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Brett shakes his head. “I’m not here to fight with you.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I want to start over,” he says. “I want us to be friends.”
I snort. “Friends? There’s no way in hell I can be friends with you.”
“We have to plan a wedding together.”
I narrow my eyes at him. He’s right. Although I want to tell him I’m planning the wedding, and he’s just playing a small part. But justifying myself will make me look petty, and I’m already too drunk to think straight. All I can think about is how is cologne fills my nostrils and makes me dizzy.
“I want to call a truce so we can work together without fighting, at least,” he adds when I don’t say anything.
“Fine,” I say. A truce I can do. I tell myself it's for Stacey's sake that I'm doing this. So that the wedding can run smoothly. I'm not doing this for me. I'm not here to make nice with Brett because I like the way his eyes roam my body and settle on my lips.
He holds out his hand, and I take it.
His hands are large, calloused, and when his skin touches mine, electricity runs through me. I look up at him. His dark eyes are deep in his tan face. I can get lost in those eyes. If I’m not careful, I’ll fall. And Brett won’t be there to catch me.
“But this doesn’t mean that I like you,” I add. But my voice is breathy, and it feels like he’s moved closer to me. My head spins, and his scent is intoxicating.
“Fine,” he says in a deep voice.
I stare up at him, getting lost in his eyes. His hair is a mess, like he spent all his time pushing his hands into it, and it only makes him more handsome.
When his eyes slide to my lips, my insides tighten. I know I shouldn’t want him. He’s Brett, the man who made my life a living hell in high school.
But I want him to kiss me. It’s the alcohol. It has to be.
I have to get away from him before I do something stupid. I try to squeeze past him, but that just does what I knew it would do all along. It puts us right against each other. We're so close now, a sigh will push us together.
And Brett isn't going to let this chance slide.
He closes the distance between us before I can force myself to step away, and when our lips touch, it’s over. I search for the fight that’s left in me, the reason I need to run from this guy. But I can’t find it.
The little voice that should be shouting at the back of my mind has drowned in alcohol.
Brett breaks the kiss and his eyes are filled with need.
“Let’s get out of here,” he says.
Absolutely not.
“Okay,” I breathe.
He should go to hell.
When he offers me a hand, I take it, and he leads me out of the bar. We pass Marc and Stacey, who are seated on a rock not too far off. Stacey’s head hangs, her dark hair in her face, and Marc is too occupied making sure she’s okay to notice us leaving.
Brett hails a cab, and in no time, we’re at the hotel.
When we walk through the lobby together, I’m too worked up to consider someone might see us. We ride the elevator to one of the floors—I didn’t see which buttons he pushed—and he puts his arm around my shoulders. He’s so big next to me, his arm thick and powerful, and he makes me feel delicate.
He leads me to his room. All the while, I’m telling myself I can still tell him I’m not doing this. I can still leave.
But I can’t bring myself to say those words.
I don’t want to.
