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)
“Did she come with you on the trip?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No, she had a family thing this weekend back in Scottsdale. But she’s coming to your party next month. You’ll meet her then.”
I grab myself another beer, and I get one for him too.
“Any other questions, counselor?” he asks.
“Yeah. What prompted this?” I ask when I come back.
“You almost dying, that’s what,” he says. “Made me realize that life is fragile. That money, cars, status … none of that stuff matters. You can’t take it with you. People are what matter. Love is what matters. Nothing else.”
I point to the diamond Rolex on his wrist.
He covers it with his palm. “Bought it two years ago.”
“Fine.”
“You want to hear the craziest thing?” he asks.
“There’s something even crazier than you getting married?”
“I met her at the hospital, the day after your accident. The minute I found out what happened to you, I booked a redeye to Newark. Got there as soon as I could. You were in and out of surgeries, so they had a bunch of us in the waiting room. Anyway, in walks this hot-as-hell woman with the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen and an ASU sweatshirt on. She sits across from me. Grabs a Better Homes and Gardens magazine. Clearly she was bored as hell. So I struck up a conversation with her. Turns out she was from Phoenix, in town for work—and get this … she’s the one who saw your accident and called 9-1-1. Crazy, huh? Anyway, we exchanged numbers. Got together the next month. I’m telling you, the connection was—”
“Wait, wait, wait.” I lift a hand. “No one ever told me that the person who called 9-1-1 went to the hospital with me.”
He squints, like he doesn’t follow.
“Most people would’ve done their due diligence and went on their way,” I say.
“Yeah, well, this woman isn’t most people. That’s why I’ve got to lock this down before someone else does.”
“If my near-death experience led you to your soulmate, it will have been worth it.”
“Smartass.”
“Seriously though, if she makes you happy, congrats.” I exhale, biting my tongue instead of pointing out the fact that he’s only been seeing her for five months. “And I look forward to meeting her so I can personally thank her for saving my life.”
He lifts a hand to his chest, fisting the fabric of his pristine button down and biting his lower lip. “God, you have no idea how happy she makes me. I’ve never met anyone like her, Cain. It’s like she walked out of my dreams and into my life. Wicked sense of humor. Outspoken. Honest. Intelligent. Ridiculously hot, and she doesn’t even know it. It’s like we were destined to meet that day at the hospital.”
“Do you hear yourself right now?”
“Yes. I do. And I know how I sound, but I don’t care. I’m in fucking love with this woman, and I’m going to make her my wife. Just thinking about the life we’re going to have together …” His eyes roll to the back of his head and he pretends to salivate.
If I told him about my dream, that I haven’t stopped thinking about some fantasy wife for the last six months, I’d sound just as crazy—so I keep my mouth shut. We don’t talk about sappy shit like that. We don’t discuss our love lives—imaginary or otherwise—on any sort of level beyond the surface.
Besides, this moment is all his, as insane as it is.
“All kidding aside, I’m happy for you.” I reach across the bar top and give his shoulder a squeeze. “And I can’t wait to meet her.”
“Thanks, man. That means a lot,” he says. “But there was one other thing I wanted to say. Or ask, rather.”
“Shoot.”
“Would you be my best man?” His dark brows lift as he waits. “Can’t imagine anyone else standing next to me on the biggest day of my life. Besides, if it weren’t for you, I never would’ve met her.”
“You don’t have to sell me on it … I’d be honored.”
9
Brie
“What do you think of a September wedding?” I dry my face on a hand towel. Or am I hiding it? Grant’s been back from New York three days now and we’ve yet to discuss the wedding date.
“September … as in next year?” He swipes a squirt of toothpaste across his ultrasonic toothbrush and meets my gaze in the mirror.
“Or even the year after that.” I’m teasing.
Kind of …
I retrieve my travel bag of toiletries from the drawer he gave me shortly after we started dating, and then I uncap a tube of moisturizer. We spent a rare quiet night in: pajamas, pinot, pizza, and a Pay-Per-View movie. But the wedding date topic has been on the tip of my tongue since I walked in the door tonight.
He rests his toothbrush aside. “What’s going on?”