Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 68309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
No. Fucking. Thank. You.
I grab him an IPA in a squat brown bottle with a skeleton on the label, pop the cap, and hand it off, stealing one for myself before we settle at my bar. Earlier I’d asked over text if he wanted to go out tonight to some of our old haunts seeing how it was a Saturday night and it’s been a long time since we properly hit the town together, but he shockingly declined. Said he had something he wanted to talk to me about.
“How long you back in the city?” I take another swig.
“Just until Tuesday.” He picks at the label on his beer—an old habit of his when he’s got something on his mind.
“Here for work?”
“Psh.” His dark gaze flicks up. “Nah. I’m here to see my best friend.”
“Bullshit.”
He laughs. “And there might be a conference at the Times Square Hilton …”
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Grant. You know I catch you every time.” I tip my bottle and take a swig.
“You feeling good though?” he asks.
I roll my eyes at the question I’ve had to answer at least fifty-nine times in the past thirty-six hours.
“Like a million bucks,” I lie. He’s in a good mood. I’m in a good mood. I’d like it to stay that way.
“You gave us quite the scare.” He studies me the strange way most people do these days, like they’re lost in thought or having a profound internal moment. And then he sucks in a long breath, lets it go, and takes an even longer drink.
“What? What’s wrong?”
He drags his hand along the top of his thigh.
Sweaty palms on Mr. Confident is never a good sign.
“You’re freaking me out here. What is it?” I ask.
“There’s actually, uh, something I need to tell you.” He squints, biting his lower lip.
“What? Spit it out.”
Silence weighs between us for far too fucking long.
“I’m getting married.” A careful smile spreads across his mouth.
“Jesus.” I exhale, and then I exhale a laugh. “You scared the hell out of me, prick. Good one. Now what’d you really want to talk about tonight anyway?”
His grin vanishes. “I’m being serious, Cain. I’m getting married.”
“To whom?” I have no doubt my face is wincing and twisted, melded in disbelief. “Last month you were here for a week and you didn’t mention you were even seeing anyone. And you were texting with Serena … Serena … I just ran into her a couple of days ago. She said she sees you every time you’re in town. Said she was going to see you this time too …”
“Dude.” He throws his hands in the air as if I’m being too harsh on him.
Grant is a lot of things, but a man who turns down easy pussy attached to a beautiful woman … is not one of them.
I only hope the married version of him feels otherwise.
He shrugs. “Yeah, well, you were going through so much with your recovery and all of that. I didn’t want to make it about me. And the last time I hooked up with Serena, was the last time. Now that I’m officially engaged, I’m done with that. Planning to break that to her this weekend actually.”
“Grant, I fucking love you, but you’re not the marrying type. You’re going to hate every damn second of it. Trust me. I see this on a daily basis. And you’ve never been faithful to a single girlfriend in your entire life, starting with Stacy Westrick in sixth grade.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He shakes his head, lifting the rim of his beer to his lips. “Why do I get the sense that you’re upset about this? I thought you’d be happy for me?”
“I’m just trying to wrap my head around this,” I say. “Think we can both agree this is a little out of the left field, especially for you.”
“People change … you don’t think I’m capable of changing?” He lifts a hand and lets it slap on his thigh.
“You always used to say marriage was a trap. Next you’re going to tell me that you want a house in the ‘burbs with five kids and a golden doodle.”
Grant shrugs, fighting a signature smartass smirk. “That wouldn’t be the worst thing …”
“Who … even … are you right now?” I rake my fingers through my hair. “And how long have you known this girl anyway?”
“Long enough to know she’s The One.” He rests his chin on his hand, his mouth curling into one of those lovey-dovey smiles Luke always gets whenever Claire walks into the room. This marks the first time I’ve ever seen it on Grant. “And if it doesn’t work out … that’s what prenups are for.”
All of this is fifty shades of fucking wrong, but it’s on him—not me. He’s never told me how to live my life, I’m not about to start telling him how to live his.