rolled over and hit the blaring app on my phone, only to have it more quietly followed with the sound of laughter.

I shoved the heels of my palms into my eyes and laid back in bed, groaning for a reason that had nothing to do with the soreness in my thighs and calves.

Last night, Heather declared she was staying at my house until she flew home.

Normally, not a problem, but I’d wanted time to talk to Emmersyn, take her pulse after the kiss, the wedding, and waiting for the downfall of what was sure to be a shitty day for her.

Instead, Heather had all but kidnapped her as soon as we got home, and she took charge of Emmersyn, ushering her up to the guest room.

I’d stayed downstairs, gripping my keys in my fist. I wanted to go there now, throw my sister out of there but found the strength not to be a dick.

None of this was real, despite Heather’s plotting and feeling pretty damn good about herself for it, too.

Whatever.

I’d catch up with Emmersyn eventually, but a hot shower and some stretching was currently more important. Pre-season sucked. It was good for the team, finalize lines and who’d play where and with who. It was good to test the mettle of new players or new additions to the team like Bromann, but it was hell on our bodies. After not playing daily for months, getting back into the groove always took a few weeks to settle, for our bodies to remember they were trained for this.