Page 91 of Playboy

Noah shakes his head. “Careful what you wish for. He told the coffee barista his pants were too short, his pre-k teacher she needed to brush her teeth better, and Jen’s husband that life isn’t a competition, but if it was, he’d be losing.”

Oliver just shrugs. “Was any of that wrong?”

God, I love this kid.

Noah crouches next to his son and pulls him in for a hug. Then he whispers in his ear, probably telling him to be good and listen to his grandfather.

Tears coatmy lashes as Sara walks toward Brooks, her arm looped around her little brother’s, a cascade of flowers peeking through the wavy strands of her long blond hair. I wondered whether it’d be blue, since the preseason is right around the corner. Either way, she is gorgeous. Brooks wears the biggest smile on his face. Before Sara and Ethan have cleared the front row, the groom steps forward, reaching for his bride. He’s been gone for her for so long, and I’d place bets on that never changing. He’s always eager to have her by his side and most content when he’s touching her.

For a last-minute wedding, the decorations are exquisite. Lennox, the event planner slash matron of honor, surely had something to do with that. We’re all gathered in the ballroom at Lang Corp. I figured the location was by default, since they literally threw the event together in days. It wasn’t until we were walking past the wall that Brooks bought for Sara when he proposed that I understood. Every one of us had to pass an adorable painting of the two of them. In it, she’s sitting atophis back while he does his famous set of pregame push-ups. It started as a joke when they were fake dating and quickly became a Bolts tradition.

Noah slides a handkerchief from his pocket and pushes it toward me. “This is a happy occasion,” he mutters.

I elbow him in the ribs.

Beckett begins the ceremony—I’m not surprised he’s officiating; it appears he’s been deemed the honorary wedding officiant since Millie and Gavin’s wedding—and I search the room for Daniel.

He spent the morning with the guys. Honestly, it was a relief knowing we didn’t have to do the whole walking in together in front of our friends thing. They surely would have embarrassed us with their catcalling and hooting and hollering.

There’s no doubt we’ll have to suffer at some point, but for now, I’ve got a little more time to figure out how I want to react.

Daniel must be behind me, because I’ve yet to lay eyes on him. I don’t want to be rude and turn around, so I focus in on the ceremony instead.

When Brooks and Sara exchange the vows they wrote to one another, my gentle tears turn to full-on sobs.

Lennox mouths, “Keep it together.”

I try. I really do. But holding it in only results in an unladylike snort that has half the people in the room looking at me.

When Beckett introduces Mr. and Mrs. Brooks Langfield, Sara squeals and jumps into her husband’s arms, then lays the most inappropriate kiss on his lips.

Beckett’s son Finn yells “get a room,” and Sara barely takes a breath to pull away and respond with “Oh, don’t worry. We did!”

Brooks carries Sara up the aisle. God, the photos are going to be pure gold.

“Now, that’s a wedding,” Noah says to me as he stands and holds a hand out to help me up.

“I don’t know,” I say as I ease out of my seat. “The way Ava and War did it was ridiculously romantic.”

Noah’s brows knit together. “Wasn’t theirs a contract?”

“Well, yes.” I lift one shoulder. “But it was just the two of them at city hall. I don’t know, there’s just something about the simplicity of it, doing away with the whole pomp and circumstance, that I love. Just two people pledging to do their best for one another.”

Noah’s eyes warm. “That is beautiful, Han. Spoken like a true romantic.”

I laugh lightly, ignoring the flutter of nerves in my belly. “I’m an author. Not a romantic. I don’t actually believe in all that stuff.”

With a smirk, he shakes his head. “Sure you do. You write love stories for the most improbable couples. People who overcome their own traumas who don’t have to change who they are to find the love they deserve.”

I stare at him, kind of gobsmacked. “That’s what you get from my writing?”

“Actually,” he says as we wait for a line of guests to move past our row, “it’s how Daniel described it when he was telling the guys about you during morning skate last week.”

I’m kind of speechless. Not only does Daniel read my books, but he talks about them andunderstandsthem maybe better than anyone else ever has.

Kind of like how he understands me better than anyone ever has.

Chin lifted, I search him out.

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