Chapter 38
SOME PEOPLE
REMY
No one needs a new set of napkin rings, or napkin rings at all. No one needs an ice cream maker, or soup tureen either.
But cookware? Gently used woks? Dutch ovens? Never-been-used blenders?
Pretty much anyone can use those. Which is why I’m beaming like a proud mama as Caroline’s friends arrive at Lake’s family’s equine therapy ranch, and make their way to the edge of the bird sanctuary—escorted by Gavin and Mira—where we’ve set up picnic tables to collect the secondhand items.
By the time the Something Shared Shower is underway, the table is stacked high with all sorts of kitchen gadgets and household items that Caroline and Parker are going to take to a local charity that helps foster kids set up their own homes when they age out of the system.
Caroline came to me for suggestions of charities and this was my top pick.
The videographer circles, capturing the scene for Fresh Face.
Good. I’m glad the brand is capturing something meaningful on camera.
“I told you it wouldn’t be like a traditional shower,” I say to Lake, pleased that Caroline kicked that old-fashioned tradition to the curb, choosing instead to give back.
We’re standing by the fence at the edge of the property as guests mill about, snagging appetizers from The Green Pantry, a Cozy Valley bistro where I placed a last-minute order yesterday.
He leans closer, his shoulder brushing mine. “Spoiler alert: I’ve never been to a traditional shower.”
I tense for a second, but then decide to seize the moment. The afternoon sun is bright, highlighting his strong jaw, his cool eyes, and his intensity. An intensity I want to know more about.
“Did you have one for your wedding?” I ask, gripped with the curiosity to understand his past more.
He shakes his head. “No. It felt weird to ask people to give me gifts when I’d just gotten a good contract with the pros.”
“I hear you,” I say, liking that he was thoughtful.
“It was a pretty simple wedding too. I’m not that into…”
“Appearances?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Yeah. Some people would say I’m an asocial grump.”
I laugh. “Are you some people?”
“You know, I think I am,” he says, a little evilly, like he’s embracing this side of himself. “You’re the opposite though.”
He’s not wrong. “I’m definitely social. I like groups, like this,” I say, feeling calm and centered as I survey the scene—friends mingling, people laughing, guests admiring the blue herons and the bride and groom.
It’s a serene setting here in the meadow, a stream gurgling, the blue sky stretching as far as the eye can see.
“I’m glad we pulled this off, thanks to you. ”
“All I did was say yes. You did this, beautiful. This is all you. Your idea, your planning. You made it happen.”
I stand a little taller, loving the praise. “It was fun. Like a puzzle,” I say.
He wraps his arm tighter around me, takes a beat, then clears his throat, waving to the crowd here. “Would you…want one like this?”
The question comes out so earnestly, a man trying to understand a woman. It makes my heart squeeze.
“I definitely don’t want household gadgets, new or gently used.
I don’t really cook much anyway,” I say, and briefly wonder if it’s too much to bring up a future wedding shower with a man I’m fake dating and real flinging with.
But I found the courage to talk to his sister last night and tell her the truth.
In for a penny…“I think I’d do a volunteer shower—where you ask your friends to do a beach cleanup with you, or plant some trees, or walk dogs together at the local shelter. ”
Lake’s smile is soft, thoughtful. “That’s very you.”
“Why do you say that?”
He meets my gaze. “Plants, dogs, the earth. They’re kind of your things.”
I glance around at his bird sanctuary, where an owl watches over from the owl box and where wood ducks and black-crowned night herons splash in the stream. I nudge him with my elbow. “Same to you.”
He lifts a brow, teasingly. “But I wouldn’t want a spa day.”
“Yes, I’m well aware,” I say dryly. “And I swear you engineered tomorrow’s game so you don’t have to go to it.”
“I was looking forward to seeing you in a cute little bikini,” he jokes.
“Did you think I was wearing a bikini at a spa?”
“More like hoping.”
“Try bathrobe.”
He makes a show of peering at my breasts, like he would if I were wearing a robe. “I can work with a robe.”
I lift my chin. “You don’t get to see either. You’ll be too busy napping before the game.”
“And missing you as I nap,” he adds, so easily, so casually that my cells feel a little fizzy.
Since he’s being so direct with me, I choose to do the same with him. Maybe I’m on a kick today. “I saw your sister last night. I told her we were…”
“Fucking like the world is on fire?”
A laugh bursts from me. “Lake!”
“My bad. You told her we were having the best sex of our lives?”
Sparks shoot down my back from the compliment. “And shockingly I didn’t say that either.”
“Fine. You told her how much I like to eat, right?” His eyes glimmer with dirty thoughts of me.
I swat his shoulder, and he grabs my hand, brings it to his mouth and nibbles on my palm.
I laugh. “You’re the worst.”
“So you told her I was a god in bed? That I make you come hard and often? That I’m totally obsessed with your pleasure? That I want to take you apart over and over?”
It’s official. I can’t breathe I’m so turned on. “Stop,” I whisper, but it’s hardly a protest. It comes out feathery, needy.
He brushes his cheek against mine, turning his face and whispering in my ear, “Are you wet right now? Imagining me turning you around, telling you to hold onto the fence when everyone’s gone, then fucking you out here, beneath the wide open sky, just the birds overhead watching as you call my name?
Or am I slipping a hand into those panties and getting you off hot and fast when no one’s looking? ”
I roll my lips together to seal in a gasp. I close my eyes, breathe out, then open them and meet his heated gaze, ready to give as good as I get. “I believe the answer is…” My gaze drifts down to his jeans, the bulge in them. “You’re rock hard.”
He growls, a low, sexy rumble, as he tugs me closer. “You know I am,” he murmurs then drops a kiss to my cheek. It’s a kiss that says he’s thinking of doing unholy things to me. It’s passionate, lingering, and chased with a desperate groan from his throat that makes me feel…adored.
Yes, that's how this man makes me feel. And I don’t think I realized how very much I wanted to be adored until him.
I want to bask in this affection, even though it’s temporary, so I let myself enjoy his kisses on my neck for another several seconds until I catch sight of an undercut and a vest.
I groan.
Jameson’s arrived. He’s striding over to the gift table with his date, a woman with curly red hair, a boho skirt, and an ankle bracelet that jingles.
“Never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad to see him,” I mutter.
Lake lets go of me and jerks away. “What?”
“Because I was about to climb you,” I quickly explain.
But that doesn’t seem to satisfy Lake. His jaw tightens, and he breathes out hard through his nostrils. “I hate how he treated you.” He turns to me, his eyes hard. “I can’t believe I have to act like I’m okay with him being here.”
Where is this coming from? He’s been so…chill the whole time we’ve been here. “Lake. You don’t have to talk to him.”
He drags a hand through his hair, jaw still tight. “I know. It’s a good thing. Because I’m not sure what I’d say. Or do.”
I grab the collar of his shirt. We need to get something straight. “I was joking when I said I was happy to see him.”
“I know,” he bites out, but he’s not looking at me. He’s staring at Jameson like he wants to tear his limbs off. It’s a little hot.
Okay, a lot.
But it’s also throwing me off. Lake’s so cool, so in control, even when he’s dismissing Jameson with a quick I don’t share comment.
This is a fiery side of him, and I wasn’t expecting it today. “He should be thrown out of the wedding party for being a fucknozzle,” he bites out.
“He’s friends with Parker.”
“Then fuck Parker too,” Lake says, huffing. This is out of character, this level of hotheadedness.
“Are you okay?”
My concern seems to shake him from his bull-seeing-red moment. He blinks, turns to me, exhales. “Shit. Sorry. I’m a little—”
He swallows, but doesn’t finish the sentence—just stares hard at the enemy as Jameson places a set of Jameson’s Brew glasses, complete with his logo, on the table of donations. I roll my eyes. There’s nothing he won’t make about himself.
Even so, I won’t let him ruin the shower or the moment with Lake.
I turn back to the hockey player. “A little what?” I press, needing him to say the word—jealous, ridiculously, over-the-top jealous.
But Caroline swings by and squeezes my arm. “This is so much better than the Painted Lady. It’s totally the right vibe,” she says, then turns to Lake. “Thank you for saving the day.”
“Glad you’re happy,” he says to her, his voice cool again.
“I am. And now I need to steal my sister away.”
She tugs my arm and I join her, but my heart is with the man I left by the fence. The man who’s wearing his red-hot emotions on his sleeve.