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Leaving Janey this morning without sinking into her is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I couldn’t even adjust myself in my jeans without fear of shooting off like a firework. But I have to meet my brothers.
Today is one of the most important days of Chance’s life, and I’m going to stand by his side in solidarity. Though I would never tell her as much—becausewordsandpeople—Samantha is too good for my brother. Not because he’s a bad guy. He’s great, actually, but Samantha’s in a league of her own and Chance couldn’t have found a better partner to create a little chaos in his rigid, planned to thenth degree, scheduled life.
As evidenced by where Samantha chose to have the wedding.
Years ago, Chance started a club of sorts. It’s part mentorship, part gym, part self-improvement, and all his pride and joy. Called the Gentlemen’s Club, it was an entire dick fest until Samantha came along and started teaching classes about dating, relationships, sex, and more to the members. Now, the two of them spend nearly every waking moment inside the club’s walls, so you’d think they’d want somewhere else—anywhere else—for their wedding.
Hell, with Chance bankrolling it or Mom and Dad pitching in, the wedding could be at the Ritz-Carlton if Samantha requested it. But no. She wants to say their vows in the place that’s most important to them—the club. Chance did hire both a wedding coordinator and a designer to turn the indoor gym into a reception space and the outdoor ball court into a ceremony space, but it’s never going to be as fancy as a regular wedding venue. But that’s not what matters to Chance and Samantha, and I’m glad. To me, it shows that though they’re so diametrically different on the surface, underneath all the trappings, they value the same things.
I park in the empty lot next door—a purchase Chance recently invested in for possible future expansion of the club—noting the cars and trucks already here. Looks like I’m the last Harrington to arrive, so it’s a good thing I didn’t stay at Janey’s. Even if I really would’ve liked to.
I walk through the big double doors, glancing up at the fancy, gold, lion’s head sculpture above them. Chance might be practical and a bit stuffy, but he knows how to represent, and the lion is the club’s mascot of sorts.
“Hello?” I bellow. “Where are you all?”
“Cole? Back here,” Chance shouts. I follow his voice, passing by a team of people who are in the finishing stages of decorating. It looks good to me, with flowers, lights, and dozens of round tables already set for dinner.
Down the hall, I find the guys in what I’m guessing is a classroom, given the stacks of chairs on one wall. It appears they’re getting ready... with glasses of amber liquid in their hands. Chance passes me one as a greeting and then lifts his in the air.
“Guys, I want to tell you how much your being here means to me,” he starts, already sounding emotional for this early in the day’s activities. “I wasn’t sure we’d get to this point. You know how Samantha is.”
We chuckle good-naturedly, remembering the time we all got together like this to discuss their relationship and Chance had confessed to being desperately in love with Samantha but unable to tell her because she’s a track star-certified runner from anything resembling love, relationships, and commitment. Well, she was. I think now, instead of running away, she’d run straight to Chance in any situation. Even if he fucked up, she would chase him to kick his ass, not kick him to the curb.
“But here we are, and I’m thankful for each and every one of you.” Chance clinks his glass to mine and then works his way around the room until he’s saluted us all.
“To Chance and Samantha,” Dad says, and we echo the toast before all swallowing our shot in one go. Chance must’ve sprung for the good stuff because the whiskey is smooth as silk and warms my belly.
Time flies as we get ready, and before I know it, it’s almost go time and my phone is dinging in my back pocket. When I check it, I find a text from Janey. She’s here. I smile, pleased she actually texted me and didn’t blow it off like I’m overbearing.
“Hey, Chance, I’m gonna grab Janey. Be right back.” He nods, in the midst of posing for some staged photos of his socks and cufflinks.
Is that a thing? Pictures of wedding day socks? Who’d want that and why? I’m not sure, but at least it gives me the moment to sneak away.
I exit a side door, walking around the building so I don’t have to fight my way through the arriving guests, and into the lot. Janey’s bright yellow car is easy to spot, her red hair even more so.
I creep up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist. She squeals and wiggles wildly before realizing its me. “Hey,” I growl in her ear as I let her feet back to the ground, making sure she’s steady in her heels before releasing her.
She whirls, fire in her eyes and a smile on her face. “What are you doing out here? You scared me!”
“I have that effect,” I agree solemnly, and she laughs. “I wanted to escort you in and make sure you’re settled.”
She beams like the simple gesture means so much. To her, it does. To me, it’s the least I can do since I invited her as my plus-one but will be standing up for the ceremony.
“You look beautiful.”
She’s wearing the same gray satin wrap dress that she wore to Paisley’s wedding, which was gorgeous on her then, but now that I know how easy it is to undo one little tie and gain access to her whole body... it’s fucking stunning.
“You too,” she says, looking me up and down.
“It’s pink. And floral,” I complain. But I don’t really mean it. I don’t give a rat’s ass about what I wear as long as it’s functional. And today, the function is ‘don’t piss off Samantha’ and so far, this is working.
“You make it look manly and sexy,” Janey growls, mimicking me except for the excessively pouty face. “But I do think I prefer you in jeans and bare feet... or nothing at all.” Her gray eyes sparkle as she bats her lashes at me.
I groan, counting down the hours until we can get the hell out of here and go back to Janey’s. Or my place. Or the closest hotel. Or anywhere we don’t have to leave for the next three to four business days.
She laughs and pats my chest. “Come on. The sooner this starts, the sooner it’ll be over.”
I swear she’s reading my mind.
