Now, it was my turn to sweat, and I wasn't even wearing a flannel.
A vision of Sloan straddling me on the bed slid right into my consciousness. That feeling of him inside me made my heart race and my core tingle.
Ack, I couldn't think about that. Not right now. This was crisis time, not the time for my brain to throw around steamy memories.
I focused on the post. A post that included congratulations and our full names. Oh, look… someone had tagged our accounts and the Denver Stallions football account.
Dear God, there were hashtags.
And this was Sloan Stevens, so people knew who he was.
I clicked over to my account and sucked in a huge breath. Huh, this was weird.
My follower count had more than quadrupled, and the numbers were going up by the second. The little singing-in-the-living-room videos I made for fun were spreading. The one from last night had reached first-level viral territory.
Bonus, social media land was actually being nice.
Who is this person and why doesn't she have a record deal?
Where's she been hiding?
Next year, she'll be singing at the Mega Bowl.
This could be… could it be? I mean, this could be that big break I'd been waiting on.
I glanced at Sloan.
Could I do this? Gah, no, I couldn't pimp myself out for a coupon code to fame. That was wrong.
Then again, the damage was done, and we could let this thing roll.
My longest marriage was to Dan, and it had lasted barely over two weeks before he served me with papers. Maybe if I broke that record, I could call it a win?
Grr, that wasn't how things worked.
Unless it was how they worked.
Carefully, Sloan clicked off his phone and set it down like it was made of dynamite. Then he lifted his gaze to me and time started up again. In a good way that I wouldn't think about at all.
"What if—" I had a great thought I was ready to pounce on. "You and I stay married."
The way his eyes widened with simple shock was worth the price of admission. "Huh?"
I nodded along with my thought process now that I'd climbed on board his crazy train. "Let's let it happen for a bit. After a few weeks of pretend relationship time, our breakup can devastate you. In the meantime, my social media presence will grow, and maybe I'll get that big break. I’ll finally be on the map. Nobody loses."
He shook his head, adamant. "Two weeks isn't long enough to prove my reliability or get you solidly pinned on that map. Why put a deadline on it? I mean, I think this could work for us. Long term."
Was he for real? A person didn't accidentally get married to a pro football player in Vegas and then stay married. Did they?
"Just think about it?" he asked. "No deadlines, just us making it work."
Perhaps Sloan was right and having him as my perpetual plus-one might save me a bunch of headaches. Future headaches because the current one was a hell of a doozy.
"If we're going to do this, then communication is absolutely key. We have to treat this as a partnership and say what needs to be said. Not worry if it might sound bad or hurt feelings. Don't you think?" I asked. "We just get it out there so we can deal with it. Whatever 'it' is."
"Agreed." He flashed a wide smile that I'd do nearly anything to see again. "The problem with every relationship I've ever been in has been that women don't straight-up say what they want from me. I have to guess, and I'm not a good guesser."
"Okay, so, first, that's incredibly sexist to group all women together like that. And second, you're in luck because I have no problem telling you what I want and what to do. I'm extremely efficient like that."
