Page 24 of Season's Schemings
“You have to swear on your life not to tell anyone.”
“What are we, twelve? Tell me, Slater.”
I cross my arms. “I need you to swear not to tell a soul.”
He rolls his eyes. “Fine, whatever.”
“Swear.” I sound like a broken record, but I’m not a complete dumbass. This could affect Maddie as badly as me if this got out. Worse, in fact. Because I’m pretty sure I’ve just had her commit a crime.
“I swear. Now, talk.”
“I got married.”
“You… got married?” Malachi repeats, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.
I have a sudden flash memory of a drunken Elvis grandly declaring this last night. And then, the look on Maddie’s face—her smile wide and lazy, her cheeks pink, her eyes at once slightly dazed and totally glittery. I remember feeling…excited.
I shake it off.
“Temporarily. So I can play. It’s a loophole, apparently. Spouses of American citizens can work while their marriage immigration paperwork is pending. We could stay married until that all cleared, then we could go back to moving on with our own lives.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.We?Do you hear yourself right now?”
I shake my head. “I know it sounds crazy.”
“Damn right it does! I mean, what you’re saying is that in the fourteen hours since I saw you after the game last night, you got benched, found someone willing to freaking MARRY you, and then ACTUALLY married them?”
“Yup.” I hold up my left hand, complete with a gold wedding band, as proof.
Mal’s mouth is still opening. Closing. “You are a madman. An actual madman.” He clears his throat. “And who, may I ask, is your madwoman bride?”
“Her name is Maddie.”
And she’s not a madwoman, I’m pretty sure. Despite her restroom-lurking tendencies and her very specific stalker knowledge, she’s… nice.
Funny.
Hot.
Not that I should be thinking like that. The last thing I need right now is to find my new wife—who looked strangely alluring in her bedsheet-toga wedding dress last night—attractive. Which is a very weird thought altogether.
“Please tell me you didn’t find her on Tinder.”
“No. You know her, actually. She’s Stefani’s new hire. The assistant nutritionist.”
An incredulous squawk of a laugh bubbles out of Mal’s mouth. Apparently at a total loss for words, he shakes his head at me.
“I know, I know.” I sigh. “And that’s why I’m here. I need your advice.”
“On what? Marriage counseling? Because I met my wife the normal way—i.e. I didn’t commit international fraud with a freaking Cyclone’s staff member—so I doubt I can assist you.”
“International fraud?” I wrinkle my brow. “Do you think that’s what it’s called?”
“Sebastian, I don’tknowthe actual term for it, because I amnotan expert on marriages that occur overnight. Mostly because THIS IS NOT SOMETHING NORMAL PEOPLE DO!”
“Okay. In my defense, I was drunk.” It’s a poor defense, at best, and I’m aware I must sound like an idiot right now.
“Oh, good Lord. Wasshedrunk?”