Good Boy (WAGs #1)(9)

Actually, I’m pretty sure I did once.

“Gotta use your bathroom, honey. Pick that tongue up off the floor and let me pass?”

This remark snaps me back to consciousness. “Did you ever hear of clothes?”

“You’ve seen it all before.” He places a hand on my upper arm and nudges me aside. “Really, honey, I know you’re enjoying the view, but I’ve gotta make the bladder gladder.”

I’m no longer in control of my eyes, though, because they follow his hand down to where he wraps it around his giant…

Gah!

Scurrying into my bedroom, I yank my bathrobe off its hook and hastily tie it on. With a double knot. Just in case.

“Why were you in my bed?” I grumble at the bathroom door.

“Couch was too small,” he calls back.

“That doesn’t give you permission to jump into bed with me!”

“You said it was cool when I came in and asked to bunk with you,” he protests. “And you’re awful cuddly, J-Babe. Like sleeping with an octopus.”

Ugh. Betrayed by my subconscious.

Grabbing my brush, I begin raking my hair into shape. I have to dry it, style it, put on makeup, get dressed, meet the caterers, see to the cake. And a hundred other things.

I pick up the hairdryer just as a warm, solid body sidles up behind me. “You know,” a low voice drawls as a warm hand squeezes my shoulder. “There’s time to feed the kitty before we get dressed for the big day.”

He’s so near that parts of me tingle even in my outrage. “Blake,” I say, my voice almost a whisper.

“Yes,” he breathes beside my ear.

“I don’t have a cat.”

He lets out a sexy rumble, his thumb trailing down my arm. And it’s then that I realize feed the kitty means…

“We aren’t feeding the kitty or hiding the salami or anything else you can think of to call it. We’re just not. There will be no repeats this weekend.”

He reaches beneath my wet hair and cups the back of my head, his long fingers trailing across my skull. Goosebumps break out all over my body. “Never say never, J-Babe.”

It’s a good thing my back is to him, because I can’t control my shudder of longing as his fingers leave my skin. “Don’t you have to go meet your date?” I remind the both of us.

“I’ll get her right before the wedding. I thought I’d help you with errands first.”

“Seriously?” This gets my attention. I spin around because I have to know if he’s joking. I need all the help I can get.

“Sure. I have a rental car, and I’m no longer too drunk to drive it. We’ll have to swing by the bar where I left it last night. You probably have errands that need running last minute, right?”

Only a million. My brain goes racing down the list. “Balloons,” I say quickly. “I’ve ordered four dozen of them for eleven o’clock so that they’ll stay fully inflated all evening.” All Blake has to do is shove them in his car and drive away. He couldn’t ruin it if he tried. “And Grandma Canning needs a lift from the airport.”

His face splits into a grin. “See? You do need me to help you.”

“You’re right, I do.” It hurts me to admit this. But I really do. “But…you’re just going to leave your date to herself for several hours? Won’t she mind?”

“Not in the least,” he says grandly. “She might even be glad.”

I bite back the urge to make a pithy comment. “Why don’t you raid my fridge while I dry my hair, and then I’ll drive you to your car?”

“Now we’re talking!” He takes one huge stride toward my kitchen, and the muscles flex in his gorgeous…

“Blake?”

“J-Babe?”

“Put on some clothes.”

He sighs. “If you insist.”





3 Everything Looks Terrif





Jess


The ceremony and reception are being held on the gorgeous, sprawling grounds of the gorgeous, sprawling house that belongs to friends of my parents. Originally we were going to rent a banquet hall somewhere, but Mom was at lunch with the Todds a few months back and, when she mentioned that Jamie was getting married, the couple offered the use of their home.

And they refused to let us pay them. Apparently Mr. Todd is a hockey fanatic. He was actually trying to pay us for the privilege of hosting Ryan Wesley and more than half the Toronto roster.

The good thing about doing this at a private residence is that it makes it easier to fly under the radar. A public event would’ve no doubt found its way to the press, who’ve been hounding Wes and Jamie ever since their relationship became public. This way, the two of them can actually have some privacy while they declare their undying love for each other.

Me, I’ve pretty much been on the verge of a nervous breakdown all morning. I’d decided to become a party planner because I wanted to do something artistic. But it hasn’t worked out that way. If anything, I’m more like a drill sergeant. It’s not fun. It’s fucking exhausting.

I tell as much to Dyson as the two of us sit under the enormous tent set up on the Todd property. We’re folding ivory-colored napkins at one of the tables while various people shuffle in and out of the tent, hauling chairs and flowers and centerpieces.