Page 63 of On the Line

“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 awhooshof 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 churchlookinglike 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 meisn’tenough 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 laugher.

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 likeay-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.

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