“And you know awful.”
Ryker leans forward as he smiles. “I love a feisty Freddie.”
“He bought us colas.” Liam says, and he’s using the baseline growl, either angry or concerned. It’s more likely to be the latter, but it wipes the flirtatious smile from Ryker’s face.
Ryker lifts his head, takes in the three glasses of cola, then straightens. “How long have you been here, babe?”
I roll my eyes. “You shouldn’t call me that.”
“Because your girlfriend doesn’t like it?”
“No, I don’t like it.”
I secretly kind of do. Ryker only callsmebabe. He doesn’t even call the guys he’s slept with that.
One corner of Ryker’s mouth lifts. “Sure you don’t . . .”
“And an hour,” I answer. “I’ve been here an hour.”
“What couldn’t be said in a text or a video call?” Ryker asks.
“I wanted to ask you in person.”
Wrinkles appear on Ryker’s brow. It doesn’t suit him to be serious, Liam’s the serious one, but both of them stare at mewith the same expression—tense, not blinking, poised to react. It’s only when they’re both like that do I understand why some people get them confused. Take away the uniforms, either add stubble to one or take it from the other and make them both stare blankly, and even I would struggle to tell them apart.
Liam and Ryker, my best friends, are identical twins.
They live together, eat together, work out together . . . which means body-wise as well as looks-wise, they’re similar, if not carbon copies. There are a few clues, though. Ryker smiles more, a lot more, which has created smile bags beneath his eyes that give him a default friendly expression. Liam, on the other hand, rarely smiles, he frowns, and although they’ve both got the exact same shade of chocolate-brown eyes, his appear darker thanks to the shadow of his brow. Liam has more grey hairs too, but that’s an unfair comparison considering most of them dot his stubble and Ryker prefers to be clean-shaven. Ryker’s eyebrows are thinner, sparse at the ends, and he thinks it’s because he’s had them singed in a few fires and the hair follicles are damaged. I think he overplucked them once and won’t admit it.
“Freddie,” Ryker says, prompting me. “What is it you want to ask us?”
Liam hasn’t moved any closer, but it feels like he’s bearing down on me from across the table, shrinking the room with how intensely he’s watching me. He’s not a talker, he leaves that to Ryker, who on many occasions has been accused of loving the sound of his own voice . . . mainly by me.
I curl the napkin in my fist, squishing the lemon slice. “I . . . I’m going to ask Keegan to marry me, but before I do, I want to know if you’ll be my best men?”
As I’m speaking, I think maybe I’m not doing this in the right order. Maybe I’m supposed to ask Keegan first, andifshe says yes, ask my best friends, but part of me needs to know they’vegot my back. Part of me is overexcited at the thought of us in matching suits waiting at the front of a church aisle.
I look up from the table, not wanting to miss their reactions, and I see Liam first as he’s sitting across from me. For once, his eyes don’t look dark. He’s raised his eyebrows, and the lights above strike his chocolate-coloured irises. At first, I think its surprise, but then he leans back in his seat like he’s trying to get away from me, like he’d rather be anywhere else than here in this moment.
“Wow,” Ryker says.
I turn to him, and he’s widened his eyes too. He chuckles, then scratches the back of his head. “Marriage, Freddie, wow. She’s the one, then, huh?”
It’s not the reaction I’d been expecting. Ryker’s voice isn’t judgmental, but neither is it pleased. Instead, it’s kind of flat, hollow. Where’s the excitement? Where’s the joy? Where’s my best friends blurting out yes, they’d love to be my best men?
“I’ve been with Keegan almost two years.” I fidget, and scowl at the table. I shouldn’t have to justify my decision to them. I’m not after their blessing.
“Yeah, of course, we’d love to be.” Ryker grabs my shoulder and gives me a shake. “Rather you than me.”
“Aren’t you allergic to commitment?”
“Something like that.” He grabs his Coke, takes a few big gulps, then wipes his arm across his lips. “That’s great, Freddie. I’m happy for you.”
“Yeah?”
“Hell yeah,” Ryker says, then he pulls me into a hug. He squeezes me, and I press my face against the side of his neck, enjoying his warmth and not caring that he reeks of smoke. I sigh softly against his skin, letting my eyes slip shut. For a minute there I thought I’d done something wrong. I thought they were angry.
“Champagne,” Ryker announces, letting me go.
