Lake circles his arm around my waist now, like he’s kicking things up a notch. “Have I told you that you look stunning?”
He said as much when he drove me over here. He’s probably saying it to keep my spirits high. But I like Lake’s compliments, so I eat this one up happily. “A few times,” I say, as we pass purple hellebores on the way to the enemy.
“Because it’s true,” he says.
My heartbeat dares to speed up. But I can’t let my mind be tricked into thinking this fake thing with Lake is real, like my body seems to want. I lean into the playfulness instead. “My, my, you are very super boyfriend-y.”
He pulls back for a second to look at me, like he’s measuring my words and weighing if they add up, but his gaze snaps to the crowd.
I catch an annoying glimpse of Jameson and his floppy undercut, his light blue shirt, his ever-present vest. He’s chatting with Parker, smiling, laughing in that gregarious way he has. He’s twenty feet away now, and any second, we’ll have to do the FWP photos together.
Jameson’s head turns my way, and a second later, he’s taking me in, then boom—he pads across the grass toward me.
Grinning.
Like I’m his long-lost bud.
My stomach churns with dread. This is my first time seeing him since the Jumbotron Dump. I knew this moment was coming, but it doesn’t make it sting any less. That’s the man I was going to say yes to. The man I thought I loved. The man who only wanted to be friends.
But as Jameson comes closer, I don’t feel any more than the residual singe of embarrassment. I don’t feel…much of anything else. Immediately, I know two things. One, we weren’t sparky, fiery, passionate lovers when we were together. And two, I don’t miss him now that we’re apart.
When he reaches me, I go first, since it feels important to set the pace with a cool and professional tone. “Hi, Jameson.”
My ex smiles, glancing from Lake to me and back. “Hey, Remy. Is this your new dude?”
“Yeah,” Lake says, standing taller even though he towers above Jameson. “I’m her boyfriend.”
My cells shimmy from the way he throws down. Nobullshit. No games. Just a clear message. The preemptive strike my sister wanted.
“That is so awesome,” Jameson says, and he sounds like he’s happy for me, but almost a little too much. “I was really hoping you’d find someone quickly. And look at you. You did it. Go you.”
I rewind his words and there’s something a little…overly gregarious about them. Maybe he’s trying to keep the peace? I just don’t know. Isupposeit’s better than the alternative—him being a total dick. “Yay me,” I say.
Lake cinches an arm around me, nodding to Jameson. “And thank you, man. Remy’s a goddess, and I wasn’t going to miss my shot to be with her.”
And hello, possessive man stealing focus once more. I want to run my nails down his chest. To grab him by the shirt collar. To saymine, mine, mine. “You’re the best,” I say, then what the hell? I give a little tug of his shirt collar.
Who is this possessive demon inside of me? I was never possessive with Jameson. But I like it.
“This is just so great,” Jameson gushes, ruining my demon glow-up. “I love this for you. I started seeing someone too.”
I glance around, looking for the hoptimist. “Where is she?”
“Oh, Chelsea couldn’t make it. She had a thing at her brewery. But hey, why don’t we all set up a double date?”
My jaw comes unhinged. Jameson’s leaning seriously hard into thisI’m a good guy and let’s be friendsimage. I bet it’s all for show. For his bar. For the optics.
I’m tempted to tilt my head and say in a too-sweet tone, “Do you want me to break out the bracelet kit and we can make a matching pair?”
But if I activate my sarcasm, I’ll look like a serious jerk at my sister’s event. I don’t have to, though, since Lake tugs me closer so I’m flush against him. He heaves a sigh, like heregrets this so damn much, then shakes his head at Jameson. “Thanks for the invite, but I don’t share. Even our dates.”
On that mic drop, the hockey stud cups my cheek, drops his mouth to mine and brushes a tender kiss across my lips. My brain goes whoosh as he claims me in front of the whole wedding party, but especially the guy who broke up with me in front of the whole hockey arena just over three weeks ago.
The kiss starts out innocent enough—just a hint, a tease, a promise. But it’s also not at all innocent, since I’m learning Lake smells like cedar and tastes like fresh mint. I discover, too, that his stubble scraping my face makes my nipples stand at attention. That his hand on my back is nothing short of foreplay.
He murmurs against my mouth, a rough, sexy rumble that thrums through me. When he breaks the kiss, he shoots me a sly smile, just for me. “The moment called for it.”
“It did,” I think I say. I’m not sure if I’m speaking or thinking. It’s hard to do either now that I know there’s a world where knee-weakening, toe-tingling kisses exist. I don’t think I knew of this planet’s existence before today. But I’m an intrepid explorer and I want to traverse it. Map it. Study it. What else can he do with that mouth? His hands? His hard, cut body?
