“And let’s not forget the annual TE holiday party,” Danny said. “Especially that one on the boat.”
Everyone groaned, recalling that night of holiday mayhem.
Mel patted her husband’s shoulder. “Don’t jinx this, Daniel.”
“I only meant pulling this off was easy, relatively.”
“Well, thank you,” Cam said.
“Truly,” Nic added. “This was incredible. Thank you.”
Lauren huffed, her breath fluttering her bangs. “I’m just glad I can finally delete that calendar reminder about your ever-expiring marriage licenses.”
“Only one thing left to do,” Aidan said as he extended an arm toward the dance floor.
Nic’s arm tightened around Cam’s shoulders. “You sure about this, Boston? I’m a bit rusty.”
Cam handed his bottle of FBI Stout to Jamie, relieved Nic of his too, then tugged his husband onto the dance floor. “As sure as I’ve ever been about anything. Dance with me, Counselor.”
One rusty dance, Cam leading as Nic only stepped on his toes a half dozen times, became a second less toe-crushing one, until countless dances later, they were moving together as smoothly as Lette and Keith played. They were interrupted from time to time by guests, but they always found their way back into each other’s arms.
Peaceful, happy, content.
More in love than Cam had ever been with his man.
His husband.
Who he was increasingly eager to take home.
He’d gotten his dance. Now he wanted to fuck his new husband.
Shifting closer, he brought his mouth to Nic’s ear. “You know the best part of having the wedding here?”
“What’s that?”
“We’re only ten minutes from home.”
“You know what’s even better...” Nic rubbed his jaw against Cam’s, the scruff-to-scruff friction firing all of Cam’s nerves. “That tie still around my dick. Waiting for you.”
Cam groaned and forced himself not to jump his husband in public. Besides, he had a better idea for a fast getaway. “Good thing you just married a guy who knows how to boost cars.”
Nic drew back, brow raised, one corner of his mouth twitching. “But which one for our wedding chariot?”
There was really only one choice. “Let’s go boost a food truck.”
SIX
Nic pinned the last of his service ribbons into the leather binder as Cam, minus his tuxedo coat, sauntered into the bedroom.
“Does Joe forgive us?” Nic asked.
“Bird,” Cam corrected. He slipped the binder from Nic’s hands, zipped it, and set it on the dresser. “And debatable. His dinner was hours late.”
The orange ball of fluff had voiced his displeasure the second he and Cam had stumbled through the front door, meowing pitifully from his perch atop the sofa. They’d managed to detach their lips and untangle their limbs long enough for Cam to feed the cat and for Nic to text Mel, telling her they’d return the truck tomorrow and asking her to threaten bodily harm to anyone who intended to interrupt them further tonight.
Moving closer, Nic slid Cam’s already loosened bowtie the rest of the way off. “Hopefully he doesn’t divorce us.”
“He might for parents who feed him timely and aren’t confused about his name.”
