I Wish You Were Mine (Oxford #2) (26 page)

F
IVE
M
ONTHS
L
ATER

Stepping off the elevator onto the
Oxford
floor on a Friday afternoon was a bit like walking into a crowded stadium—noisy, rowdy, and filled with men.

Although today seemed even noisier than usual, and Mollie quickly found out why when she walked into the main reception area and encountered what appeared to be the entire office surrounding a folding table.

Mollie walked up and stood between Jake Malone and Alex Cassidy, both barely glancing at her as they muttered distracted hellos. She jerked her chin to where her boyfriend sat perfectly still holding both hands out in front of him, his fingers shaped like L’s and touching at the thumbs, as Lincoln sat across the table from him with a triangular piece of folded paper.

Jackson glanced up, caught her eye, and winked before turning his attention back to Lincoln, who was currently having his shoulders rubbed by Cole, not unlike a trainer prepping a boxer before a match.

“So,” she said casually, “what’s happening here?”

“Paper football,” Jake said without looking away from the table.

“Uh-huh,” she said. “And everyone is riveted by this third-grade phenomenon because…?”

“Because whoever wins gets to be my best man,” Cassidy responded without glancing at her.

She stared at him. “Are you serious? You’re basing your choice of best man on the winner of a game of paper football?”

He glanced down at her with amused green eyes. “Can you think of a better way in this group? It was that or watch Jake, Lincoln, Cole, and your boy Jackson try to figure out how to do a four-way arm-wrestling match.”

Her lips parted. “Jackson was in the running?”

She was oddly touched, even though it wasn’t about her. Cassidy had proposed to Emma Sinclair a few months back—for the second time. Quietly, over their morning coffee, in what Emma had declared the most perfect moment of her life. As far as Mollie knew, they hadn’t set a date, but the fact that Alex Cassidy considered Jackson a good enough friend to be a part of his wedding had her eyes watering.

“Jeez, don’t cry, Molls,” Cassidy muttered, not looking at her. “Turns out he’s a good dude. When he’s not being an ass.”

“Well,
that’s
true,” she acknowledged with a little tilt of her head.

Jake came over and shook his head. “Sucks, man. I’ve known you longest.”

Cassidy gave him a look. “I know you lost in the first round on purpose.”

Jake smiled guiltily. “I don’t want to wear a tux.”

“Oh, you still have to wear a tux,” Cassidy said. “Those who aren’t best man are groomsmen.”

“Shit,” Jake breathed. “Fine, but no boutonniere.”

Cassidy leaned down toward Mollie. “Make sure to mention to Emma that I want boutonnieres for all the men, would you? Pink, something lavish.”

Jake ignored this and turned his attention toward the table. “Lincoln, what in the hell are you doing? Just flick the damn thing already.”

“Seriously,” Jackson muttered. “My hands are getting tired.”

“Sucks for you, Molls. The man has cramping hands,” Jake said.

“Not too cramped to do this,” Jackson said, lifting his middle finger at Jake with a grin before resuming the field goal position. “Mathis, for God’s sake, end this.”

“If Lincoln makes this, he wins,” Cassidy explained. “Although I’m thinking I should have set a time limit.”

“My chi has to be in the right place!” Lincoln called without looking back. “Also, hi, Mollie.”

“Hey! How’d you know I was here?”

“I’m in tune with female pheromones. I knew the second you walked in the building, love.”

“Christ. Just do it already,” Jackson growled.

Lincoln flicked the paper football. It sailed directly between Jackson’s hands, hitting him square in the tie.

Lincoln erupted from the table, hands held victoriously in the air as though he’d just won the Super Bowl.

Jackson cursed softly, but Mollie saw he was grinning as Lincoln burst into Queen’s “We Are the Champions.”

Mollie was shoved gently to the side as Lincoln came barreling at Cassidy, wrapping his arms around the other man’s shoulders in a comical, one-sided man hug.

“From here on out, just call me BM,” Lincoln said, resting his head on Cassidy’s shoulder and batting his eyelashes.

“Bowel movement?” Cole said in sham confusion.

“Best man,” Lincoln corrected haughtily.

“All right,” Cassidy muttered, trying to fend off Lincoln’s man hug. “That’s enough.”

Lincoln didn’t move. “I’m honored,” Lincoln said, his voice solemn for once. “Seriously.”

“Yeah, okay,” Cassidy said, giving Lincoln’s arm an awkward pat. “Thanks for doing this.”

Lincoln still didn’t release him. “Say it. ‘Thanks, BM.’ ”

“Okay, get off,” Cassidy said with a laugh as he shoved Lincoln away.

Still grinning, Lincoln held his arms out to the side. “Burke, is this what it felt like when you won the Super Bowl? All of them?”

“Yeah.
Just
like this,” Jackson said, adjusting his tie.

Lincoln’s blue gaze zeroed in on Mollie, seeing her for the first time. “There you are, love. I haven’t greeted you properly yet.”

“You greeted her fine,” Jackson said. “No touching!”

Lincoln ignored this, reaching for Mollie’s hand and lifting it so he could kiss the back of it. “I know I’ve said this a million times, but if I’d met you first, you’d be so in love with me.”

Mollie laughed and leaned toward him, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I’m on to you, Lincoln Mathis. You may have this city wrapped around your finger, but I know your secret. I don’t think you want anyone to fall in love with you. I think you’re terrified.”

Mollie meant what she said, but she’d also been teasing. So she was surprised when something sharp flashed in Lincoln’s blue eyes as he released her. “Keep my secret?” he said with a wink.

She rolled her eyes, thinking she must have imagined whatever she saw there, but he gently touched her arm as she moved past him to get to Jackson through the throng of guys she didn’t recognize. “Seriously,” he said quietly. “Keep my secret?”

Mollie blinked in surprise. “Yeah. Okay.”

He nodded in thanks just as Jackson came up and smacked his hand off her arm. “No touching my girl.”

“Fair enough.” Lincoln walked away, but not before he smacked Jackson’s ass.

“What the fuck, dude?”

“I’m trying to speak football,” Lincoln said.

“We do that on the field, not in an office!”

Mollie grabbed Jackson’s arm, dragging him away from the group and toward his office, but not before she gave a thoughtful glance at Lincoln. Something was up with that guy. She wondered if anyone knew what.

Jackson slung an arm over her shoulder, bringing her in for a quick kiss, and she forgot all about Lincoln. She had all the man she needed right here.

“Tell me you’re here for a little afternoon delight,” he said as they entered his office.

“Not quite,” she said. “I wanted to show you something.”

“Is it under your shirt?” he said hopefully.

Mollie gave him a look as she pulled a thick ivory-colored envelope out of her purse and handed it to him. “I finished up work early today. Stopped home and found this in the mail.”

Mollie had already opened the envelope flap, so Jackson reached in and pulled out the stack of thick card-stock paper.

“A wedding invitation?” he said in a puzzled voice.

An RSVP card fluttered to the floor, but they both ignored it as Jackson read the name of the bride. Then his hazel eyes flicked to hers. “Is this a joke?”

Mollie shook her head. “I’ve googled her a couple of times in the last few months. She’s definitely been dating him.”

Jackson threw back his head and laughed. “Madison is marrying the guy who took my place as QB? He’s what, twenty-two?”

“Twenty-four,” Mollie said with a little smile, relieved that he didn’t seem upset.

“Man,” he said with another laugh, tossing the wedding invitation on the desk without another glance. “Good luck to him. He’s going to need it.”

“You’re not weirded out?”

“Hell no. Madison wanted to be married to a football player. Maybe this is poetic justice, or some shit like that.”

“That’s very generous of you.”

He gave her a slow grin. “I can afford to be generous. She’s getting what she wants. I get what I want.”

“Which is what?” Mollie murmured, winding her arms around his neck as he moved in closer.

“A hot girlfriend,” he said, bending down for a kiss. “A job I love. Oh, and as a bonus, I don’t have to wear a tux to Cassidy’s wedding, since I lost the best-man gig.”

“Actually, you’re a groomsman. So that’s a yes on the tux.”

“Damn,” he muttered.

Mollie slipped out of his arms, moving back toward the invitation on the desk and flipping it over. “Madison wrote us a note.”

“Great,” he said sarcastically.

Mollie found the simple white card Madison had included, holding it up so Jackson could read it:
M & J, I forgive you. Please come. XOXO, Madison.

He rolled his eyes. “Well, shit, should we get some champagne? Here I’ve been losing so much sleep because my cheating ex is mad at me.”

Mollie swatted him. “Stop. This is important to me.”

His gaze softened. “I know. I know, baby. You think things will be better between you?”

Mollie ran a finger over Madison’s neat handwriting. “Yeah. I mean, our relationship will probably be like it was. I don’t know that we’ll go back to talking every day, but maybe, you know, Christmases someday.”

He groaned. “Christmas with Madison?”

“My only sister,” she said, holding up a warning finger.

“My ex-wife,” he said, holding up a finger to match.

Mollie pursed her lips. “Flip for it?”

“I’ve got a better idea,” he said, his gaze turning dark as he pulled her in again. “How about we invite Madison to Christmas if…”

“If…?” she prompted.

He reached behind him to close his office door. “Afternoon delight?”

Mollie burst out laughing. “You’re trading sex for Christmas?”

Jackson waggled his eyebrows and grinned. “You in?”

She grinned back, her heart happy. “I’m
so
in.”

To my assistant, Lisa Filipe, for the long, sometimes thankless hours you put into “the stuff” so that I can live in my imagination, writing the books. I’m so grateful.

For a gal who’s never watched a Super Bowl and has no idea when football season starts, I was a little surprised to find that my creative muse was dead set on telling a story about a former football player. I was even more surprised when the muse informed me that this hero fell for his horrible ex-wife’s little sister.

Tricky, much?

The end result, though, is a love story equal parts sexy and sweet, about two people who are absolutely meant for each other in spite of their tricky beginnings.

This, of course, leads me right to the number one person who helped me craft the story from its jumble of words into a cohesive love story: the one and only Sue Grimshaw, who’s become so in tune with my voice over the past couple years that she seems to literally read my mind and nudge me in the right direction.

Thanks as always to the copyediting team, especially Janet Wygal, who should be nominated for sainthood for her patience with the tiniest of details.

And how about a shout-out to Ashleigh Heaton and Erika Seyfried, who are legit wizards at creating buzz on a book.

For the rest of the Loveswept team, I’ll confess to not knowing exactly what you do, but that makes it all the more magical. And appreciated.

Next on my list of shout-outs is my agent, Nicole Resciniti, who never complains when I send her panicked late-night texts about writer’s block, deadline freak-outs, or some manic new story idea that I want to write immediately.

Lisa, my darling assistant, whose excitement for this book inspired me so much.

My parents, who were supremely tolerant about me locking myself in their guest room while finishing edits on this very story.

And lastly, Anth, who no longer bats an eye when the first words out of my mouth in the morning are about fictional men.

To everyone else for your support of me, and for this story, my gratitude.

XOXO,

LL

After the Kiss

Love the One You’re With

Just One Night

The Trouble with Love

Isn’t She Lovely

Broken

Crushed

Irresistibly Yours

I Wish You Were Mine

Someone Like You
(coming soon)

Blurred Lines

Blank Space
(coming soon)

PHOTO: ANTHONY LEDONNE

L
AUREN
L
AYNE
is a
USA Today
bestselling author of contemporary romance novels. Prior to becoming an author, Lauren worked in e-commerce and Web marketing. In 2011, she and her husband moved from Seattle to New York City, where Lauren decided to pursue a full-time writing career. It took six months for her to get her first book deal (despite Lauren’s ardent assurances to her husband that it would take only three). Since then, Lauren’s gone on to produce several books with multiple publishers. Lauren currently lives in Chicago with her husband and spoiled Pomeranian. When she’s not writing, you’ll find her at happy hour, running at a doggedly slow pace, or trying to straighten her naturally curly hair.

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