Page 85 of Pucking Forbidden

Ten minutes later, the curtain to the fitting room slides open. When Skyler steps out onto the circular pedestal, the collective gasp from the room is instantaneous. It’s the first time all day that the chaotic, screaming energy of our group completely drops into a dead, reverent silence.

The dress is stunning. The heavy silk drapes perfectly over her curves, hugging her hips before cascading down into a clean column that pools in a fluid puddle train around her bare feet. She turns around, revealing the stunning back, cut low with delicate straps crisscrossing down her spine in a way that feels just a little bit wicked.

She hasn't taken her glasses off, and her dirty blonde hair is still falling in its usual messy beach waves. The contrast between her grounded, familiar style and the jaw-dropping elegance of the silk slip is absolute perfection. She doesn't look like a mannequin. She looks exactly like Skyler.

Grace covers her mouth with both hands, her blue eyes instantly welling with tears as she stares at her brother's future wife. “Sky...oh my God.”

“Does it even look like a wedding dress on me?” Skyler asks, her voice small, her eyes darting to the three-way mirror. She reaches up, her fingers finding the hem of the cowl neck. “Does it look like a nightgown?”

“Absolutely not,” Rylee assures her, stepping forward to adjust the train with a photographer’s eye for symmetry. “You're going to completely destroy Carson's ability to speak.

Grace snorts, “Which we all know is a near impossibility.”

Sutton disappears for a fraction of a second, returning with a short, shoulder-length tulle blusher veil. Without asking, she steps onto the pedestal and pins it to the back of Skyler’s messy hair. The bounce of the short veil against the sleek, sexy drape of the silk slip cements the look. It's the ultimate cool-girl bride.

Skyler looks at herself in the mirror, her shoulders relaxing as a slow, beautiful smile spreads across her face. She turns to me, her brown eyes bright behind her lenses.

“Thank you, Hadley,” she whispers.

“Don't thank me,” I insist, my throat suddenly tight as I look at her. “You look spectacular.”

Seeing her standing there, so entirely certain and beautiful in a choice she made on a whim, sends a strange, fierce ache through my chest. It’s a reminder of why we’re all here. We’re here because life is short. After all, risks are worth taking, and because when you find the person who makes the chaos stop, you don't wait.

I look down at my phone, the screen blank, but my mind is counting down the hours until the guys arrive at the club tonight. Until Julian walks through the door.

Skyler found her dress, and tonight, I’m going to find my courage.

“Tonight,” Rylee declares, her voice cutting through the warm, neon-soaked desert air as we navigate the bustling crowd on the Strip, “we are celebrating the official independence of Hadley Sullivan and the bride-to-be, Skyler McKenzie. No beer. No cheap wine. We are doing this right.”

“Agreed, but we are also pacing ourselves,” Grace chimes in immediately, shooting me a pointed, highly meaningful look over her shoulder. “Tonight, you are a legal adult, Hadley, which means we drink high-quality liquor and we chug a glass of water between every single round. No one is getting sick on my watch.”

“Yes, Mom,” I laugh, as a small blush creeps up my neck at the memory of Julian having to take care of my heavily intoxicated self weeks ago.

As we pass the sleek, dark glass of a high-end designer storefront, I catch a glimpse of my reflection. The emerald-green dress I’m wearing is tighter than anything I’d usually dare to pull out of my closet. My waves are pinned back elegantly on one side, exposing the line of my jaw.

I look older. More sophisticated.

Seconds later, the heavy brass doors of the club swing open, and we are ushered straight past the massive line and into the venue.

The atmosphere is louder and more intense than anything I’ve ever experienced. The music is a physical baseline thumping against my ribs as the lights flash in rhythmic patterns across a sea of moving bodies.

“First rounds on me!” Grace yells over the roar of the crowd, shoving a small glass with a light blue cocktail inside. “It’s a Blue Lagoon. Delicious and not too strong

It looks pretty and fruity, so I raise the glass and take a healthy drink.

It leaves a warm, tingling trail down my chest, a sudden blooming heat that makes the flashing lights look a little softer, the music a little sweeter.

“Another!” Skyler laughs, her cheap plastic bridal veil bouncing as she clinks her glass against mine.

I don't protest and take another shot, and then a sweet, fruity cocktail that tastes like candy but burns like fire. By the third drink, I barely notice the noise of the club anymore. The nervous, tight coil that has been wound up in my stomach for two weeks finally snaps, unraveling into a loose, floaty warmth. I’m laughing, dancing with Stacey, and for a few minutes, I forget.

Then, the crowd near the VIP entrance shifts and there’s a small, excited commotion.

Even through the hazy, warm fog of the alcohol, my body reacts before my brain does. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I turn my head, my eyes cutting through the flashing neon lights, and my breath catches in my throat.

The guys have arrived. Skyler mentioned they’d probably show up. None of the guys were too keen on letting their women go to a separate club away from their protection.

Jensen, Carson, Jayce, Zander, and Owen stroll in, laughing and throwing arms around each other. My eyes don't linger on them. They lock onto the man walking at the very back of the group.