Page 28 of The Wedding Situation Romance

“And what’s her take on love, exactly?” Drew asks.

I look up at him and I can literally feel the perspiration trickling down the crevices of my abs.

“What do you think? She’s got her head in the clouds. She probably spent her childhood playing with dollhouses and reading romance books. Her idea of relationships is based on Hallmark Christmas movies.”

Drew chuckles. “Sounds like every woman. The first movie Cass and I watched together was The Holiday.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” I jab a finger in his direction. “Movies like that, stories like that, they lead women, and sometimes men too, to believe that if you just have this spark of connection, it will carry you through a lifetime of problems.”

“It won’t,” he says.

“Exactly,”

Thank you.

“Love is an action, not a feeling. Compromising, honesty, listening to understand not listening to respond, transparency and hard work get you through the obstacles. The spark, the connection, the things about them that will always make you smile no matter how many times they do them…that’s just something to circle back to. But it’s not the spine.”

I only snort at that. “Anyone who thinks romance can get you through life doesn’t have a spine.”

“How about we talk about my wedding,” he says.

Fair enough. This conversation is making it hard for me to detox.

“You’re the best man,” he reminds me.

“I know,” I nod. “And why you chose me is beyond me.”

“Because you’ve been my best friend since high school and for whatever reason, I’ve kept you around,” he says and I grin. “All that being said. We have a lot of shit to take care of still. You know, I always thought women took like a year to plan weddings. I only proposed three months ago, and it’s coming in fast. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s trying to tie me down,” he chuckles.

“You said it, not me,” I mutter.

Drew flips me off. “She loves me. And I love her. And we’re wearing salmon.”

“Fucking hell, man.”

“It makes her happy. And it’s a small task, really. No one wears their wedding tux twice.”

“So we’re wearing fish suits. Got it,” I nod, and Drew stands up.

“It’s getting hot in here. I’m going to cool off. I suggest you do the same. Figure out what’s eating you and get over it. Nobody likes a grumpy groomsman.”

Is there another kind?

I don’t say that, of course. I really do care what makes Drew happy. And despite my aversion to all things matrimonial, I don’t intend on making his day miserable. I’ll abide by all the best man expectations, and his day will be exactly what he wants it to be.

He is right about one thing. I need to cool off. Maybe it was the conversation, or maybe I went into that sauna with something I couldn’t fully sweat out. Either way, I do need to cool off. So when I walk out of the gym and find sheets of rain pouring down on the city, I toss my things in my car and opt for a run.

There’s nothing like running in the rain. Especially when the Northern Hemisphere decides to cool down for a moment. The air is crisp for June in NYC, and I don’t hate it. I’m actually a winter man myself. The colder the better.

I start at a decent sprint in an attempt to shockwhatever is eating meout of my system. But the harder I think, the harder I breathe. The harder I breathe, the faster I want to run. The faster I run, the wetter I get. And then I find myself thinking of Quinn. Of how wet she was when I cupped my palm over her pussy. Of the little gasps she made as she rode my hand. The way her spiciness turned into a different kind of heat the moment the tension between us shifted.

I slow to a stop, nearly buckling over. I think it’s safe to say the sweat has been washed off. And yet, even with the cool rain soaking me to the bone, I’m still hot and bothered.

Chapter 11

Quinn

Grocery shoppingin the morning is one of my all-time favorite things. Especially at the farmer’s market. While the rest of the city is chaotic, the market is merely breathing. People don’t rush around farmer’s markets. They meander with content smiles at all the colors and options, slowly, thoughtfully stuffing reusable bags with bright peppers and luscious greens and ripe fruits and maybe the occasional pastry or goats milk candle. Farmer’s markets slow you down and feed the soul.