Page 84 of Sideline Play

Then, all at once, time speeds up and blurs as my soon to be wife walks down the rest of the aisle to me and before I know it, I’m hearing, “You may now kiss the bride.”

I get a split second to brace for my girl,my wife,before she’s like an elated spring, her heels and dress not holding her back as she leaps for me. Catching her with a shallow squat of my thighs to better propel me in lifting her up the rest of the way, my arms circle under her butt as her hands take my face and her lips crash onto mine.

Though we kissed not twenty minutes before and a thousand, if not ten thousand, more times before that, this one is new. It’s different. It’s something we’ve never shared before. It’s another beginning. Another first kiss when we thought we’d had our last.It’s full of new hopes, new dreams, new passion, love and lust. It’s full of the promises and vows of forever we’ve just made.

Coming apart to applause, I slowly slide Scarlet down my body, her fingers digging into my shoulders as she feels the growing situation in my pants. With molton eyes, she rocks up against me and kisses me hard and breathless once more, humming “Husband,” against my lips before turning around in my arms with an exhilarated shimmy.

Then before Reeves can even get the words out, she’s shouting, “Say hello to my husband, the freshly minted Mr. Jones!” fist bumping the air and throwing her bouquet at Roman with a wink, who promptly drops it and gives her a warning point of his finger as he mouths, “No.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

SCARLET

Twirlingme out and back in, my dad’s hand rests high on my waist as he sweeps me across the floor to the song I choose for us. Humming along, we smile each time we exchange, “mama,” for, “daddy,” that single word our song’s only flaw. Other than that swap of lyrics, we don’t speak. We dance and twirl, both of us trying not to cry as we remember days long past of me in various Disney Princess ball gowns, standing on his feet as we danced to song after song. And as it was then, I’m not ready when the song closes. I want just one more dance with my daddy.

I don’t have to say it though. I don’t even have to look. The song begins again without any sign from me or my dad. That’s how easily Remington can read me. How well he knows me and my dad. Roman too—he and I having danced just before and my husband having repeated the song for me then too.

My husband…

Like a plunge down a rollercoaster, my stomach goes into an exhilarating freefall each time I say or think those words. The drop as the syllables form rushing me with a bevy of sensation and emotion. A jittery giddiness that has me suppressing theurge to bounce on my toes. A summer-like haze softening my perception of everything as I fall drunk on love. Gentle purrs of satisfied possession. Electrifying tingles of anticipation buzzing beneath my skin as I long to wade further into my arousal. The call to submerge myself beneath its surface and let it drown me growing more difficult each time those words flutter through my mind.

My husband…

Suppressing a chuckle, though his dimples are deep as he smiles, my dad comments, “That boy is hopelessly in love with you,” blowing away my suddenly consumed thoughts like a fan to smoke.

Briefly catching Remi’s hazel eyes as my dad passes me under his arm, I smile, “I’m just as gone for him,” the words somehow never more true than they are now that I’m his wife.

“Oh, I know. It’s as indisputable as the sky being blue and the grass green.” Bringing me back into frame, he says, “Seeing you two together, I couldn’t be happier.”

“You really mean that?”

“Absolutely, Princess. Remington knows you don’t win a woman’s heart; you earn it. And he knows how precious and fleeting life can be. Because of both of those, he will never take you for granted or leave you feeling undervalued. You’ll never question how much he loves you because he will tell you and show you every minute of every day. And knowing you have that makes me happy and softens the dull ache inside over having given you away.”

Stumbling over my feet, I stop dancing entirely as I exhale, “Daddy,” tears already falling down my face.

“Hey now, come here,” he urges, wrapping me up in a hug, rocking me from side to side. “Shh… only happy tears are allowed here tonight, Princess.”

Sniffling into his shirt, I nod my head, holding on just a little bit tighter.

My dad’s dull ache now reflects inside my own heart. Though I’m not going anywhere, not really, our story in a sense has still ended. Its pages bright and vibrant, full of love and happiness, but still stained with watermarks from my tears. I may always be my daddy’s girl, but I’m also Remington’s wife. My dad’s place in my life and heart will always be unique and prominent, but his role has changed. He’ll no longer be the one I want to share my day with first, the man I run to, the person who dries my tears.

No one prepared me for this. The joy, the elation, the warm mist of the night feeling like a dream. All that I was prepared for. Had been eager for. But the bittersweet moment of realizing just how much my life has changed, how much all our lives are changing now that I’m married, I wasn’t ready for it.

Kissing my head, my dad hums another whooshing hush into my hair before releasing me. With calloused hands, he cups my face and scrubs my tears away. Then squishing my cheeks together, he very seriously says, “I guess this is why weddings have cake. So much better for eating your feelings than catered steak and fish,” making me bust out in a belly aching guffaw, the end of our second dance lost to our mutual wheezing breaths and unintelligible words as we hold each other up through our laughter.

“Oh my God,” I moan, my drawn out words muffled as my lips close around Remi’s fingers.

Though we had cut the cake with Marcia expertly freezing the moment in time, I hadn’t gotten a true taste of the beautiful rose gold decadence wrapped in pure white buttercream. Remington had sweetly fed me a single bite, my tongue licking over the tips of his fingers to savor the frosting. It wasn’t meant to be as igniting as it was. But as his pupils dilated and the amber flecks of his irises glowed, it felt as if I’d been set ablaze, an unspoken understanding passing between us that any more would have to wait. Now though, with our home empty, we’re free to indulge and glut ourselves on every bit of spiked desire we’ve been repressing all evening.

The flavors of the cake are an explosion on my tongue as I let my first true bite linger on my taste buds before swallowing. I’m immediately rushed with the undeniable vibrancy of champagne. But floating to the surface and peeking through is the sweetness of strawberries and pomegranates. A kiss of tartness from the raspberry filling follows on its heels. And just beneath the spice of the vanilla buttercream is a faint trace of fresh mint.

Following his fingers when he pulls them free, I hum, “Mmm… this might just be the best thing you’ve ever made me.”

Running my finger up the side of the cake, I gather a large dollop of frosting. Licking just the tip of it, Remi’s eyes tracking the slow curl of my tongue, I confirm, “Definitely the best,” bringing it to his neck and painting it down his throat and into the open V of his shirt created by the undone buttons from where he removed his tie.

Pulling the high slit of my dress open, I rise up on my knees and bring myself to straddle his lap. With my hands gliding up his chest, I softly ponder, “I think it’s having your taste mixed in.”

“Is that so,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around my hips, the corded muscles and thick veins of his forearms exposed by his rolled up shirt sleeves.

---