Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
He drops his hand and leaves.
I rub my chin, wanting this fizzy feeling to last.
12
BOYFRIEND STYLE
REMY
“Smile for the camera.”
The directive comes from a pale, lanky, British guy in a porkpie hat, a Nikon slung around his neck. He’s the photographer Fresh Face hired to shoot the picnic, starting with the wedding party members and their plus-ones. Caroline’s brand manager, Margot, circulates here too—she’s over by the tables, fussing with napkins—while a woman named Fallon from Fresh Face stands next to the photographer. Fallon’s stern as a sentry with her tight bun and no-nonsense expression.
Caroline was right about finding a vibrant color—the teal cardigan I’m wearing looks great with the flowers behind us at the Botanic Gardens, and the khaki pants I’m wearing don’t steal focus.
Lake, though?
He steals focus so hard in his untucked white linen button-down and tan pants that hug his thick thighs and strong ass. The man doesn’t miss glute day, that’s for sure.
Has Clementine’s hockey-playing brother always been this hot? Sure, empirically Lake’s criminally handsome. But he’s also just plain hot. Like sex hot, like do-bad-things-to-me hot, like bend-me-over-the-bed-and-pull-my-hair hot.
And…I really need to be careful about these filthy thoughts running wild as we pose in front of the white snowdrops and yellow and purple crocuses.
Lake’s arm is draped around me “boyfriend style” as he said earlier with a husky whisper in my ear. A whisper that sent a hot rush through me. Like what’s happening now as his fingers curl around my shoulder.
The problem is we’re part of the wedding party, and we’re next to my sister and Parker. My parents are here too, and I did a quick intro with them and Lake before Fallon ordered us over for pics. I haven’t seen Jameson yet, and I’m half dreading and half psyched for him to see the arm candy I’ve got.
Oh, was that petty of me? I don’t even care.
“Lovely,” the photographer coos, as he lowers the camera to check the display. “How about just the maid of honor?”
Is that part of the plan? I snap my gaze to my sister. “Do you want that?”
“Yes, that’s on the shot list from Fresh Face,” Fallon interjects. “Proceed.”
Caroline squeezes my shoulder. “I told them you’re a devotee. And it’s good to show how great the makeup looks on someone of a different gen.”
I scoff. “I’m eight years younger. That’s not a generation.”
“In wrinkles it is, my gorgeous little sister,” Caroline says, practically ebullient for her, then grabs Parker’s hand, leading him off with a “Let’s say hi to some of the bridesmaids.”
He smiles dotingly as he replies, “Whatever you want.”
He’s everything she wants—someone who happily lets her take charge.
With them gone, Fallon shoos Lake out of the shot. “Just the MOH,” she says, as if uttering the words maid of honor takes too much work. Then, something must catch her eye across the gardens. “The MIL’s lipliner!”
She sprints to triage Parker’s mom’s makeup.
The photographer smiles my way. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you, love.”
Lake deals him a dark look that does something dangerous to my insides, then steps out of view of the camera. But he stays close as the British shutterbug lifts his lens to capture me. “Now, love. If you can just give me a nice pout, yeah?”
Is that really on the shot list—a pout from the MOH? But Caroline wants everything to go smoothly, so I don’t protest. Instead I get creative and say, “This is my best pout.”
Then I don’t give him my sexiest expression. Fresh Face can have mild vamp only.
“Brilliant. Just brilliant.” He keeps clicking. When he’s done, he says, “Thanks again. You’re fun to shoot.”
It’s said with a gaze that lingers a little too long on my chest. An uncomfortable feeling slithers through me, but I’ve handled moments like this before. I can do it again, by maintaining my professional distance.
“You’re welcome,” I say, my tone distant and clipped, and right as I’m about to march off—since you should always march off from leery men—Lake materializes at my side, setting a strong hand on my arm. “Fallon said she wants FP now.”
I furrow my brow. “Full wedding party?”
“Yup.”
“Why not FWP?”
“I have no idea.” He smirks like he’s in on this too—the silliness of shortening everything.
“They’ll certainly need me, then,” the photographer says. I guess we can’t quite shake Mr. Leery.
Lake turns to the photographer, shifting to full game face—all stony and don’t mess with me. “Yes, they will.” And when Lake returns his gaze to me, his blue eyes flash with warmth, maybe even heat, as he says, “I’ll walk with you, beautiful.”
Oh.
I just acquired a pet name. One that sounds possessive and private rolling off his tongue. Lake ups the ante once more, dropping a quick but firm kiss to my cheek. My skin buzzes, whether from the beautiful or the kiss, I don’t know. Probably both. I smile up at him.