I Wish You Were Mine (Oxford #2)(84)

“I love you,” she said softly. “I’ve always, always loved you. Even when it was a really, really bad idea.”

“Thank you,” he said gently. “For loving me. Even if I didn’t know it, I’m honored. I’m humbled.”

“I don’t want any of that nonsense,” she said. “I just want your love.”

He smiled down at her. “I hope you’re sure about that. Because you’re going to have it for a long, long time to come.”





Epilogue


FIVE MONTHS LATER

Stepping off the elevator onto the Oxford floor on a Friday afternoon was a bit like walking into a crowded stadium—noisy, rowdy, and filled with men.

Although today seemed even noisier than usual, and Mollie quickly found out why when she walked into the main reception area and encountered what appeared to be the entire office surrounding a folding table.

Mollie walked up and stood between Jake Malone and Alex Cassidy, both barely glancing at her as they muttered distracted hellos. She jerked her chin to where her boyfriend sat perfectly still holding both hands out in front of him, his fingers shaped like L’s and touching at the thumbs, as Lincoln sat across the table from him with a triangular piece of folded paper.

Jackson glanced up, caught her eye, and winked before turning his attention back to Lincoln, who was currently having his shoulders rubbed by Cole, not unlike a trainer prepping a boxer before a match.

“So,” she said casually, “what’s happening here?”

“Paper football,” Jake said without looking away from the table.

“Uh-huh,” she said. “And everyone is riveted by this third-grade phenomenon because…?”

“Because whoever wins gets to be my best man,” Cassidy responded without glancing at her.

She stared at him. “Are you serious? You’re basing your choice of best man on the winner of a game of paper football?”

He glanced down at her with amused green eyes. “Can you think of a better way in this group? It was that or watch Jake, Lincoln, Cole, and your boy Jackson try to figure out how to do a four-way arm-wrestling match.”

Her lips parted. “Jackson was in the running?”

She was oddly touched, even though it wasn’t about her. Cassidy had proposed to Emma Sinclair a few months back—for the second time. Quietly, over their morning coffee, in what Emma had declared the most perfect moment of her life. As far as Mollie knew, they hadn’t set a date, but the fact that Alex Cassidy considered Jackson a good enough friend to be a part of his wedding had her eyes watering.

“Jeez, don’t cry, Molls,” Cassidy muttered, not looking at her. “Turns out he’s a good dude. When he’s not being an ass.”

“Well, that’s true,” she acknowledged with a little tilt of her head.

Jake came over and shook his head. “Sucks, man. I’ve known you longest.”

Cassidy gave him a look. “I know you lost in the first round on purpose.”

Jake smiled guiltily. “I don’t want to wear a tux.”

“Oh, you still have to wear a tux,” Cassidy said. “Those who aren’t best man are groomsmen.”

“Shit,” Jake breathed. “Fine, but no boutonniere.”

Cassidy leaned down toward Mollie. “Make sure to mention to Emma that I want boutonnieres for all the men, would you? Pink, something lavish.”

Jake ignored this and turned his attention toward the table. “Lincoln, what in the hell are you doing? Just flick the damn thing already.”

“Seriously,” Jackson muttered. “My hands are getting tired.”

“Sucks for you, Molls. The man has cramping hands,” Jake said.

“Not too cramped to do this,” Jackson said, lifting his middle finger at Jake with a grin before resuming the field goal position. “Mathis, for God’s sake, end this.”

“If Lincoln makes this, he wins,” Cassidy explained. “Although I’m thinking I should have set a time limit.”

“My chi has to be in the right place!” Lincoln called without looking back. “Also, hi, Mollie.”

“Hey! How’d you know I was here?”

“I’m in tune with female pheromones. I knew the second you walked in the building, love.”

“Christ. Just do it already,” Jackson growled.

Lincoln flicked the paper football. It sailed directly between Jackson’s hands, hitting him square in the tie.

Lincoln erupted from the table, hands held victoriously in the air as though he’d just won the Super Bowl.

Jackson cursed softly, but Mollie saw he was grinning as Lincoln burst into Queen’s “We Are the Champions.”

Mollie was shoved gently to the side as Lincoln came barreling at Cassidy, wrapping his arms around the other man’s shoulders in a comical, one-sided man hug.

“From here on out, just call me BM,” Lincoln said, resting his head on Cassidy’s shoulder and batting his eyelashes.

“Bowel movement?” Cole said in sham confusion.

“Best man,” Lincoln corrected haughtily.

“All right,” Cassidy muttered, trying to fend off Lincoln’s man hug. “That’s enough.”

Lincoln didn’t move. “I’m honored,” Lincoln said, his voice solemn for once. “Seriously.”