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She frowned. “What?”
“You sure it’s okay that I wore my boots?” Waverly asked, the silver wrapped wedding present sitting on her lap.
“You wore them to Brooklyn and Slash’s wedding,” I pointed out. “Why are you worried about them now?”
“I wear themeverywhere.I was wrong, okay?” she blurted out.
“Wrong about what?”
“I thought I wanted to dress how I normally dress, but I feel underdressed now.”
“You mean angry-teen-meets-angry-punk-meets-angry-goth isn’t doing it for you today?”
She glared at me.
After Folson’s, I’d taken Waverly around to some of the best thrift stores in Dallas. She’d found an 80s prom dress with a full skirt. She’d paired it with a denim vest that had been bedazzled, added stockings and her heavy Doc Martins and a black lace choker.
“I love how you’re dressed,” I said. “It’s classically your style.”
“But what if it doesn’t reflect how I feel about the world anymore?” she asked. “What if I’m dressing how I’ve always dressed because I was trying to prove a point, and now I don’t care if I’m proving anything anymore?”
“Translation?”
“I want a pair of heels.”
“Take my phone,” I said. “And call Mia. You guys are the same size.”
“What if she’s already at Brooklyn’s helping Doc get ready?”
“That’s a risk you’re going to have to take. I’d trade shoes with you in a heartbeat, but I wear size behemoth.”
Brooklyn and Slash were hosting Doc and Boxer’s wedding. They had the space and Brooklyn loved to entertain. With the help of Jazz and Brielle, the decorations and cake would be impeccable. Doc hadn’t given a lot of time to prepare for the wedding, but Brooklyn had become an expert at pulling off last minute events.
“Damn,” Waverly muttered, setting my phone down. “Mia’s already there.”
“Guess you’ll have to party in your trademark boots.”
“Guess so.”
I turned down the road that led to Brooklyn and Slash’s property. After I parked the car and turned off the engine, Waverly unlatched her seat belt.
“You go on in,” I said to her, reaching for my phone.
“Gonna text your boyfriend to come out and meet you?” she teased.
“Yep.” I grinned.
With a mock salute, she headed up the pathway. She pushed open the front door and stepped inside. I shot off a text to Duke and waited.
For some reason, nerves swirled in my belly.
That feeling quickly turned to appreciation when he came out of the house. He’d cleaned up for the wedding. His jeans were new and he wore a blue button-down shirt, along with his heavy motorcycle boots, and of course, his Blue Angels leather cut. But he was rocking the stubble.
I climbed out of the car and stopped to look at him.
He smiled, appearing boyish. His dimples popped, and it reminded me of when he was a teenager.
Without a word, we moved toward one another. He reached his hand out to grasp my waist while the other cupped the back of my neck.
