Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
“But they can just use our bathroom, I suppose,” she says, talking herself down. She’s nothing if not rational, even when she’s careening toward an official bride freak-out. “It’s fine,” she says. “No big deal. There’s no reason guests can’t use the en suite.”
I frown as I near a hallway that leads to the practice field. “First of all, weird. No one wants to walk through your bedroom to use your bathroom, and you don’t want that either. Two, you’re not going to host your own wedding shower.” I catch a familiar figure coming toward me down the hall, dressed for practice, helmet in hand. It’s a short week, and Carter, my friend Rachel’s husband, is heading to the field for a light practice. I wave at him with my free hand while I reassure Charlotte, “I’ll find a place, so stop. Just stop. I can handle this.”
Carter pauses beside me, eavesdropping. Pointing to the phone, he mouths, “Need a place for something? You can use our house.”
I tell Charlotte to hold on a sec. “You’re sweet to offer…”
Before he can answer—before I’ve finished my sentence—a familiar voice cuts in.
“I’ve got this.”
Deep, rich, warm…I spin around, and my heart flutters to see Wilder walking up behind me. Maybe he came down the other hallway.
I look away to hurriedly finish the call. “I’ll call you back, Charlotte. And I will find a place. I promise.”
“Thank you,” she says fervently. “You’re the best.”
Hanging up, I look at the two men. I’m a little confused, but I’m grateful. “That’s nice of both of you,” I say.
“Yes, thank you, Carter,” Wilder says to his star player. “But if this is about the wedding shower, I have it under control.”
“No problem, Mr. Blaine,” Carter says. The man is technically his boss too.
Wilder chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s Wilder,” he says, clearly not for the first time.
Carter nods and turns toward the exit. “Right, Mr. Blaine.”
As he heads to the field, I look at the team owner in a three-piece suit. No jacket though. He’s just wearing charcoal slacks, a butter yellow dress shirt, and—holy shit—a vest.
My chest heats up. Why are vests so hot? I don’t even know. It could be the way they hug a man’s waist. Or how they accentuate his pecs. Or maybe it’s just the promise of buttons.
Of undoing them, nice and slow.
“Is this for the shower this Sunday?” Wilder repeats.
Right. Yes. The shower. Not the great unbuttoning. “Yes.”
“Leo texted me,” Wilder explains. “He asked if I knew a place.”
“Wait. Let me guess. You own some brunch spots too,” I tease, adjusting the box under my arm. “On top of your cabins, the golf course, your clean energy businesses, and all your Vegas hotels.”
He smirks. “You forgot I have a hotel here in San Francisco too.”
“I didn’t forget.” The Resort is where I ran into him that fateful night over a year ago with my friends. “I hear that place is supposed to be real swanky. Someone keeps telling me to stay there.”
He gives a hint of a smile. “You should try it for yourself sometime. See if you agree.”
“If you insist,” I say, then focus on practical matters. “So, is that where the shower would be?”
Wilder takes a beat, those green eyes glinting. “Actually, I thought…I could host it at my home.”
My breath catches. His home. “That’s so nice of you.” The words aren’t rote or empty. It is remarkably kind of him to offer his house, which must be amazing.
“Thank you.” He steps a little closer, his snow and forest scent tickling my nose. He lowers his voice like we’re keeping a secret, and I suppose we are. “But as the best man and maid of honor, wouldn’t it make the most sense if we host it together?”
I hadn’t even thought of that. But for appearances, that makes sense. “Sure. Yes. Of course.”
I’m gobsmacked already, and I haven’t even seen his house. Is pre-gobsmacked a thing? If so, I’m feeling it.
“It’ll be like practice for the Christmas competition, and why not give ourselves the home-field advantage?” Damn, his strategic mind is hot.
“Yes. That’s so wonderful of you.”
“Of us, Fable,” he corrects. His warmth makes it clear that this offer should seem like our idea as a couple. His gaze lingers on me, and I feel unmoored. “Would you like to let her know?”
My heart is beating faster than usual. “Yes. I will.”
“And maybe you could come over in advance?”
“To help you get ready?”
He laughs, but not at me. More with me as he shakes his head. “No. Because it wouldn’t make sense if you’re seeing my home for the first time when everyone else is. You should know where things are, like the library. The movie room. The bathroom…”
“The bedroom,” I say on a breath, and the word seems to linger between us. What is Wilder’s bedroom like? I picture a huge bed, soft covers, elegance, and masculinity. And I’m desperate to see it.