Page 61 of Catch and Release Groom

He had time. He checked his watch for the hour, so he could calculate how much.

Less than twenty-four hours.

The panic that bound his lungs hit different than during his talk with Murph. It was soupy and subduing, like a flooded engine with too much gas and not enough air.

While they went around the table, betting and discarding and scrutinizing the community cards and those in their hands, they told stories, including a few from his and Imogen’s adventures in playing husband and wife. Naturally, the swan pedal boats came up, and the entire group roared with laughter as Easton painted them a picture of Imogen going in a circle.

“The jerk just watched me struggle, too!” Imogen gave his chest a playful shove, then yanked him closer and kissed his cheek. “I got so mad I called him ‘Easton the Grouch.’ At that point, I was starting to think that he was always grumpy.”

“Oh, he is,” Ford snarked, tossing two white chips into the pot, and this time when the gang snickered in amusement, the rejection Easton experienced the day Grace stood him up at the altar slammed into him. Justbam, out of nowhere, a spear through the heart.

After Imogen confessed she’d taken a leap for love, only to land on her ass, it’d been easy to encourageherto get back in the saddle. But it was easier said than done, andwith the aching reminder of what’d happened last time, he wasn’t sure he was willing to risk it.

About an hour later, he beat Shep, winning the pot and declaring Imogen his lucky charm, while reminding himself he didn’t believe in luck. He believed in hard work and honoring your obligations.

“Tell you what,” Shep said as he leaned back in his chair and linked his fingers behind his head, elbows spread wide. “Because I’m feelin’ generous and would much rather sleep next to my beautiful wife, I’ll defer the non-monetary portion of my winnings to Imogen. You two can take the bed. Tuck, you’ve got a privacy curtain they can hang, right?”

Titters turned into snorts as Imogen looked to Easton—with far more fear than when she’d mistaken a log for a gator.

“He’s kidding,” he assured her, and the resulting snorts and chuckles that ringed the table were weaker than earlier, a sure sign they were tired. Whether or not anyone wanted to admit it, they were getting older, and that left Easton more aware of what he might like his future to look like.

He’d experienced city life, with its hustle and bustle and concrete buildings that covered and crowded every inch of space. It wasn’t for him. A while back he’d been willing to sacrifice his desires and compromise on location, but he’d never do it again. He’d heard about a potential storefront on Main Street. Closed to traffic every weekend of spring, summer, and fall, people visited the shops, food trucks, and pop-up booths along the strip in a steady stream—he couldn’t ask for a better location.

A simple life with friends, his dog, poker nights, and kicking back with a beer on the porch of a cabin began to take shape. He and Gator would rise with the sun and head to the lake, the river, or his very own bait-and-tackle shop, and then do it all again the next day.

It was everything he wanted, save maybe one thing…

Easton nudged Imogen off his lap and stood, guiding her into the walkway and immediately wrapping her in his arms again. Not only did he understand that the woman niggling her way into his heart was her own person and not a possession, he fully supported it. He had plenty of experience tamping the heat in his veins and exercising restraint. But what was he supposed to do with the achy, longing sensation that pervaded his chest and insisted she belonged with him?

All the plans he’d set in motion were finally coming to fruition, and this was his chance to see if he could align his passion and occupation.

It was the life he’d always dreamed of, one he feared Imogen would find…lacking.

Find him lacking, too.

“Just what I’ve always wanted.” Grace shoved aside the stack of papers he’d printed, disregarding his business plan without bothering to read past the first page. “To run a fishing shop and live in squalor in the mountains.”

Hoping for a relationship to work out didn’t fix what was broken; he knew that better than anyone.

As hard as he’d tried to avoid connecting any dots, one thing Grace and Imogen had in common was that they were city gals, through and through. Even being born and raised in a small town wasn’t enough to compel Grace to stay longer than she’d had to, “It’ll always be home” or not.

Then there was the elephant in danger of sinking the whole room: both women stood up their grooms.

No matter which direction Easton turned, life demanded decisions he didn’t feel ready to make. Best to practice what he preached, shoving aside any dilemmas that could be dealt with later in favor of being in the moment. “It’s been fun, but if y’all will excuse us,” he said, “it’s time to head home and make love to the missus.”

Imogen gasped but giggled. Then they ping-ponged their way through the narrow hallway and out of the houseboat, off to take advantage of the hours they had left.

Which was why, as they climbed in the truck and headed to his place for the night, he ignored the vibration against his thigh that alerted him to a new, incoming message.

Chapter Twenty-Six

A gratified hum emanated from Easton’s throat as he awoke to a gorgeous, half-naked woman in his bed. The rounded collar ofhisT-shirt exposed several inches of tantalizing skin, and he nuzzled into the crook of her neck, content to take his time waking up.

Last night had been urgent and frantic, the rush to undress and escape in each other at odds with slowing to memorize every detail. There’d been kisses that annihilated and restored between groping that’d started in the truck and ratcheted up to pillaging by the time they’d reached his dimly lit front porch.

“There’s no one for miles,” he’d said as he’d slid his hand into Imogen’s pants and cupped her damp heat. “Feel free to strip, grind yourself over my hand, scream in pleasure, or go ahead and choose ‘all of the above.’”

Imogen rolled her hips, growing wetter as his fingers worshiped and delved. “All,” she’d gasped. “I pick all of the above.”

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