Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 37793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
One after another, everyone said yes, that of course they would be there, shuffling their whole lives to make time for me and Kurt. It was above and beyond, and I was struck that I was being prioritized. Having grown up alone, it meant the world that the family I found would happily show up for me. It was more than I could have ever asked for.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Ian’s words brought me out of my thoughts, back to the present, and I found myself at the sliding glass door, looking out at trees in shades of November as far as the eye could see.
“George?”
I met his gaze but couldn’t dredge up any words.
“Listen, you had a little excitement before the wedding, but everything’s fine now. No one wants to shoot you or any of your guests, the reception promises to be full of stories I can’t wait to hear, and if my boss either dances or does karaoke, I might die happy right there.”
He was trying to make me laugh, which was kind of him.
“I know what this is,” he said.
I waited, hoping he did because I myself had no clue.
“You’re worried you’re going to fuck this up.”
Sitting down, I wondered if that was true.
When the door opened and Chris walked in, I stared at him.
“There, see?” Chris said, stopping between the TV and the couch, doing a slow spin for us. “I clean up nice.”
He did, it was true. I had no idea about the transformative nature of a black suit before Chris Mancuso went from beach bum to James Bond with a mere change of clothes and a shave. I also suspected that the slicked-back hair was Jill’s doing.
“You look amazing. Truly.”
Instant scowl. “The hell is the matter with you?”
He knew me well.
“He’s worried he’s gonna fuck this up,” Ian explained, his voice catching for some reason.
Chris took a breath and crossed his arms, studying me. “The wedding or the marriage? Which one?”
“Both. Either.”
“The wedding won’t be perfect. It already isn’t,” Chris said with a shake of his head. “Let that shit go.”
He was right. “Fine. The marriage, then,” I stated after several moments, the fear like a hard ball in the pit of my stomach. “I mean, the fuck do I know about being married?”
“It doesn’t matter. You don’t have to know shit,” Chris assured me. “You just have to listen and think about your partner before you think about yourself.”
“That’s good. And make sure he knows you love him,” Ian chimed in. “You have a scary job, especially when you’re deployed. Tell him. Don’t ever leave the house without the yell.”
“What yell?”
“The I love you yell.”
“That’s a good one,” Chris granted. “Another is, don’t be a dick when you fight. There are no trophies for whoever was right, so don’t act like there are. Always ask yourself, would I rather get laid or would I rather be right?”
“This is not good advice.”
“It is,” he replied flatly.
“Yep,” Ian concurred. “Also, there should never be a time when you think, I’d rather be right. If you do, that’s the end. You have no idea how many breakups there were, before Miro, when the most important thing was to win.”
Chris grinned and then left the room.
“Where did he go?”
“To talk to Jill,” Ian said as he got up. “Just sit tight.”
“You’re leaving me?”
“I gotta go kiss my man,” Ian told me. “And maybe grope him a bit. Just like Chris is doing with Jill.”
“Why?” I asked right before he opened the door.
He turned back to look at me. “Don’t you want to kiss Kurt whenever you think about him or talk about him with other people?”
That was a no-brainer. “Yeah, of course.”
“Then you answered your own question,” Ian apprised me. “We’ll both be right back.”
I nodded.
“In the meantime, maybe look for your tie.”
“What?”
“Your tie, genius. Look for it while we’re gone. Maybe retrace your steps. It’s probably in the last place you sexed up your fiancé.”
It hit me then, and only then, that I did not, in fact, have my tie on.
“Fuck.”
Ian snickered.
“How the hell did you know I had sex?”
He shot me a look like I was stupid.
“I’ll find it,” I groused.
“See that you do.”
Fucking Ian.
Alone in my room, there was a knock on the door, and then Hannah poked her head in.
“Why is that open?” I asked her.
“The door?”
“Of course, the door.”
Her brows furrowed as she regarded me. “I can’t speak to why it’s open but when I passed Ian in the hall, he said it was.”
“What?”
“Ian said the door was—are you having some kind mental breakdown where you can’t process words?”
“What?” My voice rose that time.
“Do you need a cup of tea or something?”
“No, I don’t need a—what do you want?” I growled at her.
She chuckled and walked in, twirling when she was halfway to me, the floor-length vintage 1930s green silk velvet open-back gown swirling around her. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m going to throw flower petals all around because I’m going to walk down the aisle first.”