Lines are meant to be crossed…

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. At least that’s what I’ve always heard.

But I’m pretty sure they also say that a diamond lasts forever.

And the mystery woman leaving my sin city hotel room – the one with legs for days and the sexiest backside I’ve ever seen?

She’s wearing one on her left hand that goes right along with the official looking marriage certificate I find in my gym bag even as her intoxicating scent still lingers on my bedsheets.

Although I can’t remember how we got hitched, I know I want her more than I’ve ever wanted a woman before.

With my heart aching in my chest, I make one fatal mistake by letting her leave after our one night of wedded bliss.

She’s my wife and I don’t even know her name.

Apparently, tequila and matrimony don’t mix. But despite my Rochester Riot buddies begging me to forget all about it, destroy the evidence and fly home to fulfill my NHL dreams, I don’t want a divorce.

I want her.