Page 103 of Filthy Player
I playfully slapped his arm. “Too bad we don’t have much time to practice.”
He’d just proposed last week.
“We don’t need practice. We already are perfect.”
He was absolutely right.
Beaux walked me down the aisle, and we headed straight for the dance floor and reception area set up at the back of Oliver and Shannon’s house. Bethany Carlson was there with her band. A famous country singer, she was also a good friend of Oliver’s and now Shannon’s. She’d volunteered to provide entertainment for the night as her wedding gift to them.
There was also a full bar, an enormous catered buffet of seafood and steak and more piles of meat and vegetables than I’d ever seen anywhere, but most of the team was in attendance and those guys ate.
Six weeks ago, the Rough Riders won their second Super Bowl in a row, filling the new stadium in Minnesota while they took on the Green Bay Packers.
Beaux had said it held an extra special moment of love for him since he’d started his NFL Career in Minnesota.
After the parade Raleigh had for the team and the media craze died down, we immediately went on a two-week long vacation to Fiji.
We were going back next month for our wedding. My dad, Melanie, Mike, Shannon, and Oliver were going to be our only guests.
It was an easy decision. My dad’s broken leg had long since healed and over the last several months, he’d regained even more movement in his right side. He used a walker or a cane now, his wheelchair rarely pulled out of the corner. He spent his nights playing poker at the clubhouse and while he couldn’t golf, he’d go out with a group of a guys and drive the golf cart. He came to the garage occasionally and hung out when Mike or I would bring him. He always had company and had made dozens of new friends.
We ate together at least once a week, usually at our house. When Beaux traveled, I went to Dad’s place and watched his game in the clubhouse. Most of the men and many of their wives would join us for a potluck dinner while we screamed and shouted and cheered at the ninety-seven inch projector screen television.
Melanie was no longer his nurse, but instead, she’d become my best friend, and we got together at least once a week for dinner or lunch.
Our lives were settling. The pain of my accident and Hannah was a memory neither of us talked about much. She was laid to rest days after the accident, and when I knew that was happening, I’d cried in Beaux’s arms, falling apart in our living room, so damn thankful I was okay, that Beaux and I were together, but so utterly devastated at everything that had happened. It was the last time I cried over it, but when I continued having nightmares for weeks, Melanie talked me into seeing a therapist.
That had helped, and after a few months, the nightmares went away and so did my therapist.
By the time the Super Bowl came around, Beaux and I were more in love, my dad was happy, and I had absolutely everything I could have ever wanted.
Life was perfect.
Or it would be in four weeks when we flew to Fiji and exchanged our own vows.
Overall, I couldn’t complain. Had nothing to complain about.
So, I let Beaux sweep me into his arms, pull me onto the dance floor.
We celebrated the entire night with our family of football players and their wives or girlfriends.
I drank champagne with my new sister-in-law and brother-in-law.
We laughed.
We partied.
And when we went to bed that night, after making me come three times, Beaux pulled me into his arms.
I threw my leg over his like I always did and rested my head on his shoulder, my arm draped over his stomach.
Playing with his thin trail of hair beneath his belly button, I kissed his chest.
“I love you, Beaux. You’ve given me more than anything I ever wanted, ever dreamed possible.”
“Jesus,” he gasped and tightened his hold around my back. “I love you too, Paige.”
“There’s just one more thing I want from you,” I said, still kissing him and sliding my hand down.
