Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
I’m flattered to even be asked, but yes, of course it works for me. He’s staying married to me for the mural job, which will go for at least a couple more weeks after that so that’s all good.
The conversation shifts to tales of past glory and present. Asher’s in his element, flashing that easy charm of his. But it’s more than charm—there’s real passion behind it, and watching and listening to their conversation eases my mind.
After we order, my pulse settles more.
I’ve got this. I know the marriage script we wrote the other day. We’ve been friends for years, made a marriage pact for fun at my brother’s wedding, and once we were in Vegas, we just knew it was what we wanted—getting hitched.
I’m ready for their relationship questions if they ask them, and just as appetizers arrive, Terrence leans forward with a grin as if on cue. “So, newlyweds, huh? Have you planned your honeymoon yet? Or are you two still in work mode?”
My stomach drops. Honeymoon? We didn’t script that part. I glance at Asher, hoping he’ll take the lead.
“We’ve been pretty busy,” Asher says smoothly, “but we’ve talked about a few places.”
“Bali,” I blurt out, nodding as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Or maybe the Maldives. Something tropical.”
“Oh, tropical,” Lydia says, raising an approving eyebrow. “Nice choice.”
“I’d love to go to Bali someday,” Aram chimes in.
“I think we all would,” Lydia says. “Will you head over when the season ends?”
Thank you, Lydia, for giving us an easy out. “Yes, April should be nice,” I say.
Asher clears his throat, shooting me a skeptical look. “April?”
Shit. What’s wrong with April?
Beckett laughs. “Maeve, did you forget The Cup is in June?”
My cheeks flush. “I’m a terrible hockey wife. Of course, it won’t be until June.”
Asher turns to me with a smile. “And besides, I think we should go to Paris. I have a feeling that’s where you really want to go.”
My stomach flips. He remembered what I said about ring shopping in Paris. My fantasy. “I suppose I would.”
“Good thing we asked,” Terrence says with a chuckle. “Gotta help you get to know your wife, Asher.”
Asher doesn’t miss a beat. “I know my wife. She picked the Maldives for me. I like the tropics, being from Canada and all. But she likes Paris, and what my wife wants…she gets.”
A shiver slides down my chest. I’m a little turned on from Asher’s words. But that seems to be my new norm these days.
“Words to live by,” Marcus says, lifting his glass of wine. We all do the same. Then Marcus glances at Beckett. “And now you’ve got a brother.”
That’s when the wine goes right out my nose. I grab my napkin, dabbing at the mess, mortified. I almost wish I’d said “labia” instead.
“Right,” I sputter. “Beckett has a brother now.”
Open mouth—insert nude heel because that’s not a weird thing to say at all.
Reina cuts in, saving me. “And that’s really what Total Teamwork is about, right? Everyone supporting each other.”
Relief washes over me, but it’s short-lived because right as I set down the glass, Lydia leans in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And how’s domestic life? Figured out who does what around the house yet? That’s the real challenge of marriage.”
I freeze. We don’t even live together. How do I answer this? Asher tenses beside me, but I jump in, keeping my tone light and teasing. “We’re still negotiating that. Asher’s convinced his method of folding towels is superior, but I’m not so sure.”
Asher raises an eyebrow, clearly playing along. “Because you fold them into origami swans.”
Oh, great. He just had to say that. “What can I say? I like birds.”
Then Marcus, of all people, grins and picks up his napkin. “I love napkin origami. Can you show us?”
Wait. What? My heart stutters. Show them? Here? I throw Asher a wide-eyed look that very clearly says, I’m going to kill you.
My brother chuckles under his breath, and Reina looks away, hiding a smile. Meanwhile, Asher’s just sitting there with that charming smile, seeming oblivious to the situation he’s put me in. “They look like swans to me,” he says, not helping at all.
I clench my jaw but manage a smile. “Give me a second. I need to powder my nose.”
I hustle to the restroom, where I pull out my phone and quickly look up napkin origami on YouTube. Of course, the swan is ridiculously complicated. I opt for a fan, then a frog, then a bird—fuck it. I’m an artist. Where there’s a will—or YouTube—there’s a way.
I return to the table, grab my napkin, and fold the hell out of it, setting it down with panache. “Asher calls them swans, but really, he’s just blinded by his love for me. They’re fans,” I say, patting his shoulder. “Next stop—swans.”