A hand slides around my waist, and I glance left to find Jaylynn moving in close. Her eyes meet mine, the silent question there. Are you okay?
Am I okay?
Hell if I know.
For a guy who spends most of his life alone, this is… a lot. But I don’t hate it. The lying, though. Yeah, that part still itches under my skin.
I tug her closer and press a kiss to her forehead, right before Dylan “accidentally” bumps me, nearly spilling my champagne.
“Oh, sorry,” he says, with all the sincerity of a cat knocking a glass off a counter.
Once everyone has a drink, Will raises his. “To Jaylynn and Penn.”
“To Jaylynn and Penn,” Uncle Jack parrots, then leans toward Jay like he’s about to kiss her. I slide in between them like a human Zamboni. She gives me a I can handle this look, but as long as she’s with me, she doesn’t have to. And tomorrow, at the game? I’ll be handling—man-handling—the douchebag who’s standing too close to my girl as he ignores his.
Chatter fills the room, and Dylan’s watching us again. I bend and kiss my fiancée, my silent way of telling him to fuck right off.
Judy and Katy sweep in with trays of hors d’oeuvres, and while everyone eats, Jaylynn slips her hand into mine and tugs me away.
As she leads me up the stairs, I grin. “Are we going to your bedroom?”
“Yes.”
“Is it still a shrine, and filled with all your old stuffed animals?”
“Yes again.”
I lower my voice. “Are we going to do it?”
She grins at me. “Would you like to?”
“Yes.”
She laughs. “As much as I’d like that too, no. My aunt and uncle are staying in my room.”
“Then why are we sneaking away?”
“I didn’t pack enough clothes. I need to grab some more.”
“Sexy ones?”
“Do you ever stop?”
“Do you want me to?”
“No, fiancé. I don’t.”
We step into her childhood bedroom and I glance around. “Nice.”
“Not much has changed,” she says, dropping onto the bed with a frown. “It’s like they kept it exactly the same because they knew I’d be a failure in Boston.”
“Babe, no,” I murmur, dropping to my knees in front of her. I push her knees apart, sliding into the space between. Her lashes flutter as I cup her face. “You made a mistake. It happens. You’ll get back on your feet. I know you will.”
She gives a half-shrug, not fully buying it.
“You’re killing it with the festival.” I brush my thumb over her face, as I admire everything about her. “Running it like the boss bitch you are.”
“Boss bitch?” she laughs.