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Because if we did, it doesn’t matter if it was good or not. I’m supposed to be areformedbad girl, for fuck’s sake—not a relapsed one.
I grab the loose sheet from the bed and wrap it around my body. With a sigh, I say, “Can you just give me a straight answer, please? Aren’t you supposed to be in Vegas today marrying Henrietta?”
“That was the plan, yes,” he says.
“‘Was the plan’? As in... You didn’t do it? Or as in it’s still the plan?”
Again, he just shrugs with that adorable boyish grin on his face. I stare at him for a second, sipping my coffee. He’s yet to answer one of my fucking questions.
He’s as sexy as I remember and just as infuriating.
And then it hits me like a garbage truck barreling down the 405. Which is fitting, since my life just turned to shit overnight.
If it’s his wedding day to Henrietta, then that means it’s my wedding day to Norbert.
So, let’s review: I’m somewhere not in Tijuana on my wedding day, naked except for this sheet that keeps falling down, with a completely stark-naked man who’s not my fiancé but is a man I’ve lusted over for years. Oh, and he’s my best friend’s brother, too.
Things can’t possibly get any worse, right?
