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What’s that they say about the best-laid plans?

That they’re stupid, useless, and futile? Because the moment you make a plan something—fate, karma, or simply the worst team in the NHL—starts plotting to put your plan through the shredder, making you wish you had learned your lesson about taking things for granted.

“What the fuck?” Petrov kicks the boards in front of us, causing a few unattended water bottles to tumble to the floor. “Where the hell is this coming from? They’re the worst team in the league.”

“And they’re kicking our collective asses,” Justin grumbles from farther down the bench, clearly itching to get back on the ice.

What was supposed to be a shut-out has turned into a nail-biter. For years, the sweet southern bastards we’re playing have been the jokes of the NHL. Chaos is their stock in trade, and I’ve never seen a more disorganized offense or flailing defense.

And they’re still scrambling and flailing today, but for some reason, lady luck is on their side. Shots that seem to be going wide ricochet off our own players to end up in our net, bumbling defense attempts are somehow thwarting our forwards, and the sweet southern goalie has chosen today to stop sucking and start earning his keep.

This is about as far as possible from the easy, breezy win I was expecting, and I’m beginning to wish Diana and I had chosen another night to spring a surprise wedding on our nearest and dearest. I don’t care if we lose—well, yes, I care, but I’m so excited to be marrying Diana in less than an hour, I know I’ll snap back from the post-game blues pretty quick—but I’m not looking forward to a wedding party full of pissed off, cranky Badgers.

We have to win this. That’s it.

We’ve got to get out there, break this tie, and kick ass in the third period so my friends can enjoy my wedding, damn it.

“This is chaos, plain and simple. This isn’t anything we can’t handle,” I say, raising my voice to be heard over the groan of the Badger fans behind us as our forwards ring another shot off the goal post. “These douchebags are getting lucky, but we actually have a clean, efficient game. We just need to sharpen our focus and cut through the bullshit.”

“Great pep talk, rookie,” Justin grumbles.

“Thanks, but I’m not finished.” I force a smile. “Their defensemen are leaving their positions without support. If we keep things sharp and elegant out there, those fuckers won’t know what hit them.”

“Sharp and elegant, huh?” Justin arches a brow. “When did you become such a classy bastard?”

“He’s right,” Petrov says, motioning toward the ice. “Their forwards aren’t covering for the defense. If we chip the puck to center ice for an odd man break and keep it elegant, we’ll break the tie. Keep it up in the third, and we get to go have a beer after it’s all over and not feel like assholes for handing a game to a bunch of minor leaguers.”

Brendan, who’s been quiet up to this point, nods. “Let’s do it. As soon as Coach calls our line.”

Our line. I’m playing first line for the first time this game—another reason I would really prefer not to leave the ice holding my ass.

Thirty seconds later, Coach Swindle barks for us to “change ’em up,” and Justin, Brendan, and I jump over the boards.

We line up for the face-off and lose to the Sweet Southern Bastards, who dump the puck into our zone and bound away after it like so many slobbering golden retrievers. But Petrov, a man who has no love for animals, crushes their perky puck carrier against the boards with a crash that rattles the glass, then steals the puck and shoots it around to where I’m waiting, ready to exit the zone.

As we’d hoped, the Southern defense rushes my position, abandoning their posts without hesitation, while I cut hard to the left, then loft the puck toward center ice.

Sweet, nearly empty center ice…where Justin is wide open to scoop up the gift I’ve delivered and haul ass toward the goal. He’s moving fast, but I’ve been running every other morning with Adams for two months, and in seconds I catch up to him, riding his skates the last few yards to the goal. Brendan is behind us, occupying the lone defender who’s managed to get his ass back on this side of the centerline, so we’re free and clear to bring this home.

Justin walks in on the goalie, faking to the right as he knocks the puck to the left, right into my waiting stick. And then, like a doctor delivering breech twins, I slip the puck expertly into the net to score.

Okay, it’s nothing like delivering twins, but it feels so fucking good. And as the crowd erupts into howls of victory, I swear I can hear my beach pixie hooting her unique war cry.

I glance up, spotting Diana jumping up and down and cheering like a crazy person next to Chloe and Laura. She waves congratulations, and I blow her a kiss, which she pretends to catch and pop into her mouth like an invisible bon-bon.

I laugh, prompting a slap on the back from Petrov.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he says. “We need to keep the pressure up going into the third.”

“We will,” I say, skating back to center ice beside him. “And once we’re four or five points ahead, remind me to ask you an important question.”

Petrov shoots me a narrow look but doesn’t push the issue. That’s one of the things I’ve come to appreciate about Petrov in the past few months. When Justin was warning me not to let Diana move back in so soon—only two weeks after she moved out, because who were we kidding, we couldn’t stand being apart—and Brendan was giving me the stink eye every time Diana showed up after practice to surprise me with takeout or tickets to a movie or a mannequin wrapped in a cocoon of yarn that we tied to Justin’s car to congratulate him on a new endorsement deal with a national crafting store, Petrov kept his thoughts to himself. He’d offered his two cents a long time ago and was content to let events play out without any meddling on his part.

That’s why I’m going to ask him to be my best man.

Well, that, and because Diana is going to ask Brendan to be her maid of honor, just to see if she can get him to wear a tiara, because my future wife isn’t taking our wedding too seriously. The decision to get married was something we talked about a lot, but once the decision was made, we just wanted to get hitched as quickly, easily, and enjoyably as possible so we can get started on the happily ever after.

We head into the third period like evil robots sent to clean up the mess some primitive civilization has left behind. We give no quarter, we show no mercy, and by the time the buzzer sounds, we’ve spanked the Southern Bastards seven to four and given the fans something to cheer about.

Back in the locker room, evidence of Diana’s handiwork is hanging from the locker of every member of the team. Justin is the first to rip open his invite, making me nervous until a smile bursts across his face. “Aw, Nowicki! You’re growing up so fast!”

“Congratulations,” Brendan says, with an only slightly less enthusiastic smile. “Diana told me about the plan this morning. She wanted to give me an early heads-up in case I decided to have a shit fit about it.”

I nod with a nervous laugh. “So how did that go?”

“Small shit fit,” he says, grin widening. “But I’m happy for you. She loves you a lot.”

“I love her, too. More than anything. I promise I won’t ever give you a reason to regret standing up with us today.”

His breath rushes out. “I doubt that, since I’m sure Diana is going to get some pictures of me in that damned tiara, but a man can hope.”

Forty-five minutes later, up in a sky box decorated like a stretch of Oregon coastline complete with seagull and wave sound effects supplied by my lovely bride, surrounded by the men who are my on-ice family and the amazing people who will become part of my newly extended family, I say my vows to the most beautiful, sexy, perfect woman in the world.

“I know some people don’t go in for love at first sight.” I cast Petrov, who looks more anxious about being best man than I expected him to be, a narrow glance before shifting my attention back to Dee. “But a part of me knew I was going to fall in love with you that first night on the beach, when you warned me about the killer mermaids. You are by far the most unique person I’ve ever met. You’re special in ways I didn’t know existed before I met you, and I can’t believe I’m the lucky bastard who gets to share the rest of his life with you. You make me so happy, Beach Pixie, and I’ve never been more excited than this moment, right now, when I get to promise you forever.”

Diana sucks in a breath, pressing her lips together before shaking her head. “Damn it, I knew you were going to make me cry.”

Our friends and family laugh, the sound giving Diana the moment she needs to regain her composure.

When she does, she squeezes my hands, looking up at me with a mixture of love and faith so intense it makes the rest of the world fade away. “Tanner Nowicki, I’ve never met anyone as patient, kind, and quietly gifted at being a truly lovely person as you are. Every day, in every way, you adore me in a fashion I’m not sure I deserve.” She sniffs. “Except maybe I do, because I adore you right back. You are everything I want and everything I’m ever going to need. And if agreeing to take on a last name like Nowicki for the next forty or fifty years doesn’t prove I love you to distraction, I don’t know what will.” Her eyes suddenly widen as she glances over her shoulder to add, “Sorry, Nowickis in the room.”

“That’s okay, sis.” Chey, who’s joining us via Skype, pipes up from the laptop my mom is holding. “I’m the only one who hasn’t married out of the name, and I’m on that as soon as possible.”

There’s more laughter, and then a few words from Jax, who graciously agreed to put his ordained-to-marry status to use for Diana and me tonight, and then I get to kiss my bride.

And call me crazy, but I swear the kiss tastes different than the one I stole before we walked down the aisle together ten minutes ago. It’s sweeter, sexier, and serious in a way that isn’t the least bit scary.

At least not for me…

“Happy?” I mouth as we pull back from the kiss.

“So happy. Though one thing could make me happier,” she says, adding in a louder voice, “Wanda come!”

She’s answered by a high-pitched squeal from the back of the room. I look back to see Wanda, dressed in a pig-sized flower-girl dress, trotting down the aisle with an envelope in her mouth. This time, however, instead of depositing it in the nearest body of water, she drops it delicately at my feet.

“Good pig,” I praise her, patting her flank as I fetch the envelope and stand, lifting a brow in Diana’s direction.

“Open it,” she says, grinning. “I think you’re going to like what you see.”

I open the envelope, pulling out two plane tickets to Bali.

“For three weeks next summer we’ll be staying on a remote island in Indonesia,” Diana says, looping her arm through mine. “Said to be the home of a race of killer mermaids whose tears are harvested for their healing powers!” She bounces lightly on her toes, her excitement so infectious I have to fight the urge to start bouncing with her. “Isn’t that the most exciting thing ever? I mean, aside from the fact that we’re married.”

I kiss her forehead, smiling against her skin. “Yes. Aside from the fact that we’re married, it’s the most exciting thing ever.”

“But you’re not postponing the honeymoon that long.” Laura pulls first Diana, and then me, in for a hug. “We’re welcoming Tanner to the family with the keys to our cabin near Mount Hood.”

“That’s right.” Brendan slips his arm around Laura. “We expect you to enjoy yourselves, drink all the champagne our housekeeper is putting in the fridge as we speak, and make lots of beautiful first-weekend-as-married-people memories.”

Before I can thank Brendan and Laura, Justin and his fiancée Libby are taking their turn in the line of well-wishers, Justin giving me shit for beating him to the altar and Libby wiping away tears and swearing the vows were so beautiful she could hardly stand it. The next two hours are filled with laughs, a few tears, dancing, drinking, cake eating, and quick good-byes as the staff tells us they really can’t keep the box open another minute.

Somewhere in the madness, Diana loses her best friend (and second maid of honor), Amanda, but a quick text confirms that Mandy is alive and on her way to her new apartment, not far from the arena, and Diana and I head for home.

I’m beat from the game and exhausted from the emotional toll of the wedding, but the moment we close the door behind us and get Wanda tucked into her pen for the night, the tiredness fades, replaced by the all-consuming need to get my wife into bed.

“Upstairs,” I whisper into her hair, my fingers finding the zipper on her white satin dress and pulling it down. “I need to consummate this marriage, Diana Nowicki.”

She guides my mouth to hers, kissing me in the near darkness. “We’re going to consummate the shit out this marriage.”

I smile against her lips. “Hell yes, we are. So get your ass upstairs before I take you right here and scar the poor pig for life.”

“Heaven forbid.” With a giggle, Diana turns, racing up the stairs, slipping out of her dress on the top landing, and ditching her bra halfway to the master bedroom. By the time we reach the bed, she’s naked, and we tumble onto the sheets, working together to get my tux out of our way.

“I love you,” Diana whispers as we fumble with buttons and zippers. “I’m so happy to be your wife.”

“Me, too. But I want to make you even happier.” I kiss my way down her beautiful body, pausing to lick and tease her delicious nipples, making her squirm and sigh, before I continue my exploration.

I kiss her ribs, her belly, and each adorably knotty hipbone, before moving down to her damp curls. I urge her legs apart with my hands at the back of her knees, moaning in appreciation as she opens for me.

“Is your clit the most beautiful clit because I love you?” I murmur, spreading her with my fingers until there is nothing impeding my view of her sweet pink clit. “Or do I love you at least partly because of this jaunty little beauty?”

“You found me out.” She shifts restlessly beneath me as her fingers tangle in my hair. “My clit has wizard powers.”

“Enchantress powers,” I correct. “No way is your clit a dude.”

“Why? Are you bothered by the thought that you’re kissing—” Her words end in a sharp intake of breath as my tongue sweeps up her center, through the well of heat at her entrance, to her clit, where I show her how not bothered I am by her sexy as sin body.

I lick and tease and fuck her with my mouth, exploring every inch of her pussy, finding all the places that only I know give her pleasure, the places we’ve discovered together in our mutual determination to take making love to places neither of us has been before.

And like every time with Diana, by the time she comes for me the first time—bucking into my fingers while my tongue attends to her clit, flicking back and forth until she screams my name—I swear I can feel her pleasure pulsing inside my own skin. I’m a part of her, and she’s a part of me, and knowing our forever is sealed with promises and the ring on my finger makes every moment even sweeter.

“Inside me,” she breathes, tugging lightly on my ears. “Oh please, I need you inside me. Right now.”

And because her wish is my command, and my pleasure, and my reason for being, I move over her, positioning my throbbing cock and pushing inside. I glide into her molten heat, slow and steady, thrusting forward until my balls pulse in the seam of her ass and I’m consumed by the certainty that I’m back where I belong.

“So perfect,” she sighs, tongue dancing with mine as we begin to move together, advancing and retreating, playing this game that always ends in a victory for both sides.

“Beautiful.” I circle my hips, making sure to nudge her clit at the end of each thrust. “And mine.”

“Yours,” she confirms, rocking her hips forward, taking me deeper. “And you are mine.”

“Forever,” I promise. “Until hedgehogs play hockey and pigs have wings and humans are a legend the mermaids sing about before they swim off to war.”

Diana’s eyes begin to shine. “You’re a poet, Muscle Boy.”

“Only with you, sweetness,” I say, the tension building low in my body until I know I won’t be able to hold on much longer. “Now will you allow me the pleasure of making you come for me again?”

“Oh yes, I’m there, I’m already there.” She bucks into my cock, coating me with her slick heat, drawing me deeper into her body, her heart, her love so sweet that as I come I forget I’m just a man with a man’s limitations, a man’s faults, and a man’s short time on this planet.

For a moment, with my wife holding me close as our bodies pulse with magic, I glimpse possibilities bigger and brighter than anything I could have imagined on my own.

“I want to do everything with you,” I murmur against her neck.

“Yes,” she agrees. “Everything is better with you. Especially coming. The coming is really top notch.”

And because I’m a glutton for praise, I carry her into the bathroom and make her come again in the bath, with my fingers soaping her nipples as I take her from behind, getting her off seconds before the water rises high enough to reach where I’m thrusting inside her. Before morning we christen the floor by the bed, the wall beside the closet, and round out the consummating with some slow, languid missionary that ends in an orgasm so intense I would worry I’ve damaged myself, but I’m too drunk on Diana to care.

And when we wake up the next afternoon, stretching in the autumn sunshine streaming through the curtains, she’s even more beautiful than she was before.

It doesn’t seem possible, but it’s true. And damn if she doesn’t get more beautiful every day until, by the time we pack for our honeymoon eight months later, there is no doubt in my mind that I landed the prettiest woman in the world. Pretty on the outside, prettier on the inside, and, through some miraculous twist of fate, mine.

“I don’t think I can get any happier,” I murmur as we drift back and forth in an ocean-side hammock, watching the boat that delivered us to our quiet, nearly deserted Indonesian island chug away through the aquamarine waves.

“What if I told you this island is famous for something other than killer mermaids?” Diana asks, slipping a hand beneath my T-shirt.

“Something like what?”

“Apparently it was blessed by a fertility goddess.” She slips the button on my shorts through the buttonhole. “Seems like a shame to waste that kind of magic, don’t you think?”

I do. Hell yes, I do.

And by the time we leave three weeks later, with Diana’s period already several days late, I am an even happier man.

Because the world is full of miracles.

And that is the truth. Don’t let anyone tell you different.

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