Good Boy (WAGs #1)(3)

Sleeping with him was a mistake, but it’s a mistake I won’t be repeating. Doesn’t matter that he gave me three orgasms in thirty minutes. I will not be tapping that ass again.

“Actually, life’s not all that different from those college days,” he muses. “The babes are still knocking on the old Riley door.” He grins at me. “Sometimes they show up in nothing but a trench coat.”

“Ooooh, sounds kinky.” Sarcasm drips from my tone.

“It is,” he says seriously. “Like as kinky as getting it on in a massage chair.”

I glare at him. He just laughs, that deep, boisterous laugh that seems to come from the center of his soul, because Blake doesn’t do anything half-assed. He laughs the way he lives his life—loud and fierce and without inhibition.

He fucks that way, too.

Argh. Damn it. I don’t want to think about how Blake is in bed. I don’t want to think about him, period.

“I need to speak to the caterer,” I say stiffly. “Go bother someone else.”

“Not until you tell me why you vetoed my idea about life-sized cutouts of the grooms.”

“Because it was childish!” I blurt out, frazzled to the point of anger. “All your ideas were! I was trying to plan a wedding, and you were trying to plan a teenage girl’s Sweet Sixteen!”

He smirks. “Excuuuuuuse me for trying to inject some silliness into your brother’s wedding.” He gestures around the room again, pointing at the gorgeous centerpieces at each table and the flickering candles set up on the ledges spanning the walls. “Maybe if you’d taken some of my suggestions, this shindig wouldn’t be so stuffy.”

“It’s not stuffy. It’s elegant. Now if you’ll please excuse me…” I force myself not to stamp my foot, because that would make me the childish one. And Blake Riley wouldn’t understand what it’s like to be the only screw-up in a family of achievers. Besides, there’s nothing stuffy about the labor of love I’ve done for this wedding. It’s going to be perfect, or I’ll die trying.

It’s too late to convince my almost-brother-in-law to pick a new best man. So I solve the problem the only way I know how—with a gulp of champagne and by marching away from the big oaf.





Blake


I watch Jess Canning stride away, her long, tanned legs mocking me, her perfect ass sashaying. To look at us, you’d almost think that Jess didn’t like me. But this is just how we are together. Fiery, baby. That little exchange just bought me at least an hour of sweet lovin’. Though at some point I’ll have to stop baiting her so she’ll remember how much she likes to get naked with me.

It’s all about the timing, really. And I’ve always been good with timing. That’s why I had twenty-one goals last season.

And, hell, it’s fun to tease her. She gets a cute little furrow on that smooth, kissable forehead. Her big brown eyes get all flashy, as if Bambi were possessed by a demon. A really hot, fuckable demon with great tits.

At the rate I’m going, she and I won’t be doing the naked salsa until the dessert course. But I can wait. I’m a patient man. And in the meantime, I’m going to feast on seafood with my best buds.

A few minutes later, Jess herds everyone into a dining room overlooking the bay. There’s candlelight and a killer view. The boats in the distance look like toys from here. It’s beautiful.

“What a dump,” I tell Jess as she rushes by to tweak another detail. “I wanted to have the rehearsal dinner at a clam shack on the beach.”

She casts me a glare that burns with pure hatred.

Yessss. My dick gives a little twitch of impatience.

There are name cards on the tables so everyone knows where to sit. Mine is on the opposite end of the long table from Jess. I know she did that just so we could stare longingly at each other from a distance.

I take my seat beside her brother Scott. “Dude. Are you wearing your weapon right now?” I ask him. If I couldn’t be a hockey player, I’d be a cop like Scott.

“Uh, no,” Scott says. “No need to show up to my brother’s wedding packing heat.”

“Bummer. Can I play with the siren in your cruiser, then?” I’ve always wanted to do that.

“Since I made detective, I don’t have a cruiser anymore. So no more siren.”

“What a rip!” I thump him on the back. “What’s the point of being a cop if you don’t get all the gear?”

He picks up his menu card, so I pick up mine. There’s a list of all the tasty things we’re going to eat. On the cover there’s a black-and-white map of Lake Placid, New York, even though we’re in Marin County, California right now. Jamie and my teammate Wes met in Lake Placid, and that’s why Jess put it on the card.

I can’t help myself—I pull out my phone and text her. Shoulda gone with my suggestion. The pic of two lobsters humping? Sets the mood for the bachelor party later.

Her reply takes a minute to arrive. Stop texting me or I’ll block you.

Yup. She wants me.

Waiters begin to bring out food, so I have to concentrate. I’m serious about my food. I mean, you don’t get to be this size without knowing your chow. Luckily, the restaurant doesn’t disappoint. We have a fabulous shrimp cocktail and a ceviche so tangy and delicious that it makes me want to cry. Then it’s on to lobster tail and potato-crusted salmon and peppercorn tuna.