Yes

The church looked straight out of a bridal catalog—white stone, arched windows, and little gold programs fanned out on every pew. Emily stepped out of the car, heels wobbling slightly on uneven pavement, her too-tight dress clinging in all the wrong places. The autumn air was cool, but her skin felt hot beneath the fabric, already sweating under the pressure of too many layers and too little patience.

Jason was already smoothing down his tie, checking his reflection in the passenger window. “Let’s make a good impression, alright? These things get around.”

She didn’t answer. She was too busy adjusting the neckline of her dress—again—trying to push her breasts down without actually dislocating a rib.

At the top of the steps, a small group of men in matching suits were greeting arriving guests—smiling, handshakes, ushering people in. Emily’s eyes skimmed them automatically, not expecting to know anyone—

—and then she froze.

The second man from the left.

His hair was shorter now. Face a little older. But his mouth? That crooked smirk? That lazy, dangerous confidence in the way he leaned slightly against the stone column like he owned the damn church?

Derrick.

Her heart stuttered violently.

The air dropped ten degrees. Her throat went dry. She blinked—and memory crashed through her in a rush.

That party on the roof, late senior year. Him lifting her skirt in front of everyone, making her come with just his tongue and a dare. The night they got caught in the campus library and kept going anyway. Her thong hanging from the doorknob of their shared dorm for a week. Derrick fucking her in the back of the lecture hall an hour before their final, her moans barely muffled by the textbooks beneath her.

He was the reason she’d stopped drinking whiskey. And the reason her thighs still clenched at the smell of smoke and leather.

And he was looking right at her.

A slow, deliberate glance down her body. Up again. A flicker of recognition. Then amusement. Then arousal.

Jason nudged her elbow, oblivious. “C’mon, we’re up next.”

Emily stumbled forward, knees weak, mouth dry. Derrick stepped forward.

Jason smiled, extending a hand. “Jason Davenport. We work in adjacent teams—sort of. I don’t think we’ve met.”

Derrick’s handshake was firm. Too firm. His eyes never left Emily’s face.

“Derrick,” he said smoothly. “Nice to meet you. I’m the groom.”

Emily’s stomach flipped. Her mouth opened, then closed.

“Emily,” Jason said cheerfully, gesturing beside him. “My wife. She wasn’t thrilled when I told her about the wedding Monday, but I promised her there’d be cake.”

Derrick’s eyes slid over her again, slower this time. “Would’ve planned the whole day around her if I’d known she was coming.”

Jason chuckled. “Careful—she’s lethal in heels.”

“I remember,” Derrick murmured.

Emily’s cheeks burned.

Jason laughed, clueless. “Well, congrats, man. Hope you get a breather at some point today.”

“Oh,” Derrick said, letting his gaze linger a second longer on Emily’s mouth, “I plan to enjoy every second.”

Emily’s thighs pressed together involuntarily. Her heart wouldn’t slow down. As they stepped inside, she was barely aware of the pews, the flowers, the music. Only the dull throb building between her legs—and the fact that the most compatible man she’d ever slept with was about to be married in less than an hour.

And he hadn’t stopped looking at her once.