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Pick-up, not nearly as much.
I went back to the freshly washed bowl and pulled it out of the pile of clean dishes.
“That’ll give me enough time to make the groomsman cake batter for when the other ones finally get out of the oven,” I said. “Then they’ll have to cool for like two hours before I can do a single thing to them.”
“Good, then you can get to know me a little better,” he rumbled.
***
“He’s a cop,” I said to my father later that night.
“Really?” he asked, sounding just as surprised as I’d felt when I’d heard those words. “Doesn’t fight like any cop I ever knew. Motherfucker can fight.”
I rolled my eyes.
My father had watched the video clip—and yes, a chick hitting a guy in the dick had gone viral. I was now famous for junk punching a guy.
And my dad was right. ‘Motherfucker’ could fight.
“Too bad you’re leaving,” he said. “Sounds like an actual good one.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I had a lot of fun with him today,” I said.
There was a long pause when he said, “You’re still coming home, right?”
I looked at my dad over our FaceTime call and nodded. “Yes, Dad. I’m coming home.”
Even though I wished I wasn’t.
But sometimes I had to put my pride aside and admit that I wasn’t making it.
“Good. I miss you.” He grinned.
The grin fell off his face when the tones dropped all around him, signaling that there was an emergency call that he would be required to go to.
My heart rate picked up speed, and I tried to school my features.
Ever since my father had hurt himself at a fire call, I’d been leery of him working.
I knew that my father could handle himself, but there were just too many ‘mishaps’ that were happening for me to think everything would always be okay.
“Be careful, Daddy,” I ordered sternly.
He winked at me. “Always am.”
With that, he signed off, and to get my mind off of what my father was doing, I thought about my day.
And the man that I hadn’t stopped thinking about in six long months.Chapter 3I never regret it when I do. I always regret it when I don’t.
-me thinking about taking a shower
Lock
The wedding was nice.
Or, at least the wedding venue was nice.
The wedding hadn’t actually taken place yet.
I was standing in one-hundred-degree heat, taking pictures with the groomsmen.
“Fuck,” Justice finally said. “We’re done. Jesus fucking Christ.”
The photographer shook her head. “No! We need just a few…”
“Then take them in-goddamn-side.” He shook his head. “I want to look good at my wedding. Not a sweating sack of balls.”
The photographer sighed. “Fine. We can take a few in the church itself.”
“Thank fuck,” Justice grumbled, walking without another word to the door.
I beat him there, though, already two steps in front of him.
I’d forgotten how much I’d hated being in uniform.
I’d been discharged from the Navy for about nine months now, and I hadn’t once missed my uniform.
I tugged at the collar while automatically pulling the cap off of my head as I walked through the front doors.
“I can’t believe your wife made me wear my uniform,” I grumbled. “I fuckin’ hate this thing.”
The wool-like fabric was stifling, and I didn’t miss being in it for a second.
The Navy itself? Yes. The dress uniform? Hell no.
“She wanted to make it as easy on everybody as possible,” he said as he tugged at his tie. “Me, on the other hand, she didn’t care that I had to go get fitted for this. She said that every man was supposed to have a tuxedo. She even made me buy it. Do you know how much a professionally fitted tuxedo costs?”
No, no, I did not.
“Nope,” I said. “How much?”
He mumbled a number under his breath that had my brows rising to my hairline.
“Holy fucking shit,” I said. “No wonder you don’t want to sweat in it.”
Something shiny and gold caught my attention, and my eyes drifted to the flash.
They widened when I got a good look at Saylor for the first time today.
“I’ll catch up to you later,” he said. “While the photographer is catching up, I’m going to go piss.”
Then he was gone, leaving me standing in the middle of the foyer staring at the woman in gold who looked utterly beautiful, as well as confused and mad.
I parted ways with the group of groomsmen, some of Justice’s childhood friends—the ones that could make it into town for his wedding anyway—and some of the guys from the police department that we worked with on a daily basis.
Logan, a fellow cop, called out to me but I waved him off and headed in the direction of the flummoxed girl that was looking more and more flustered the longer she stood there.
“Saylor,” I said, startling her as I approached.
She jumped, turned, and then her shoulders slumped when she spotted me.
