Page 131 of His Greatest Treasure

“Did you miss the memo where it’s the day after my wedding? You’re not supposed to bug me today,” I tell him.

The smell of booze wafts off him, turning my stomach. One up-and-down look at his clothes tells me he hasn’t so much as changed out of the ones from last night. Hasn’t showered either.

“Sorry, that rule doesn’t apply to me. This is an emergency. Now, scoot and let me in,” he says, trying to weasel his body between mine and the speck of a gap available from him to enter the suite.

I set a hand on his shoulder and give him a light shove backward. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Oh, you know. Nothing much.”

“Don’t play with me today, Jamieson.”

He peeks over my shoulder into the room before I shift and block his view.

“I don’t want to talk about it in the hall, Oliver. Let me in so nobody else hears this,” he pleads, dropping his voice.

“Keep your eyes off my wife,” I warn before letting him in.

I shut the door after us, and he ignores my warning, heading directly for the bed, where Avery’s sitting watching us. She quirks a brow at me, and I shrug, choking off a huff halfway up my throat.

Jamie tosses himself onto my side of the bed, and I snort.

“Wouldn’t sit there if I were you. Honeymoon and all,” I say.

It takes him a minute to clue in to what I mean, and when he does, he hops off the mattress with his nose crinkled. “Fuck off, Oliver. I knew it smelled like sex in here.”

“I’m going to the bathroom while you boys talk,” Avery mutters, her cheeks red and gaze fixed on me with a heat I want to feel closer up.

I track her every move. “We won’t be long.”

“We might be,” Jamie says.

She slips from bed, and when he doesn’t immediately look away from her, I snap, “Eyes off my wife, asshole.”

He boasts a laugh but brings his eyes my way. “Call her your wife again. I don’t think you’ve said it enough yet.”

“I’ll call her my wife anytime I want to. Now, tell me what it is you need to so I can get back in bed with her.”

His humour fades instantly. “I’m engaged.”

I stare at him, deadpan.

“I’m not lying. Hand to God.”

“We’re not religious.”

“Okay, hand to the fucking sun, then. I don’t know. I’m not lying.”

“Since fucking when are you engaged? To who?” I ask, maybe a bit too sharply. My head’s spinning.

“I met her a couple of weeks ago. Nice girl.”

I blink, my jaw slackening. “A nice girl? She’s a nice girl? You asked someone to marry you, and the best you can do is say she’s a nice girl?”

“Okay, she’s a nice, gorgeous girl. Better? Fuck, don’t bust my balls right now.”

“You came here, Jamie. I’ll bust your balls if I fucking want to because what the fuck did you do? You’re not the marriage type. And you’re surely not the asking a nice girl to marry you out of the blue type. Has Mom met her? Dad? I damn well haven’t. You’ve gotten one too many concussions. I knew you should have stopped playing football.”

He shoves his hands out in front of him and shakes his head, face paling. “Slow down. First, I’ve only had three concussions. And second, no. Nobody’s met her but me. But that doesn’t mean anything. We’re getting married, and that’s that. I just wanted you to know before the news went live tomorrow.”

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