Page 34 of Holding Penalty

For years, I thought of Nash as a jerk who only cares about hockey. But he’s gone way out of his way to help me. He’s about to fake marry me so I get my inheritance. He got an apartment and a job for a single mother in dire straits. I wonder if there are other nice things Nash has done that no one else knows about, other than him and the people he’s helped.

Maybe my soon-to-be husband is a pretty good guy.

A smile spreads across my face. Nash’s face colors a deep shade of rose when he sees the way I’m looking at him. Is Nash one of those people who gets embarrassed when others hear of him doing good deeds?

I catch up to him, playfully knocking my shoulder against his arm when I pass.

“Come on, Nash. Let’s get married.”

15

PIPER

If two weeks ago you told me I’d be married right now—well, I’d have believed you. It would’ve been really easy to believe you. It would have been harder to believe that I wouldn’t be married at this moment.

But I never would have been able to guess who my husband would be. Not if you gave me a thousand chances.

I’d have struck out on guessing where my reception took place, too. Not that you can really call this a reception.

The judge was in his office, and he agreed to marry us on the spot. Sally acted as our witness. When we had to admit we didn’t even have any rings with us, something that hadn’t crossed either of our minds, Sally found two toy rings in her desk that we used. Afterward, her shift was over, and she insisted we all go out for a celebratory drink.

Obviously, we didn’t let her in on the fact that this marriage is fake. We just told her we wanted a minimal ceremony with no guests and no attention. Surprisingly, both she and the judge bought it without question.

Then again, since they know Nash, maybe it’s not so surprising that they’d believe that.

But Sally said she couldn’t bear the thought of seeing “her second favorite person in Austin” get married without toasting to him just once. The tips of Nash’s ears turned pink at that comment, and I can’t deny that my heart swooned a little bit.

So the three of us took a walk to the very same bar Nash and I went to that night he picked me up in his truck last week.

I’ve been here in a thousand-dollar dress, and now I’m here in a white wedding gown. I’d wonder what the bartenders and regulars think of me, but in a place like this, they’ve probably seen it all and then some.

One thing I’m not wearing from early today, though, are my heels. Before pulling out of the Wendy’s parking lot to drive to the courthouse, Nash reached behind his seat and grabbed a box that he handed to me.

Inside were a new pair of New Balance sneakers. This time they were silver—the color I told him I’d have chosen for myself that night.

Sally sets her half-finished bottle of beer on the scratched wooden bar counter. “That’s enough for me. Max’s babysitter can’t stay any longer, so I gotta head home. My place is just a couple blocks away, so I’m walking.” She nudges Nash with a grateful smile. “That’s one benefit of having a hockey star pay a year’s rent upfront on a downtown apartment you’d never be able to afford yourself.”

Nash tries to hide his blush by tipping his head back to take a long pull of his drink.

I give Sally a hug goodbye. She forces a goodbye hug on Nash, too, and I laugh when she once again squeezes the wind out of him.

When I find myself alone on a barstool next to my new husband, the surreality of the situation has me at a rare loss for words for a stretch of time.

Surprisingly, Nash breaks the silence. “Should we come here in six months to celebrate our divorce, too?”

I laugh, caught off guard by Nash making a joke. “I guess this kind of is our place, huh?”

Something hard to read tips into Nash’s eyes. Something soft, almost tender, and seeing it makes my chest feel warm. He shakes it off in no time, though.

“Gotta use the bathroom,” he says after chugging the rest of his beer. “Then let’s go somewhere and actually talk about the logistics of this thing.”

“The logistics of this thing,” I repeat with a chuckle, shaking my head. “You’re a real sweet talker on your honeymoon, Nash.”

He rolls his eyes. Just this one time, I don’t even try not to rest my gaze on his firm ass as he strides to the bathroom in his well-fitting black denim. I don’t reproach myself for it, either. Call it a little wedding gift to myself.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been that bad if the judge hadn’t forgotten to tell him he can kiss me after pronouncing us husband and wife.

I stand up from my stool to stretch. Maybe it’s from the stress of the day, but my back and shoulders are so tense. I take a step back so I have room to reach my hands over my head, but I feel myself step on someone’s foot and knock into their chest.