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I tip my beer to her. “Me too.”But not tonight.“Hey, my bag is still sitting at the front door. I’m gonna bring it up to one of the bedrooms. I’ll be back in a bit.” I cringe, realizing how that sounded like an invite. It’s like I can’t turn it off.
“I can help you find an empty one,” she offers. If I wasn’tseeing her again, I might fuck her in the bathroom. Instead, I’ll probably hook up with a cute catering waitress before the end of the night, that’s always a sure thing.
“Nah, I’m good.” I hold up my hand. “Thanks, though.”
As I climb the stairs, the gentle piano keys fade and are replaced by Bryan’s muffled voice. He’s annoyed with something, and I chuckle.Bet he got busted for checking out Veronica’s ass.I don’t know Jordana, but I doubt any woman would be cool with her fiancé ogling her best friend. He’ll have to keep it in check when we go to Vegas in a couple weeks.
The first four bedrooms are occupied with coats and bags from other wedding-party members staying the night. The closer I get, the more I hear. The dim hallway reveals a light shining under the crack of a closed door, and I enter the room next to it, relieved to see an empty king size bed with no suitcases. My ears prick when I hear my name. I gingerly place my duffel on the floor and press my ear to the shared wall.
Jordana sounds like she’s trying to pacify him.
“All I said was he had a good season.”
“It wasn’t what you said, it was the way you said it.”
Wait, what?Is he accusing her of flirting with me? I’m very attuned to when a woman is coming onto me, and that’s not at all what I was getting from her. The way she said it couldn’t have been more stiff.
“I was being friendly, Bryan. Can we please go back downstairs and enjoy the party? Remember, this is for us.”
“You may think you’re being friendly, but that’s not the way it sounds to everyone else. You sound like a whore. I would never, ever talk to another woman the way you talk to my friends. You send out signals to every man you speak to. This is what I was talking about earlier, you don’t know how to speak to people! I don’t know if I can trust you anymore.”
The hair on the back of my neck stands up, as I heard his words in my biological father’s voice. It’s so similar to the way he spoke to my mom when I was young.
“You can’t trust me? Fine, what about the black bobby pins on the floor of the BMW? I’m blonde! What about how late you’ve been working? The hotel receipts?”
“Jesus, the fuckin’ bobby pins again? You’re losing your fucking mind. You really are. You have black bobby pins. You can go home right now and check the bathroom drawer, you’ll find a whole pile of them! This argument is ridiculous. Stop deflecting. You aren’t going to escape the consequences for acting like a fucking cocktease right in front of me. Are you trying to humiliate me? There are important people down there! This isn’t a game, Jordana. You’re engaged now. Engaged to me.”
What the actual fuck?
I lose the rest of the conversation when I exit the room to pound on their closed door.
“In a minute,” Bryan barks.
I turn the handle and push the door open.
“I said we’d be out in a minute!”
My eyes drop to his grip on her arm. He turns his head to look at me, and his eyebrows relax. He releases her, and I can’t tell how hard he was grasping her because of her long sleeves, but the fact he let go so quickly tells me it was probably firm enough to turn her skin white. I know Bryan, he would never hurt a woman. We’ve talked about this shit before, he knows about my childhood. He makes an annual donation to my charity for victims of domestic violence, for Christ’s sake. There must be something I’m missing.
“Everything okay in here?” I mostly keep my eyes on Jordana to examine her body language. It’s an unconscioushabit after all my DV training at the center. She rolls her eyes, looking more annoyed than fearful.
“Mind your business, Teller. We’ll be out in a second,” he says firmly.
She moves toward me, and I step aside, giving her space to slip out of the room. As she passes, the smell of her perfume wafts in the air. I don’t know what she’s wearing, but it’s nice. No matter what kind of disagreement they were having, I don’t like what I heard. My mom stayed in her marriage far too long—it wasn’t until he raised a hand to her that she packed up my sisters and me and left.
The way Bryan leers at her gives me those same sinister vibes. I’ve never seen or heard him like this. It’s unlike him.
“How much have you had to drink, man?”
He clears his throat and points his finger at me.
“Don’t give me that shit. You’re taking this out of context.” Like a switch is flipped in his brain, the taut expression is erased from his features. He chuckles. “We had an argument earlier, and she likes to push my buttons. You know how it is.”
I don’t—and this interaction doesn’t sit well with me. Even though my childhood is long in the past, the unease in this room fills me with anxiety. It left an impact on me and my older sisters—they remember more than I do, but the memories I have are enough. It’s why I’ve dedicated so much of my time and money to creating resources for people like my mom. It’s hard for me to picture Bryan being one of those guys. We grew up together. I know him, we were practically brothers. Hell, he was my best friend and the guy I talked to when I was scared of my biological father.
“Well, go easy on her, you don’t want a runaway bride before the wedding even begins.”
I turn to leave but hear him mumble, “She’s not going anywhere.”
