Page 134 of The Dixon Rule

“I know, right?” Shane drawls. “She’s really punching up.”

“Oh, fuck off. You’re the one who’s punching. I’m so out of your league, it’s not even funny.”

“Truth,” Beckett says, raising his champagne glass.

The neighboring tables are even more boisterous than our own. The entire Briar hockey program is here, men’s and women’s teams. Champagne flows freely, the clinking of crystal glasses and loud bursts of laughter echoing all around us.

There was a string quartet playing gentle classical music during dinner, but now a live band takes the stage. Gigi and Ryder stand up, and I can see the resignation in Ryder’s blue eyes as the six-foot-five, ten-inch-dick groom is forced to be the center of attention again.

A gazebo draped in billowing fabrics serves as the backdrop for the newlyweds’ first dance. It’s spectacular. Gigi’s aunt knocked this wedding out of the park and into outer space.

As they dance under the moonlit sky, surrounded by the soft glow of fairy lights, Gigi and Ryder only have eyes for each other.

And just when I think I can’t cry any harder, their dance ends and Hannah Graham steps onto the stage. She’s utterly stunning in a slate-gray gown that hugs her body, the material shimmering with every step. She exudes pure grace, and the hush that falls over the room brings goose bumps to my flesh.

As the first notes of the piano fill the air, Hannah starts to sing. To this day, I’ll never understand why she chose to focus on songwriting instead of performing. Her voice is so beautiful. Rich and emotive, each note piercing right into your soul. I barely pay attention to the lyrics, although Blake whispers to me that it’s an old lullaby Hannah used to sing to the twins when they were little. Gigi is bawling, and even her brother, Wyatt, has tears in his eyes.

This wedding is next level.

Hannah’s final notes linger in the air. There’s a moment of dead silence before the guests erupt in applause.

And then the party starts.

The dance floor has the same strands of fairy lights suspended above it, creating a starlit canopy. I laugh in delight when Shane pulls me to my feet before I can even ask him to dance.

“I’ve converted you!” I accuse.

He links our fingers and tugs me toward the floor. “I have a confession to make,” he says ruefully. “I’ve always liked dancing.”

“Seriously? And you still put up such a big fight?”

“I said dancing, not this ballroom torture you’re putting me through. I’m just saying, I enjoy dancing in general. Chugging champagne, busting loose at a wedding. It’s fucking great.”

He’s right. There’s nothing I love more than a good wedding. And an intoxicating beat. And the feel of Shane’s big hands running over my body. There’s nothing sexual about his touch, though. It feels nice.

“I can’t wait to have one of these,” he confesses.

I blink. “A wedding?”

“Yup.”

“Yeah, okay. Sure.”

“I’m serious.” His eyes are bright and earnest.

“You want a wedding,” I say skeptically.

“A big one,” Shane confirms. “Bigger is better.” He winks. “That’s what I’ve heard anyway.”

I give him a little shove, but he just pulls me closer again. I don’t mind the slow dance. Yeah, I don’t mind having his muscular body against mine one iota.

“And when do you plan on having this wedding?” I ask him.

That gets me a shrug. “Honestly, the sooner the better. I always wanted to get married young. Wouldn’t mind being a young dad, either.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Really.”

“Sure. As long as it doesn’t interfere with hockey, why not.”

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