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1
Weddings were the complete suck.
Colt Bennett adjusted his annoying-as-hell tie and sipped his scotch. Oh, he supposed that wasn’t always true. It probably depended on your perspective. This particular wedding was harder on him than he’d expected, although more for ego reasons than because he was harboring a torch for the newly minted bride. Who just happened to be his ex-wife…and now was his sister-in-law.
Yeah, their family reunions would be a little non-traditional, that was for damn sure.
But at the root of it, he wanted only the best for his little brother Wade and Charlene. They were certainly better suited than he and Char had been. They’d been divorced for years for a reason, though they maintained a genuine friendship. This wedding wouldn’t change that, even if he’d endured enough speculative glances this evening from his friends and family and the townspeople of small-town Quinn, Texas, to make his head spin.
At least there was alcohol, right?
Watching the two of them glow like lightning bugs as they’d shared their first dance at the reception made it impossible for Colt to wish them anything but a lifetime of happiness. It also had sent him right to the open bar, where he’d spent most of the past few hours while the dancing and revelry carried on into the night. Late September in Texas meant sultry breezes and a little bit of sweat sticking the clothes to your back, something he was used to as part owner of his own horse-training business.
And man, he wished he was out in the pasture right now, his muscles burning as he exercised Sassy or Papa Smurf—Drake’s unfortunate nickname for one of their senior gents. Or better yet, he wished he was getting sweaty for a different reason altogether. What he wouldn’t give to be balls deep in a woman right now. Horizontal or vertical, he wasn’t fussy. The night was young, after all. Too young, and he’d been holding up this bar for hours. He really needed to get his ass moving and maybe dance with someone besides his mother.
Or his ex-wife, because that hadn’t been awkward.
Strangely enough, it really hadn’t been. He’d teased Char about her veil messing up her miles of dark hair, and she’d straightened his tie as she had a million times before. There was an ease to their relationship that wouldn’t disappear just because she now wore his little brother’s ring.
Tomorrow, he would find peace in that fact. He hadn’t screwed up too badly when it came to Char if they could still be friends, right?
Tonight, he was going to drink.
“Shot of Crown, please,” Wade said from behind Colt. A second later, his little brother’s hand came down hard on his shoulder. “Hey bro. How are you doing?”
Not as well as you.
But Colt’s smile never faltered as he glanced back at Wade. His cheeks were flushed from dancing in the heat, and his eyes were fever-bright. Colt was certain they could’ve dimmed the tiki torches and snuffed out the overhead canopy of lights that surrounded the reception area they’d cordoned off at the Bennett farm on the outskirts of town, and Wade and Char could’ve lit the place from love alone.
Jealous much?
“I’m good. Enjoying these fine libations.” Colt shook his now-empty glass of scotch. “How are you? You look good. Happy.”
“I am.” Wade’s eyes narrowed. “Look, if this is weird for you, Charli and I wouldn’t have any problem with you bailing. You’ve gone above and beyond, man.”
“No, I haven’t. Going above and beyond would have been opening my eyes years ago to what was right in front of me.” Steeling himself, Colt pivoted the rest of the way to face his little brother. “I want to apologize for that.”
“Ah Christ, it’s all water under the bridge—”
Colt held up a hand to stop Wade in his tracks. “No, it’s not. You both lost years back in high school where you could’ve been together, and I hold some responsibility for that. I never got out of my own way long enough to realize you were the best man for her. I’m happy that you both figured it out.”
Wade slow-blinked at him, cocking his head as if he were judging how much of this was drunk-speak vs. Colt’s true feelings. He did tend to be a bit of a mushy drunk. Some people got angry, he got touchy-feely. But hell, he wasn’t that drunk.
