Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“This wedding,” Rafa teased. “Unlike the last forty-seven weddings you’ve shot, where you only pretended to enjoy them? Remember, babe, I can hear you wanking to your cake-topper porn. Oh, baby, gimme those hearts and flowers hard! Fuck yeah, fill me up with your unicorns and rainbows! True lurve forever!”
I grunted. “Remind me again why you became a wedding planner when you dislike weddings so much?”
Rafa grinned, teeth bright white against his tan skin. “Because I’m good at it? Because I’m highly organized? Because I was born with a finely tuned understanding of human nature? Because I’m so pretty?” He fluttered his long, dark lashes at me.
It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Pretty annoying,” I countered.
“That’s not what SamiTsunami_212 says.” Rafa shook his phone and wiggled his eyebrows. “He says the only thing that would make this face prettier is a load of his—”
I held up a hand. “Save it. Please. You’re ruining my hearts-and-flowers vibe.”
Rafa shrugged. “Like I said, you’ve always been a sucker for the schmoop. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Schmoop can be a good thing. It’s just not my approach. I’m practical, that’s all. Like the best man said in his speech—love is a series of business negotiations, so it’s a good thing the grooms have plenty of experience at the boardroom table.” Rafa snickered.
“Yeah. Right.” It came out like a sigh.
Oscar had said that. It had been an inside joke, clearly, because it had made Wells and Conor blush and trade goofy smiles while the rest of the guests laughed out loud, but… there had been something about Oscar’s face as he said it that suggested it wasn’t a joke to him. Not entirely. And for reasons too stupid to think about, I’d found that wildly disappointing. So disappointing that I’d purposefully avoided the man for the rest of the evening.
I’d known of Oscar Overton for ages, the same way most of the city knew him. I’d read about him in gossip blogs and on social media. I’d heard of his reputation for serial dating his way through the men of New York high society. He was well-dressed and urbane, charming and witty, with a handsome face and a casual confidence that made him a photographer’s wet dream… and totally unavailable to a regular guy from New Jersey who still considered buying jeans firsthand instead of at the thrift store to be pretty damn bougie.
But then today, I’d seen his pocket twitching when he’d posed for pictures with the wedding party. I’d seen him frantically talking to someone hiding under the gift table. I’d seen a brief flicker of hurt on his face when one of the other guests made a cutting remark. And I’d realized I didn’t know Oscar Overton at all because that Oscar had drawn me in like a moth to a flame, and suddenly, I couldn’t not talk to him. Couldn’t stop myself from flirting with him. Couldn’t keep from wondering if maybe…
Rafa knocked his shoulder into mine. At some point, he’d stood and was now peering at me like he was trying to see into my brain. “What’s that about?” he demanded.
I blinked away my mental hearts and flowers. “What’s… what?”
Rafa narrowed his eyes and twirled a finger around the circumference of my head. “That. That face right there. Your forlorn face.”
“Please. I don’t have a—”
“You do, Hugh. You definitely do. We’ve lived together since freshman year. I’ve seen that face way too many times, every time you’re interested in a guy and you find out he’s not… oh. Oh, no. Who is it?”
“Shut up.” I settled the strap of my camera bag over my shoulder and turned to leave.
“Fess up,” Rafa demanded.
“You ready to go? I’m tired.”
“Hold on, I can figure this out.” Rafa hurried after me. “Let’s see, I said we lived together in college. That’s not forlorn-face-worthy. Before that, I mentioned the wedding toast…” He froze, grabbing for my arm and yanking me to a stop. “Wait. Tell me you’re not thinking about the best man.”
My cheeks flushing was answer enough.
He let out a low whistle. “He is hot,” he conceded, as if he was agreeing with something I’d said. “Smoking hot. And he’s got that kind of wounded bad boy thing that made Elena fall in love with Prince Harry last year—”
“Your sister is married with twenty-seven children.”
“But he’s Oscar Overton, Hugh. Oscar Overton.”
I moved through the ballroom doors and into the lobby. “Ride share or cab? I’m not taking all this stuff on the subway.”
Rafa hurried around me to block my path. “I saw him talking to you earlier. Was he hitting on you?”
“What? No. Of course not. Drop it, Rafa—”
Rafa did not, in fact, drop it. “He was,” Rafa breathed. “Oh my god. Did he want to add you to his hot queen harem? Did he want you to bring your camera?”