My chest warms from the sentiment and the admission. “I’m glad to hear that.”
Lake’s close with his father. I know that from him, but I also know from Clem that their mom’s been out of the picture for a long while, so I understand why making his dad happy would be extra important. I’m relieved that he’s not selflessly chivalrous, though I wholeheartedly enjoy hisgood growlbrand of chivalry. I want to trademark that term and use it on myHow We Metpodcast, or as I dispense romantic advice from time to time with clients—because I’m determined to rebuild my business.
The thought reminds me that I should do some work tonight.
I reach for the door, but Lake’s voice stops me. “Remy.” It’s all low and smoky, full of rasp, and seems to slide down my spine.
“Yes?”
“Yesterday, when we set the rules of affection, we missed something. We left out one important detail.”
Heat rushes through my body as I turn, meeting his gaze. “What is it?”
“We said holding hands is fine. So’s an arm around the waist.” He pauses, moonlight streaking across his handsome face, a sliver of light illuminating the cut of his jaw. “But what about kissing?”
Well, that’s direct.
And…effective. The mere mention of his mouth on mine sends my pulse hammering. A flush crawls down my neck and coasts over my body, and my imagination runs wild. Lake pushing me against the door, Lake caging me in, Lake kissing me possessively.
I fight off a shudder, then say at last, “If the moment calls for it.”
He tucks a finger under my chin and lifts it. “Good to know.”
He drops his hand and leaves.
I rub my chin, wanting this fizzy feeling to last.
12
BOYFRIEND STYLE
REMY
“Smile for the camera.”
The directive comes from a pale, lanky, British guy in a porkpie hat, a Nikon slung around his neck. He’s the photographer Fresh Face hired to shoot the picnic, starting with the wedding party members and their plus-ones. Caroline’s brand manager, Margot, circulates here too—she’s over by the tables, fussing with napkins—while a woman named Fallon from Fresh Face stands next to the photographer. Fallon’s stern as a sentry with her tight bun and no-nonsense expression.
Caroline was right about finding a vibrant color—the teal cardigan I’m wearing looks great with the flowers behind us at the Botanic Gardens, and the khaki pants I’m wearing don’t steal focus.
Lake, though?
He steals focus so hard in his untucked white linen button-down and tan pants that hug his thick thighs and strong ass. The man doesn’t miss glute day, that’s for sure.
Has Clementine’s hockey-playing brother always been this hot? Sure, empirically Lake’s criminally handsome. Buthe’s also just plain hot. Like sex hot, like do-bad-things-to-me hot, like bend-me-over-the-bed-and-pull-my-hair hot.
And…I really need to be careful about these filthy thoughts running wild as we pose in front of the white snowdrops and yellow and purple crocuses.
Lake’s arm is draped around me “boyfriend style” as he said earlier with a husky whisper in my ear. A whisper that sent a hot rush through me. Like what’s happening now as his fingers curl around my shoulder.
The problem is we’re part of the wedding party, and we’re next to my sister and Parker. My parents are here too, and I did a quick intro with them and Lake before Fallon ordered us over for pics. I haven’t seen Jameson yet, and I’m half dreading and half psyched for him to see the arm candy I’ve got.
Oh, was that petty of me? I don’t even care.
“Lovely,” the photographer coos, as he lowers the camera to check the display. “How about just the maid of honor?”
Is that part of the plan? I snap my gaze to my sister. “Do you want that?”
“Yes, that’s on the shot list from Fresh Face,” Fallon interjects. “Proceed.”
