Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Ledger rises to his feet, making quite a sight in black wingtips, socks with illustrations of mushrooms under the words Don’t Shiitake On Me, and his soggy pants rolled up to just under his knees.
It’s weirdly sexy. Because of why they’re rolled up.
For me.
Dev stands next, offering me a hand. As I take it, the ring on my finger catches my attention again. I’ll need to deal with that soon. There’s a long list of things to deal with—the collateral damage to the lives Aiden and I were about to mingle.
Shoving those thoughts away, I let Dev pull me up so I’m between them, the ushers who ushered me out. I can’t even imagine what’s happening at the church, or how many texts are blowing up my phone inside my purse on the floor of the car—calls from my mother every two minutes, messages from my friends checking on me. My stomach somersaults at the thought of the explanations I owe my guests and my family.
Including the ones I owe these guys.
As the water gurgles nearby, the afternoon sun shining brightly behind us, I’m tempted to tell them the truth—that I’m not entirely a jilted bride.
But I could barely tell Trina and Ivy all my what-ifs less than an hour ago. I shouldn’t blurt out to my brother’s two best friends and top clients that I didn’t have the guts to even be a runaway bride.
I just…got lucky. Or as lucky as one can be when being left by a guy who’s angling for more nookie.
And I’m not going to ruin our adventure with a big old truth bomb. As I head up the hill, I grab my discarded heels and slide them on, then head to the store, but along the way, Dev whispers, “You might want to…” He draws an air circle around my face.
For some reason—maybe that he noticed, or maybe because I didn’t even like the wedding makeup—his observation loosens something else inside me. Unlocks another layer of freedom.
“Then I better go wash off my makeup while my getaway driver hunts for new shoes,” I say, and it feels like the three of us are in cahoots today, especially when Dev flashes me a smile, then says, “Slurpees on me.”
5
TRASH THE DRESS
Aubrey
Fifteen minutes later, I leave 7-Eleven with my face scrubbed free of makeup, carrying a pound of Twizzlers, a cherry Slurpee, my veil, and a Sharpie in a bag.
Ledger is wearing Crocs with his rolled-up suit pants and popping gummi bears into his mouth. The other guy is noshing on baked chickpeas, his suit jacket slung over his arm, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, revealing seriously strong forearms.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t check out Dev’s arms as we walk back to the car. Or Ledger’s hands as he reaches into a bag, tosses a red bear into the air, and catches it frog-style on his tongue. An arrow tattoo curves across the light skin of his wrist. I bet that hurt when he got it. I bet he didn’t even flinch under the needle.
But I should stop checking them out. I definitely should stop. The last thing I should be thinking on my former wedding day is that my brother’s best friends are hot. About the hotness of any guys, for that matter.
“I guess we have our answer. They sell Crocs,” I say, then hold up my Slurpee. “And this is better than champagne.”
Ledger proffers an orange gummi, lifting it high in the air. “And this is better than wedding cake.”
“I don’t know. The cake is pineapple-flavored,” I say.
“Who gets pineapple wedding cake?” Dev asks with a snort.
“There was a mix-up with the caterer,” I say. “So I said I’d settle for pineapple wedding cake.”
Dev stops a few feet from the car, meeting my gaze with intensity in his green eyes. They’re flecked with gold—sometimes they look green, sometimes hazel. Mercurial eyes. “Don’t settle when it comes to cake or men. You hear me, Aubs?”
My chest warms. “I hear you.”
“But is pineapple cake settling?” Ledger muses. “It sounds kind of good to me.”
Dev tilts his head, seeming to consider the proposal for a beat, then agreeing. “You know, it kind of does. But it’s not on my diet.” He fishes into the chickpea bag and munches on one, and as we reach the car I’m struck by the Just Married sign dangling from the trunk.
Well, that won’t do.
“Allow me to handle this,” I say, then uncap the marker I just bought, kneel, and fix the sign.
I cross out Just Married and instead I write…Runaway Bride!
It’s not entirely true, but it feels true enough.
The trouble is a runaway bride can’t exactly ride a roller coaster in a wedding dress. “I can’t wear something this long to the amusement park.”
Dev crinkles his nose. “Do you want to go…shopping?” It sounds like he’s gargling dishwasher detergent.