Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
LAUREN
“Everything is going to be fine,” Jameson says for the tenth time. I’m furiously tying the straps of my heels that lace around my ankles. These shoes are sexy as hell, and also a royal pain in the ass.
“Honestly, I’m not sure that it is.”
“Are you afraid of what people will think when we walk into that wedding together?” he asks. “Or are you afraid of getting hurt again?”
I’m bringing a date to a family wedding four months after my husband died. Of course I’m concerned about what people will think. And after what I went through in my marriage, of course I’m afraid of getting hurt.
Except, the more I get to know Jameson, the more I’m seeing that he’s not at all the callous asshole that I found so easy to lust after from afar when I was younger.
He actually is the man he showed me glimpses of that night at dinner five years ago.
I don’t want to believe that he’d hurt me, except he’s done it before.
And I didn’t think Josh would hurt me either.
I don’t know how to trust myself to know whether I should trust Jameson.
“Yes. To both questions.”
“Let me prove myself to you, Lauren.” He reaches over and strokes my jaw with the backs of his fingertips, and it lights me on fire. “And who gives a shit what anyone else thinks?”
“This is an important conversation,” I tell him, “but we don’t have time for it right now. We’re already late.”
“Okay, then we are coming back to it later. And just know that during this whole ceremony, I’m going to be picturing how you couldn’t get out of the shower an hour ago without sinking to your knees for me first.”
My breath escapes in a whoosh of air so loud it makes his lips twitch. “You can’t say shit like that to me,” I tell him as I feel my face turning red.
“Why not? It’s true.”
It’s so true. And it was worth being late for.
“Because it makes my whole body blush, and the last thing I need is to walk into that church looking like we just had sex.” The memories from the last couple hours have my body on high alert, already wanting him again.
He smirks at me. “Too late. It’s written all over your face, and I love that about you.” He reaches across me and pushes my door open. “Now let’s go.”
Jameson must be worried that I’ll slip on the ice in these heels, because he laces his fingers through mine as we rush across the parking lot. And when we walk up to the doors of that church, his hand is on my lower back, guiding me through the entryway.
I was worried that we were so late the bride and her attendants would already be ready to walk down the aisle, but thankfully it’s just the groomsmen here, still handing out programs and walking people to their seats on the correct side of the church.
I stiffen when I see Justin standing there in his tux with his eyes on me, and Jameson must feel it because he leans down, presses his lips to my temple, and whispers, “Relax.”
And that word pulls me right back to our shower, when he took me from behind as I was rinsing the conditioner from my hair.
It was nearly impossible to accommodate him, so he bent me forward, my hands pressed to the tile of the shower wall, and cradled my back with his chest, whispering, “Relax,” so he could slide into me all the way.
My core clenches as I remember how quickly he was able to make me orgasm at that angle. My first and second times ever having an orgasm from penetration both happened earlier today. And then I sank to my knees and finished him off with my mouth.
And as I look up at him, I’m not sure if I’m smiling about the amazing sex or him being here and acting as a barrier between Justin and me. Probably both.
“Here you go,” Justin says, stepping forward with a program in his hand. I had been so focused on Jameson that his voice catches me off guard.
Apparently having a six foot two former professional hockey player standing next to me isn’t enough to deter Justin—stupid idiot that he is.
“Thanks,” Jameson says, grabbing the paper after I make no effort to take it from Justin’s outstretched hand.
“Here, Lauren.” Justin tries again, holding out his elbow toward me. “I’ll show you to your seat.”
Jameson steps forward, still holding my hand, and his opposite arm nudges Justin’s extended elbow out of the way. “We’re all set, thanks.”
I tighten my grip on his hand as we walk down the aisle, my eyes scanning the rows on the groom’s side, looking for my parents. “Thank you,” I whisper.
He squeezes my hand in return, but doesn’t say anything.
From a pew near the front, I catch sight of my mom waving to us like she’s stranded in the ocean and trying to flag down a passing ship that might somehow miss her.
Her strawberry-blond hair is pulled back, and her smile is huge when she sees us.
“They’re huggers,” I say, warning Jameson as we make our way over. “Prepare yourself.”
He takes my coat before we move into the pew, setting it on the far end, and I introduce him to my parents. “It’s good to finally meet you,” my mom says to him, making it sound like I talk about him all the time and she’s just been dying to meet him.
“I think we met at the funeral,” my dad says, doing a moderately good job of keeping his booming voice to a dull roar in the still-quiet church.
There’s a moment of awkward silence when he realizes he just mentioned my dead husband to my date, but then he continues with, “It’s good to see you again.
” He holds out his hand, and as Jameson shakes it, Dad pulls him in for a hug.
The second Dad lets go, Mom is pulling Jameson in for a hug, and I half wish I hadn’t warned him, just to see what his reaction would have been.
“Lauren talks about you all the time,” Mom says, her arms still wrapped around him.
“Does she, now?”
I have talked about him, in terms of him helping me with the estate.
And I guess I’ve talked about the magic his family has worked on making my new house feel like home.
And I did tell her how he was the one who told me about the job opportunity with the Rebels.
But I absolutely have not talked about him in the way she’s implying, not to my parents anyway.
On the other side of them, I notice Paige, whose shoulders shake with laughter.
I introduce him to two of my brothers and their wives, and while we wait for the bride who is now more than fashionably late to her own wedding, Jameson talks to my dad about coaching hockey.
“Yeah,” Dad says, his quintessential Maine accent making the word sound more like ay-uhp, “but it’s feeling like it’s about time for me to step down from coaching.”
“Why?” Jameson asks. “You’re still winning.”
My dad almost single-handedly built our high school’s hockey program into one of the best in the state.
I’ve lost track of how many times they’ve gone to the state championship.
And while I know Jameson knows about that from our dinner five years ago, I’m not sure what to make of the fact that he’s still following how the team is doing.
“I’d rather go out while we’re still winning.
Nothing lasts forever, and it’s time for me to train the next generation of coaches.
I’ve got one assistant coach in particular, this kid Justin”—at the mention of my ex’s name, Jameson’s hand slips onto my bare leg, his thumb stroking the outside of my knee—“who was on my team when we won back-to-back championships over a decade ago.”
Those two years cemented Justin’s status as a living legend in our small town. It’s part of the reason I’ve never told anyone how things really ended between the two of us.
And now, I watch both my parents notice Jameson’s hand on my knee at the mention of Justin’s name.
My mom’s eyes meet mine, and she gives me a little smile.
I can tell she’s happy for me. I’m trying to figure out my dad’s perspective when the music starts playing, and everyone turns toward the back door.
I hadn’t even noticed that my cousin and his groomsmen had moved to the front of the church, and that’s just fine, because for the rest of the service I intentionally look anywhere except at the groomsmen. And yet, I feel Justin’s eyes on me the whole time, like the creep that he is.
Dinner is almost over when the bride and groom have their first dance.
It’s been a bit surreal sitting here in the clubhouse at the golf course Justin worked at in the summers while we were dating.
I have so many memories of this place, and it makes me nauseous that they all revolve around being here with my ex.
Jameson’s arm snakes around my waist as we stand there watching the bride and groom. He squeezes me to his side and drops a kiss on my head. I’m surprised yet relieved at how natural it feels to be here with him.
I was worried everything was going to be awkward, but my brothers have talked to him nonstop about hockey, peppering him with questions about what it was like to play for the Rebels and what it’s like being an agent for some of the biggest names in the sport.
He and Paige have bantered, her giving him shit about everything from his expensive suit to the way he hasn’t even finished his drink, whereas most of us have had a couple.
“He’s staring at you like a total stalker,” Jameson says quietly enough that no one will hear him over the music. I know he’s talking about Justin—I’ve felt his eyes on me all night.
“Yeah.” I step in front him and he wraps his arms around me as he anchors my body to his. I keep my voice equally quiet when I say, “I don’t know what his problem is. He wasn’t like this in high school.”
“What was he like?”
I give a little shrug as I look up at Jameson and quietly tell him, “Everyone loved him—teachers, parents, our peers. He was a good student, a three-sport athlete, and he worked at the kids’ camp at this golf course in the summer. I don’t know, he was just, like, an upstanding guy.”