by Kendall Ryan
I blush. My wedding dress is far from extravagant. It is a simple white gown with a sweeping neckline and trailing skirt. And it’s comfortable, which means I can actually enjoy my evening without worrying about an over-frilly gown.
Keeping the dress a secret from Cam was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do in the course of our relationship. I’m so used to modeling my outfits for him, relying on his opinion to make my decision. This, however, was one outfit I didn’t want his opinion on. Not until the very last moment.
And by the look on his face, it was worth it.
When Jack delivers me to his best friend’s side, he wraps us both in a tight hug.
“Jack, I can’t breathe,” Cam wheezes. I would laugh if I weren’t being smothered by his arms as well.
“Sorry,” Jack says, releasing us. “I just had to do that. Go get married or whatever.”
He steps aside, and all I can see is the man before me. Cam’s eyes are filled with such emotion, such love, that it makes my breath catch. From friends to lovers, soon to be partners, he and I have come a long way.
All we can do is grin at each other like complete idiots.
“Wanna get married or whatever?” Cam whispers with a sly smile.
“More than anything.”
• • •
The reception is held at our hotel resort. We’re all tucked away under an outdoor canopy decorated with hundreds of tiny twinkling lights. The air is warm, fragrant, and full of laughter. There’s plenty of wine and music and good company. The food has been nearly demolished. The cake, in particular, was Cam’s idea. Instead of a classic tiered wedding cake, he thought a tower of doughnuts would be more up our alley. Juvenile? Maybe. Regrets? None.
Even my mother found Cam’s choice of cake charming. She sits next to me now, holding my hand in hers. With wry smiles on our faces, we watch my new husband and Jack cut their best moves on the dance floor. We both laugh. This is a sweet and rare moment. I’m not going to take it for granted.
Unfortunately, our personalities always get in the way.
“It’s silver?” my mother asks with a frown, and I realize she’s inspecting my ring.
The ring is beautiful: a twisted, intricate band, tying me to my husband for better or for worse. Cam and I decided to melt our half-heart pendants from forever ago into wedding rings, a symbol of our friendship transformed into our devotion to each other.
“Yes, we wanted silver,” I say without explaining. I’d rather not get into the specifics with my mother. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that she never quite understands my decisions. Besides, they are our rings. Our special connection. No one else needs to be privy to those details.
“Oh, honey. You know silver tarnishes, don’t you?”
I could scream.
Really? Today? You have to be judgmental today?
Instead, I take a deep breath. “Everything tarnishes, Mother. Even a marriage. We’ll polish it. Don’t you think over the course of my years-long friendship with Cam that we’ve argued? That we’ve had our ups and downs? But we love each other and believe in this. Nothing can stay tarnished forever.”
My mother is absolutely taken aback, staring at me like I’m a stranger.
Or maybe she’s finally seeing me for the first time.
Father appears at her side and rests his hand comfortably on her small shoulder. “They didn’t have any pinot,” he says, offering her a new glass of white wine. “I can’t believe it. Next best thing.”
My mother accepts the glass without breaking eye contact with me.
“What’s going on here, ladies?” my father asks, ever the clueless one of the Moore household. “What did I miss?”
“Our daughter is just reminding me what it means to be in love,” she says. Then, with a warm smile, she plants a soft kiss on my father’s hand. He smiles back, kissing her on the top of her head.
I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m not convinced that my parents and I will ever learn how to exist in harmony.
But she listened.
It’s a start.
Then my mother pulls me in for a one-armed hug. “I know I don’t tell you enough, but I’m very proud of you.”
“Thanks, Mother.” I smile at her.
“Care for a dance?”
Cam’s voice is both a relief and an excitement. I turn to see my husband with his hand outstretched, beckoning me to join him.
My husband.
His own silver ring glitters in the low light.
“Take me away.”
With a flourish, he leads me onto the dance floor. He pulls me in close, and I rest my head on his firm shoulder with closed eyes.
“First, I want to tell you how much I love your dress.”
“Thank you. Second?”
His lips tickle the sensitive spot between my ear and my throat. “I can’t wait to tear it off of you.”
I grin at the low rumble of his words against my neck. “Hey now! I like this dress. And it has perfectly good buttons.”
He brushes his hand down my back, the pads of his fingers bumping along the line of fasteners trailing down my spine.
“Perfectly good buttons are no buttons at all. Jesus, are there thirty of these?” He spins me to inspect, and I lean into him in my laughter. He kisses the back of my neck, wrapping his arms around me from behind.
“I love you.” I sigh.
“I love you too.”
It isn’t until the guests have all trickled away to their respective hotel rooms that Cam and I get to be alone. Even Jack takes the cue to give us some space, stealing a bottle of red wine from the bar and sneaking away to find Meredith.
Within moments of saying good night to our parents and waiting for them to turn the corner, Cam has me pushed up against the door frame of our reserved suite. He places his knee between my legs, kissing me urgently on the mouth. I wrap my arms around the back of his neck, pulling myself up into his kiss as tightly as I can. A moment too soon, he breaks the kiss, his gaze searching my face.
What is he looking for?
“Natalie. My wife.” His words are almost a question, like it’s not real.
It is real.
“Say it again.”
He kisses my eyelids, my cheeks, my nose. “My wife.”
“Again.”
In one sweeping motion, he scoops me into his arms and off my feet.
I kiss him softly on the lips. “My husband.”
He opens the door and carries me over the threshold. The room takes my breath away. I squirm out of his arms and run toward the window. The view is spectacular, overlooking the waters sparkling under this evening’s sunset.
He joins me, placing his own hand on top of mine where it rests on the glass.
“Shit,” I mutter.
“What?” I can hear the edge of concern in his voice, ready to soothe any ache.
“It’s silly.”
“Tell me.”
“I didn’t get a doughnut.” It’s true. I was too busy bouncing between conversations to grab myself a “slice.” How disappointing.
“Well then, you’re very lucky that I asked the staff to wrap one up for you. It’s in the kitchenette.”
“There’s a kitchenette?”
“This is what you’re impressed by?”
To answer his question, I kiss him hard on the mouth with enough momentum to send us both tumbling backward onto the plush bed.
And we don’t leave it for a very, very long time.
• • •
Thank you for reading about Natalie and Camden in Flirting with Forever!
Continue the story in Dear Jane and read all about Weston Chase, the sexy football player, and Jane, the one who got away. If you liked Flirting with Forever, you will LOVE Dear Jane!
Get your copy HERE.
What to Read Next
I broke her heart ten years ago and left town.
She hates me, and rightly so. It doesn’t matter that the rest of the country loves
me, that I’m a starting quarterback with a multimillion-dollar contract. Because when I look in the mirror, all I see is a failure who was too young—and too afraid—to fight for what I wanted.
But I’m not that guy anymore, and all I need is one shot to convince her.
• • •
He has no idea what happened after he left. And now I’m supposed to work alongside him like we don’t have this huge, messy history?
But I’m older now, wiser, and I won’t let anything stand in my way of doing a good job for this league. Not even one overpaid, arrogant player who thinks we’re going to kiss and make up.
News flash, buddy: I am over you.
Get your copy HERE.
And read on for an exclusive sneak preview.
Sneak Peek of Dear Jane
Chapter One
Jane
Nine times out of ten, when I tell people I work for a professional football team, they try to call my bluff. Usually, they make me repeat myself—“Come again?”—like they misheard me and I’m actually a manicurist or a dog sitter or something. Sometimes, they’ll quiz me on players’ jersey numbers or specific game plays, all of which I can answer without batting an eye.
I guess I can’t blame people when they don’t expect a pint-sized girl who loves heels and lipstick to be working in an industry of huge, muscular men pummeling each other into the turf for entertainment, but this world is all I know.
I was raised in a home where it was practically law that I was on the couch to watch the Hawks game every Sunday afternoon, and my love affair with the sport hasn’t stopped since. The fact that I get to work for the team I’ve been cheering for since I was in diapers seems almost too good to be true. Not to mention the fact that I have the most foolproof pickup line in any sports bar ever. Between traveling the country with the team and brushing shoulders with sports legends, football is my religion.
And then there are days like today. With all the paperwork falling off of my desk, you’d think a tornado hit the Chicago area and touched down only in my office. The season is starting in just over a week, and my to-do list is longer than the whole length of the field.
It doesn’t help that Mr. Flores, the general manager of the Hawks, is offsite all day at a meeting, so as his executive assistant, I’ll be picking up his slack. As if that weren’t enough, there’s a huge press conference tomorrow to get ready for. This day is going to require a refill on my coffee and a whole lot of gangster rap.
I slip in my earbuds and put on my best game face, envisioning the frozen margarita I’m going to order later as a reward. And then, just as I’m getting into the zone, there’s a knock on my office door and in walks the head coach. Or as I like to call him, Dad.
“Hey, sweetheart, is it okay if I bother you for a second?”
Despite what a lot of people think, my dad didn’t get me this job. He probably could have if I’d let him, but I’ve never wanted to use Dad’s position to my advantage. I’m perfectly capable of paving my own way without being given a leg up. So I served my time selling tickets before I eventually worked my way up to having my own office.
“Sure, if it’s important,” I say, glancing at my watch. It feels rude not to make a little time for my own father, even if I am totally swamped today. Dad shuts the door behind him and plops down in the faux leather armchair across from my desk.
“I’d say it’s pretty important,” he says, dodging direct eye contact with me. “But you’re not going to like it.”
I survey my mountain of paperwork and give Dad my best “bring it on” smile. With everything on my plate today, I came in to work ready for battle. It would take something pretty catastrophic to throw me off my game.
“We’re bringing on a new player.”
My eyebrows perk up in interest. It’s pretty unheard of to make changes to the roster this close to the start of the season. Plus, if the Hawks have been eyeing a potential new player, I should have been one of the first people to know.
“Really? Who?” I prop my chin in my hands, leaning in like a high school girl ready for the hot gossip.
Dad lets out a long breath, his lips tensing as he nervously adjusts his Hawks cap. “It’s, uh . . . it’s Weston Chase.”
My stomach bottoms out. I must have misheard him. There’s no way my dad just told me that Weston Chase—my first and only long-term boyfriend, the star of our school’s football team who shattered my heart and touchdown-danced all over the pieces—is joining the Hawks.
“Excuse me?” I’ll give him a chance to repeat himself and prove that I must be losing my hearing at an alarmingly young age. Please, please say another name. Any other name.
“Weston Chase. You remember him, right?”
“Are . . . are you k-kidding me?” I manage to sputter out as my whole body locks up. My heart literally stutters in my chest like it’s threatening to stop.
This has to be a joke, some kind of preseason prank the guys on the team put him up to. Weston Chase is a thing of the past, a heartbreak nightmare I have left way, way behind me. What sort of terrible karma would bring him to the Hawks?
“I know it’s not great,” Dad says in what feels like the biggest understatement in history.
Rainy days aren’t great. Fast food tacos aren’t great. My ex-boyfriend stomping back into my life and turning my dream job into a nightmare? That’s a fricking disaster.
Dad has no idea what really happened with Weston and me all those years ago. Almost no one knows. About the baby, about my heartbreak . . .
“I wanted to keep it under wraps in case it didn’t end up happening,” Dad explains, fiddling with the fraying edge of his hat. “I didn’t want you getting all worked up for nothing. But Weston is meeting with the general manager today, so it looks like things are pretty set in stone. We’re going to announce him as our new quarterback at tomorrow’s press conference.”
Tomorrow? So I have less than twenty-four hours to prepare to face the douchebag who shattered my heart into a million tiny pieces?
Just two minutes ago, I was ready for the day to fly by, eyeing my frozen margarita on the other side, and now I wish everything would just freeze for a second so I can stop my head from spinning. It’s not like I didn’t know Weston was a professional football player, no matter how hard I tried to block out any and all news about him since he was first drafted.
“Are you going to be all right, sweetie?” Dad asks.
I realize I haven’t said anything as I stare into space. I’ve got to get a hold of myself.
“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” I grumble through clenched teeth, rubbing my temples to ward off an impending stress headache.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just figured it was best you heard it from me. I didn’t want you bumping into the guy for the first time in almost ten years without a little fair warning.”
Holy shit, almost ten years? Has it really been that long? Nearly a whole decade since I’ve seen Weston Chase.
It feels like just last week we were sneaking bottles of wine out of his parents’ wine cellar and making toasts to his football scholarship in his backyard. That was the night before he left for college. We caught our first buzz off that wine, kissing and promising we’d talk on the phone every single day until he came home for Thanksgiving.
It seemed so perfect at the time. Now it just feels like a load of bullshit.
“Why the Hawks?” I ask, waving off that memory like the sour smell of a used jockstrap. “Can’t he go play for literally any other team?”
“He was playing for another team. We’re getting him from Philadelphia.”
“And he couldn’t have stayed there?” I snap, my sassy tone biting.
“Jane, let me get through the whole story, would you?”
I let my gaze fall apologetically to my desk, like a puppy who just got scolded. I shouldn’t be taking my frustration out on Dad. The truth is, I’m glad he thought to come to me about this.
He’s quiet f
or a second, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair, probably trying to figure out the best way to go about it. When he speaks again, his tone is soft and careful, like he’s treading through a minefield, worried I may explode at any second.
And I just might.
“You know our starting quarterback is out for the season with that ACL injury. Yeah, we have our backup, but you and I both know he’s not good enough to carry us to the playoffs. And things weren’t going great for Weston in Philadelphia. His fiancée cheated on him with their star linebacker. It was a real messy situation, Jane. He needed out of there, stat.”
Is it bad that hearing that Weston got cheated on makes the corner of my mouth threaten a smile? I try to keep my best poker face, act like I’m not secretly pleased that Weston Chase got what was coming to him, but Dad immediately notices the snicker I’m holding back.
“Look, I don’t know exactly what went down between you two,” Dad confesses, putting his hands out in front of him in surrender, “and I don’t want to know. Some things a father just doesn’t need to know about. But I know you walked away with a pretty bruised-up heart.”
More like limped away, or maybe crawled. Dad is making it sound like Weston and I ended on polite terms, like I made a full recovery after a few pints of brownie ice cream and a good cry or two. I wish it were that simple.
“It was . . . complicated,” I admit, my throat going tight. I squeeze my eyes shut, pulling myself together the best I can. One way or another, I’m going to have to get through this. After a deep breath, I add, “But it was a long time ago.”
Dad gives me his signature half smile that I know means he’s proud of me. “You’ve got this, kiddo. And besides, this really is the best place for Weston. Back close to home, close to his mom and all. Plus, our backup kicker, Colin, is an old college buddy of his. He’s the one who gave us the lead on recruiting Weston to the Hawks. I guess they used to live together, and he—”
I hold up a hand in protest, cutting Dad off from sharing any more details of Weston’s life. If I’m going to be professional with him, I’ve got to stay far, far away from any of the personal stuff. “Need-to-know basis, Dad.”