Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
He pulls back, mischief in his eyes. “Icing? Fuck. That sounds like even more fun than batter. Should I have waited for the icing for the licking in the pantry?”
I shake my head. “No, of course not. The icing is for the yoga mat, silly. And this time, I’m going to be the one doing the licking.”
His breath rushes out. “I really do love you. A lot.”
“Me, too,” I say.
Twenty minutes later, I show him just how much, with icing in all the right places and the certainty that is—us—is the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.
Epilogue
NIX
Charlotte’s backyard looks like a classy wedding planner’s vision board mated with a honky-tonk, but somehow it works.
String lights zigzag between the oak trees, but instead of those dainty fairy things you see at fancy weddings, these are big Edison bulbs that actually put out light. Burlap table runners pair nicely with expensive-looking linen, mason jars in all the colors of the rainbow wait lined up beside the beer kegs, and the photo booth props are a fun mix of vintage costume pieces, cowboy hats, and fake moustaches.
A three-piece band is set up near the back fence—steel guitar, fiddle, and a drummer who’s definitely seen some shit—playing old country covers that have even Blue, the most stoic man I’ve ever met, tapping his feet. Makena’s new food truck is parked outside the gate like a beacon of grease and glory, her new employees dishing out plates that smell like heaven.
I’ve already demolished six brisket ball thingies and am about to dig into my seventh, when Parker sidles up next to me, his “stupid in love” grin plastered across his face.
“You’re going to eat yourself into a coma. Here, let me help you out,” he says, snagging my final ball and popping it into his mouth before I can protest.
“What an asshole you are,” I say, nudging him in the ribs before laying a hand on my belly with a sigh. “But you’re right. I have to stop if I’m going to have room for dessert.”
“You have to save room for dessert,” Parker says around his mouthful of brisket. “The chocolate cake is going to blow your fucking mind.” He nods toward the party, swallowing before he asks, “You okay? Having fun? You’ve been over here in the corner for a while.”
“Yeah, totally, just a little tired tonight,” I lie, pretending I haven’t been deliberately lying low, hiding from the party’s hostess.
But I should have known better.
Parker and Makena both know too much about my history with Charlotte to believe I’m playing wallflower at their engagement party because training camp kicked my ass this week.
“You sure?” Parker presses. “You don’t have to hide from Charlotte. We checked to make sure she was okay with having you here before we invited you to the party. She’s cool with you. No worries.”
“I’m not worried,” I lie again before hurrying to change the subject. “And the party’s great. You two look happy.”
“So happy, man. You have no idea.” His grin goes soft as he shifts his gaze Makena’s way. She’s dancing with Elly, Grammercy’s wife, and some of their other friends over by the band. She twirls in the grass, wearing a white sundress and flowers in her hair that make her look like a hippy bride on her wedding day. “I can’t wait to marry the shit out of that woman. We’re thinking December, winter wedding somewhere on Bourbon Street. You in to be a groomsman?”
“Yeah, man,” I say, touched. “I’d be honored. Thanks.”
He knocks his shoulder against mine. “Cool. And don’t worry about the disciplinary meeting next week, okay? Grammercy’s already said he’s willing to go to bat for you. I can put in a good word, too, if they want—”
“Nope.” I cut him off before he can finish. “We’re not talking about my shit tonight. This is your party.”
It is, and he deserves a chance to celebrate. Not just the engagement, but his comeback from an injury that would have permanently sidelined a lot of athletes. Or at least had them benched for a season. But just three and a half months after his injury, Parker’s damned near as good as new. The brace is off, he’s added skating into his PT program, and the team doc cleared him for full practice next week. He should be back in the game-play rotation by the opening game.
I’m happy for him. I really am.
I just hope I’m still on the ice with him next month and not benched myself for being a fucking hothead.
But I can’t control what the universe dishes out, only how I respond to it. Though I probably should have responded with a little more self-control last weekend, when I put a wife-beating piece of shit in the hospital after I caught him punching a woman half his size behind the club…