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“What?” Stella gapes at him.
“Fucking Owen,” I mutter.
It’s so like my brother to sign on to whatever he had to in order to save a buck. And to not even say anything to Stella about it.
Marco’s brows knit together in confusion. “Aren’t you Owen?”
Fuck. We haven’t even checked in and I’m already ruining this. The only other rooms available on this island this week aren’t oceanfront. Hell, I couldn’t even find one with a view of the beach. And the beach is what Stella wants.
“Yes.” I scramble for an explanation. “I sometimes refer to myself in third person. Like ...damn, Owen’s hungry, can he get a snack? You know?”
Stella forces a laugh. “You get used to it after a while. It’s one of my husband’s quirks.”
“Of course.” Marco flashes us a pearly grin. “Well then, Marco will see you this evening at the luau. You’ll get another copy of this week’s events when you complete check-in.”
“We’ll be there,” Stella promises.
A few hours later, I’m in a better mood. Stella suggested we get food from the hotel’s casual bar slash restaurant, and the double cheeseburger I wolfed down was legit. Then we walked on the beach and relaxed on lounge chairs under a beach umbrella, where I fell asleep for a few minutes.
I’m recharged now, and looking forward to our evening. Bullshit ambassador thing or not, I get to spend it with Stella, and that’s all that really matters.
“What do you think?” Stella asks me as we browse at a lobby gift shop.
I turn to find her smiling at me in a wide-brimmed straw hat, her skin glowing from our time in the sun. She’s wearing a red one-piece swimsuit with a lightweight robe-looking thing untied at her waist, and flip-flops.
I think she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on and it’s all I can do not to pull her into my arms and kiss her until she’s breathless, but that’s not what she’s asking.
“Looks great on you.”
She turns from side to side, trying to get a better look in the tiny mirror hanging in the shop. “Would you tell me if it looked bad?”
She’d look good in anything, but we have thirty minutes to get cleaned up before the luau, so I just say, “Of course.”
Hanging it on the store rack, she puts her bag back over her shoulder. “We need to get going.”
We head for the elevators, making it halfway across the lobby when a male voice stops me cold.
“Ben Hogan, what the hell are you doing here?”
I turn just in time to see my teammate Dominic Locke grinning at me before he grabs me in a quick, back-slapping bro hug. When he stands back, another of my teammates, Rowan McCall, hugs me the same way.
Fuck. What the hell are they doing here? I briefly consider going all in and pretending I’m Owen and they’ve mistaken me for Ben. These guys spend so much time with me that they know it’s me, though.
“Guys, this is Stella,” I say. “We’re vacationing here for the week. Stella, this is Dom and Rowan, two of my teammates.”
Dom gives her a winning smile as he shakes her hand. “Lucky Ben. I’d much rather spend the week looking at this beautiful face than Rowan’s.”
“It’s great to meet you,” Stella says, shaking both of their hands.
“We had no idea Ben was even seeing anyone,” Rowan says. “He’s pretty private, though, you have to pry information out of him.”
“Well, it’s still pretty new,” Stella says.
“Pardon me, Mrs. Hogan.” Everyone looks over to find Marco holding a white box out to Stella. “This is just a fun tropical flower headpiece for you to wear tonight. All the newlywed wives wear these to the luau. I keep them refrigerated until the hour before the event so they stay fresh.”
Fuuuuuuuck. My teammates’ expressions go slack as Stella takes the box and thanks him. Marco’s about ten feet away when Dom grabs my hand and looks at mywell, Owen’s—wedding ring, stunned.
“You got married?” he finally manages.
I can’t tell him the truth with Marco still in earshot, so instead I nod and put my arm around Stella.
“We did. Stella and I have known each other since we were kids. I’ve loved her for half my life, and when she told me at the end of our season that she felt the same way, I asked her to marry me immediately.”
I’m the least impulsive guy on my team. I’ve been eating the exact same meatball sandwich before every game for seven years now. The team chef sends one on road trips for me because I refuse to eat any other meatball sandwich. I plan my days off, even scheduling time for relaxation. Hell, I don’t even buy things at the grocery store on a whim. Getting married on a whim? Never.
