Good Boy (WAGs #1)
Sarina Bowen & Elle Kennedy
About Good Boy
Hosting her brother’s wedding for an MVP guest list is the challenge of Jess Canning’s life. Already the family screw-up, she can’t afford to fail. And nobody (nobody!) can learn of the colossal mistake she made with the best man during a weak moment last spring. It was wrong, and there will not be a repeat. Absolutely not. Even if he is the sexiest thing on two legs.
Blake Riley sees the wedding as fate’s gift to him. Jess is the maid of honor and he’s the best man? Let the games begin. So what if he’s facing a little (fine, a lot) of resistance? He just needs to convince the stubborn blonde that he’s really a good boy with a bad rap. Luckily, every professional hockey player knows that you’ve got to make an effort if you want to score.
But Jess has more pressing issues to deal with than sexy-times with a giant man-child. Such as: Will the ceremony start on time, even though someone got grandma drunk? Does glitter ever belong at a wedding? And is it wrong to murder the best man?
Caution: May cause accidental aspiration of tea or coffee. Do not read in a public place where loud laughter is inappropriate. Contains hot but hilarious hockey players, puppy cuddling and a snarky pair of underwear.
1 The Maid of Honor Gig
Jess
Even though the restaurant staff has already done its magic, I’m fussing over the dining table one more time. Each centerpiece gets a last-minute adjustment to make sure the flowers are perfect. A glance out the window shows me that the cloudless sky is already deepening. I’ve timed my brother’s rehearsal dinner so that the first streaks of color will appear over the Pacific just as the appetizer course is served.
The forecast for tomorrow is perfect, too—sunny with a high of seventy-five. Even the weather doesn’t dare interfere with the greatest wedding ever thrown.
Beyond the arched entryway to this private dining room, I hear the pop of a champagne bottle right on schedule. The guests are arriving. I can hear my sister’s laughter just around the corner in the bar area. Sure enough, my mother pokes her head through the doorway.
“Oh, sweetie, you did such a fabulous job!” she exclaims. “This is all so gorgeous! I predict a smashing success!”
“Thank you,” I whisper, adjusting a butter knife that I adjusted two minutes ago.
“You are constantly surprising us, Miss Jessica.” Mom beams at me as she raises her champagne flute to her lips.
Instead of beaming back and accepting Mom’s compliments, I find myself bristling. Because I don’t hear the compliments. I don’t hear the words “fabulous” or “smashing success” or “Miss Jessica,” the nickname my dad gave me when I was three years old.
I hear the word “surprising.”
Translation: My family is surprised I managed to pull off this rehearsal dinner without screwing it up.
“Thanks, Mom.” I muster a smile, and she disappears again, probably to greet another of my five siblings.
I should be out there, too, having a glass of wine and resting on my laurels. But I can’t stop myself from grabbing my notebook out of my bag and eyeballing the page marked Rehearsal Dinner one more time. Name cards—check. White wine ordered and iced—check.
Everything is perfection. Except for me. I’m a freaking wreck. In the first place, planning the perfect wedding is stressful. And in the second place…
“Wesley! J-Bomb!” a loud voice bellows in the next room. “I have arrived!”
The deep timbre of his voice reverberates inside my chest. Blake Riley is on the premises, and my blood pressure doubles.
I fiddle with the silverware again, listening. “Gonna get you both pixilated tonight!” Blake says, and I hear the powerful slap of bro-hugs being dished out. “And who is this beauty?”
My mother begins to gush over Blake, and I feel a chill climb up my spine. As if the wedding weren’t stressful enough, I have to cope with the loudest, brashest, most annoying man I’ve ever met in my life. He’s got a big body, a big personality and…
Fine. He also has the biggest dick I’ve ever seen in my life. But I try not to think about that particular part of his anatomy if I can help it.
My family cannot know about the colossal mistake I made this spring. I can’t give them one more exhibit of my lack of judgment, not when I’m about to announce yet another career change. I’m already the flighty kid. The screw-up.
And I absolutely put the screw in screw-up when I let Blake get me out of my clothes. Trust me, that won’t be happening again. But his presence complicates things. Tomorrow I’m throwing a wedding for three hundred people, including two dozen famous hockey players. Meanwhile, Blake has spent the past month texting me inappropriate wedding ideas and jokes.
And, when I hadn’t replied, a photo of his hand around his junk.
OMG, stop, I’d replied. Anyone could have seen that.