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Or, at least the wedding venue was nice.
The wedding hadn’t actually taken place yet.
I was standing in one-hundred-degree heat, taking pictures with the groomsmen.
“Fuck,” Justice finally said. “We’re done. Jesus fucking Christ.”
The photographer shook her head. “No! We need just a few…”
“Then take them in-goddamn-side.” He shook his head. “I want to look good at my wedding. Not a sweating sack of balls.”
The photographer sighed. “Fine. We can take a few in the church itself.”
“Thank fuck,” Justice grumbled, walking without another word to the door.
I beat him there, though, already two steps in front of him.
I’d forgotten how much I’d hated being in uniform.
I’d been discharged from the Navy for about nine months now, and I hadn’t once missed my uniform.
I tugged at the collar while automatically pulling the cap off of my head as I walked through the front doors.
“I can’t believe your wife made me wear my uniform,” I grumbled. “I fuckin’ hate this thing.”
The wool-like fabric was stifling, and I didn’t miss being in it for a second.
The Navy itself? Yes. The dress uniform? Hell no.
“She wanted to make it as easy on everybody as possible,” he said as he tugged at his tie. “Me, on the other hand, she didn’t care that I had to go get fitted for this. She said that every man was supposed to have a tuxedo. She even made me buy it. Do you know how much a professionally fitted tuxedo costs?”
No, no, I did not.
“Nope,” I said. “How much?”
He mumbled a number under his breath that had my brows rising to my hairline.
“Holy fucking shit,” I said. “No wonder you don’t want to sweat in it.”
Something shiny and gold caught my attention, and my eyes drifted to the flash.
They widened when I got a good look at Saylor for the first time today.
“I’ll catch up to you later,” he said. “While the photographer is catching up, I’m going to go piss.”
Then he was gone, leaving me standing in the middle of the foyer staring at the woman in gold who looked utterly beautiful, as well as confused and mad.
I parted ways with the group of groomsmen, some of Justice’s childhood friends—the ones that could make it into town for his wedding anyway—and some of the guys from the police department that we worked with on a daily basis.
Logan, a fellow cop, called out to me but I waved him off and headed in the direction of the flummoxed girl that was looking more and more flustered the longer she stood there.
“Saylor,” I said, startling her as I approached.
She jumped, turned, and then her shoulders slumped when she spotted me.
“Hey,” she smiled. “You scared me.”
I took her in up close and personal.
