Page 64 of One Pucking Wish

“Is it serious?” she questions.

Gunner answers for me. “Oh yeah.”

“Oh my gosh, you are living my dream life. So lucky.” She extends her arms out in front of her, gesturing toward the large reception hall. “This is something else, huh? I told you her parents had mad money.”

I look around at the reception that could be, and probably is, in a wedding magazine. “Yeah, it’s gorgeous.”

“Tucker looks so happy, doesn’t he?”

I nod with a genuine smile on my face. “He really does.”

“Come on. We’re at the same table.” She takes my hand and leads me across the space. Looking back over her shoulder, she says, “You have to meet my date, Brian. Unlike you and Gunner, we are not serious. He’s the bartender at work.”

“You still at the same place?”

“Yep! Been serving at Red Robin for five years now. I love it there,” she says of the burger joint chain she works for.

“Gunner and I have been obsessed with their fries lately but only with…”

“Ketchup and ranch!” Gabby finishes my sentence.

“And extra seasoning salt,” I add.

“Yeah, as a server, I can get a basket of fries for free, so I swear I eat them for half my meals.”

I can’t help but notice she still has an amazing figure. Why some people have incredible metabolisms and others don’t is beyond me. If I ate nothing but fries, I’d be a whale. But at least I’d be a sexy one. I’ve accepted the fact that my body is going to do what it’s going to do. All that matters to me is that I feel healthy and strong. I’m grateful to my body for carrying me through this beautiful life, regardless of its shape or size.

Plus, Gunner loves my curves. In fact, he’s obsessed with them.

Besides Gunner and Brian, our table consists of people who graduated from the same high school. True to many small towns, many of my classmates married and remained in the same town where we grew up. I suppose that reality is my literal hell, but to each their own.

Gunner’s brilliance outshines even the fantastical surroundings of this wedding. Sometimes I forget that I’m dating a celebrity of sorts. I’m sure Gunner hates every second of the spotlight, but it works for me. There are fewer questions I have to answer. Who cares about the PR rep for an NHL hockey team when they have the star goalie to talk to instead?

He handles the questions and attention like a pro. Taking him in as he talks to my former classmates, I feel so fortunate to call this man mine. In a very short time, he’s become everything to me.

The dinner is incredible. While I originally ordered the steak entrée because it was the most expensive option, I’m glad I did. It’s one of the most delicious meals I’ve ever eaten. I’m sure Marcela’s parents hired some celebrity chef to cater this event. Heck, Bobby Flay is probably busy in the kitchen as we speak. There’s not an ounce of jealousy inside me. I truly feel nothing but happiness for my first love and his Target model.

This year has changed me. Thank goodness. I needed a reality check.

I have no regrets and it feels great.

Gunner finds my leg beneath the table. His strong hand squeezes my knee before sliding up my inner thigh, and his fingers graze my skin. On instinct, my body reacts. My chest expands as I draw in a breath. Goose bumps pebble my skin, and every cell in my body instantly wants Gunner in all the ways I can get him.

Channeling every ounce of willpower, I slide my arm beneath the table and halt his hand before shooting him what I hope is a discreet-yet-serious warning glare. While it goes against my deepest desires, I know that if I allow Gunner to do what he wants to do, I will, in fact, leave here with regrets. These people came for a dinner, not a show—at least not one starring me.

He leans in and brushes his lips over my ear before whispering, “You’re no fun.”

I grin and shake my head. “You promised to behave.”

“I am.” He supplies a peck to my neck before sitting back in his chair.

The truth is, I’m ready to go. The wedding was beautiful and the meal, heavenly. Chatting with people I haven’t seen in almost a decade has been okay, but a night alone with Gunner would make me the happiest. Only, I haven’t had a chance to congratulate the happy couple yet. They’ve been busy with bride and groom duties—the pictures, dances, and cake cutting.

I turn in my chair to face Gunner. “I don’t know if I want all of this extravagance when I get married. It seems like a hassle.” I clamp my lips shut when I realize I’m talking about marriage—a topic of conversation Gunner and I have yet to explore, if we don’t count his declaration of forever after the Stanley Cup win, which I don’t. He was so high on life that night that I can’t hold him to anything he said.

My words don’t seem to faze him. “No? You don’t want a big wedding?”

I shake my head. “It seems like so much work. I want to enjoy the day.”

---