Chapter 15
FISHER
Walking out of the courthouse, I tilt my head to stare at Lila—my wife.
She’s smiling, and her arm is looped through mine. Her ridiculous puffy sleeve is pressed against my ugly leisure suit.
My friends follow us out of the government building, whooping and cheering as we exit.
They're raucous, which is unnecessary since our outfits are loud enough by themselves, but I’m here for it.
It’s my wedding day, after all. Penn and Noah hold the doors open for us, and on a whim, I sweep Lila up into my arms and carry her as we step outside into the sunshine.
Laughing, Ally pulls out her phone and takes a few photos of us. Lila sticks her tongue out and holds up a peace sign, and I act like I’m going to lick her face.
Ally puts her phone away, and I place Lila back on her feet. The sun rests in the sky just behind her, making the outline of her body glow. She looks beautiful, even in that frumpy gown. Her smile is enough on its own. I don’t think anything she wore could have taken away from her pretty smile.
“So…what now?” she asks, blinking up at me with big doe eyes.
“I’m starving,” Penn says, interrupting my perusal of Lila’s beauty.
Hazel rolls her eyes. “What else is new?”
“I could eat.” Noah rubs his stomach over his scratchy wool suit. “Actually, I know a great Mexican place a few blocks away.”
“Let’s do it,” Lila says. “It’ll be our wedding reception.”
“Nothing says holy matrimony like tacos and frozen margaritas,” I add with a grin. Honestly, I want to spend more time with Lila. It would feel weird to just pack up and head home by myself after marrying her.
The six of us start walking down the hill toward the supposed Mexican restaurant Noah mentioned.
The couples walk hand in hand, while Lila and I stand beside each other, not touching.
It shouldn’t feel awkward; we’re not married married.
And yet, my spine prickles. I flex my hand at my side, willing it not to reach for hers.
I said I wanted to be her friend, and friends do not hold hands.
We walk for several minutes, the sun warming our backs as the cool bay breeze cools our front. Ally stops abruptly in her tracks, and I nearly crash into her.
“Oh. My. Gosh.” She presses her hands against a storefront and stares inside. “It’s one of those boudoir photo studios.”
Noah’s face turns beet red. “Ally, I’m not doing that.”
She turns and narrows her eyes at him. “Not for you! For Fisher and Lila!”
Lila chokes on air. “I’m sorry? What?”
Ally crosses her arms with a sigh. “We can’t have your only wedding photos be ones that I snapped on my phone. We need proper professional photos. For your wedding announcement in the paper, remember?”
“Ally, I’m not sure how your family rolls, but I doubt mine would take kindly to an X-rated national newspaper spread of their youngest son and his new bride. We’re trying to piss them off, not give them actual heart attacks.”
“You all are such prudes! I bet the photographer would be willing to take some quick photos. Nudity isn’t a requirement for boudoir; these places do tons of lingerie shoots, too."
Penn waggles his eyebrows at Hazel. “I could get behind a lingerie shoot.”
“Keep dreaming,” she retorts, crossing her arms. But I don’t miss the telltale flush creeping up her neck as she glares at Penn. Hazel clearly likes the idea more than she’s letting on.
I glance through the window and see a middle-aged woman inside looking through a magazine. She doesn’t appear to have any clients.
“It’s worth asking if they’d take some fully clothed pictures,” I suggest, opening the door before anyone can stop me.
A bell above the door jingles, making the woman jump and hold her magazine to her chest. It’s a copy of Sports Illustrated with a shirtless hockey player on the cover.
We all step inside and her jaw drops as she takes us in. “You guys play for the Lions!”
Lila breathes a sigh. “Here we go again.”
Ally snorts a laugh.
The woman shakes her head. “Sorry, it’s not every day professional hockey players walk into my little photo studio. How can I help you?” Her eyes roam from me, to Penn, to Noah, her expression hopeful as she adds, “Male nudes?”
I step forward, shaking my head as I try not to laugh. “Well, you see, this little lady and I…” I tug Lila against my side. “Just got hitched. Could you take some wedding photos for us?”
The woman smirks. “NSFW?”
“No!” Lila says quickly, attempting to cover her disdain of the idea with a laugh. “We’d just like some cute photos to remember this special day.”
“Of course!” The woman says, grabbing a large black camera off a shelf and looping the strap around her neck, then removing a flier from the same shelf and crossing the room to hand it to me. “These are the packages I offer.”
My eyes graze down the flier until I spot one that says fifteen-minute mini shoot. I point to it. “We’ll do this one.”
“Perfect, come on back!” The woman waves for us to follow her. “I’m Laurel, by the way.” She opens a curtain that separates the lobby from a well-lit space with a tufted baby-blue sofa and a clean white backdrop. Two silver umbrella lights sit facing the sofa.
“Is there a certain backdrop you’d like to use?” Laurel asks. “I have roses, Paris, black, white, and one that looks like a strip club.”
“I’m good with the white,” Lila answers.
“Me too,” I agree. “Although, I’m intrigued by the strip club option.”
Lila elbows me in the ribs, and I snicker.
“Okay, let’s start with a few of you both with your wedding party, then we’ll take some of just the two of you.” Laurel grabs a hair tie from her wrist and ties her brown hair up in a messy bun.
The six of us are ushered into the frame and the photographer tells us where to stand, then takes several different shots.
We take some serious photos, then some posed ones where we’re all folding our hands the same way, and then some silly ones where the three of us guys are putting out the vibe Dumb and Dumber style.
Laurel then tells the girls to hike up their ugly dresses to show off the equally frilly garters on their thighs.
My gaze lingers on Lila’s thigh longer than necessary.
Laurel clicks through the photos on her camera, nodding in approval. “What a good-looking group. Okay, now let’s capture the love birds.”
“That’s your cue to leave,” I tell my roommates with a grin. I’m met with a bunch of grumbled protests, but they duck out from behind the curtain. Once they’re safely out of sight, I hold my hand out to Lila. “Come, my love. Let’s capture the memory of our passion.”
Lila takes my hand, a rush of heat moving up my arm at the contact. “Let’s. My brain is sure to turn to mush after our passionate lovemaking later, so these photos will be my only memory of today.” She bats her lashes.
My mouth tugs up in a slow smile, happy she seems fully relaxed and herself again now that the ceremony is over.
I love that her humor matches mine, that she can tease right back and think on her feet with a witty one liner.
I realized long ago that women are often way funnier than men, but when I’m with women, they’re not usually trying to make me laugh, they’re trying to take me to bed.
And that was fine by me. But bantering back and forth with Lila is addictive.
The photographer smiles at us like we’re the most romantic pair ever. “I’ll have the groom sit on the sofa,” she directs me, and I take a seat in the center. “And the lovely bride can sit on his lap.”
Lila’s bluster fades as she looks down at me. I stand and grab her by the waist, pulling her back down onto the sofa with me.
“Don’t be shy,” I whisper, looking up into her dark, twinkling eyes.
Lila smirks, sliding her arms around my shoulders. I keep my hands on her waist. I like the way she feels in my arms. I like the way my hands feel against her. Even with all the beading and fluff, the warmth of her skin heats my palms.
I don’t realize how long we stare at each other, frozen in the moment, until the flash from the camera shutters.
“Yes, that’s perfect!” The photographer encourages. “That heated gaze…” she smiles behind her camera. “That’s what you’ll want to remember from this day.” Laurel stands back, worrying her lip as she considers the next pose. “Bride, lean in closer, until your lips are almost touching.”
Lila hesitates, her eyes still on mine. She leans in closer, so close I can feel her warm, minty breath against my mouth.
I want to close the distance, to take more than the small peck I gave her during the ceremony.
I want to learn how she tastes, study how she likes to be kissed.
I was never the best at studying in school, but this is a subject I’d be sure to master.
The photographer snaps more photos, but I barely notice her as I stare at the beautiful woman on my lap.
“Okay, Groom…give your bride a kiss.”
Laurel’s instruction is like a gift from the gods.
I look at Lila, and my eyebrows pump once in question, and excitement builds inside my chest when Lila tilts her head in consent.
Angling my head toward her, I press my lips against hers.
Lila’s mouth is soft and sweet, the scent of her perfume mixing with the natural aroma of her skin in the most decadent cocktail of spice and honeyed sweetness.
I lean my head to the side to get a better angle, and she softens in my arms, pressing against me.
Lila parts her lips, and I dip my tongue out to taste her bottom lip.
She makes the sexiest little sound in her throat as her hands slide from my shoulders to my neck, threading her fingers into the hair at my nape.
I faintly hear the clearing of a throat. Lila pulls back, and I blink the kiss-induced fog from my eyes.
“Um, I got plenty of photos,” Laurel says, staring at us with her camera hanging limp around her neck. “And the fifteen minutes is up, I’m afraid. As much as I’d love to photograph you two all day, I have another client coming in soon.”
I smirk at Lila, trying not to show my disappointment that our photoshoot is finished.
I like having her close to me. Something tugs at my chest, a pang of disappointment, perhaps even heartache…
that my family will see these photos in the paper and be instantly angry and disappointed.
Even if this was real, they’d never give Lila a chance, never welcome her into the family.
An artist with no college degree, no high-society connections, and no idea how to network at galas?
She’d be an outsider, just like I am. A wish filters through my head, a wish I haven’t dreamt of in a long, long time…
that my family appreciated and embraced who I am.
That the Fishers were people who’d come to my wedding because they simply wanted to be there for me.
A family who’d love Lila and tell me she was too good for me.
Because while I have—had—the padded bank account, Lila has all the goodness. She’s everything bright and light and wonderful. Poetry flows through her every movement and expression.
“How did it go?” Ally asks as we step back around the curtain.
Lila’s hair is mussed, her lips swollen, and she’s smiling. She’s never looked more beautiful.
Penn smirks at me knowingly. “I’d say it went very well.”
I neither confirm nor deny, wanting to keep that moment…that intense kiss…for myself and Lila. Well, and Laurel, of course.
While Lila and my friends wait outside, I fill out a form with my information and pay for our photos. The photographer tells me she’ll email a few sample photos tomorrow after she edits them, and then send the rest in a few weeks.
When I meet my friends outside, they’re all chatting and laughing together like Lila has been part of our group all this time.
“Ready?” Lila asks. She loops her arm through mine, our earlier awkwardness somehow having dissipated. She grins cheekily. “Noah said he’s up for celebratory tequila shots.”
“I said no such thing,” Noah protests, but he’s half-smiling. I can tell he likes Lila.
“Sure, you did,” Penn says.
I shake my head, hating to be the bummer of the group. But I need to play my best during the playoffs if I want a shot at the Lions extending my contract. “I’m not drinking again until after the playoffs.”
Ally groans. “Of course, now that I’m finally twenty-one and can order my own shot, you guys aren’t drinking.”
“Patron’s on me as soon as the playoffs are over,” I promise.
Ally quits pouting. “Okay, deal.”
We continue on our way to the restaurant, and a pang echoes through my chest.
It hits me that these people are my family.
That the family I was just longing for, I already have.
My friends might not share my genetics, but they’re the ones who accept me, who encourage me.
They’re the ones who see how amazing Lila is, who don’t give a shit if she has tattoos and spends her days painting in an old firehouse.
My friends see past titles, bank accounts, and fancy college educations. They see someone’s heart.
I smile, blinking away sudden tears that burn my eyes. I didn’t expect to get emotional today, but how could I not? I’m a lucky son of a bitch to have the best friends in the world, and the coolest fake wife I could’ve imagined.