Well, he technically didn’t catch it. He wasn't even reaching for it. It just… perfectly landed on him.
What are the freaking odds?
Owen freezes, wide-eyed as if he doesn't know what to do next.
The garter drops slightly, and he fumbles to catch it, staring down at it through furrowed brows.
The crowd claps and hollers as the garter tangles between his fingers.
“No way!”
“That was rigged!”
“Bro, that was fucking fate!”
“Hell yeah, Owen!”
My stomach drops as I realize what Owen’s about to have to do.
He’s going to slide that delicate little garter up the long, sleek legs of the woman who caught the bouquet.
“Looks like we’ve got our lucky guy!” The DJ calls out.
Owen shakes his head immediately, laughing nervously.
“Nah. No, I’m good—” he starts, holding his hands up.
But the groom is already pushing him forward.
“Oh, come on, Brooks! You’ve gotta do it! You can’t back out now.”
“Do it! Do it!”The crowd chants.
Owen’s throat bobs as he glances up, his eyes immediately finding mine.
For a split second, the chaos, shouts, and cheers vanish as we lock gazes.
Owen’s eyes fill with hesitation and uncertainty, like he's asking me without saying a word. And because I don’t know what to say—what to do—I force out a half-smile and nod.
But he doesn't move. He just stands there—frozen and staring at me as burly bodies hoot and holler around him.
Owen’s shoulders tense as the groom claps him on the back, steering him toward the center of the dance floor, where the redhead is already being guided into a chair, giggling and flipping her hair over her shoulder.
Owen tears his gaze from me, his expression almost painful.
When my eyes land on the woman sitting in the chair, all I can think of is one thing.
She’s stunning.
Absolutely breathtaking.
Long auburn hair cascades down her back in soft waves. Her skin is smooth and glowing. She has these cute little freckles dusted across her nose and cheeks.
Her full lips are painted ruby red, curved into a confident, sexy smile. Her crimson dress hugs her body as if she were born to wear it, accentuating every line and dip of her lean frame.
She doesn’t look nervous, like I would be.
She looks like she belongs here. Like she thrives on the attention.
