CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
COLTON
“I’m not wearing this under my tux.” I held the offending shirt out and dropped it onto the floor. I was half tempted to step on it too, but Jason rescued it in time.
“I’m marrying Satan,” he seethed. “The least you can do is put on the damn R2-D2 shirt with a smile!”
I grimaced. “It’s too tight.”
“Again, let me repeat, I’m marrying Satan. Wear the shirt.”
Sighing, I threw on the black robot-looking shirt, then buttoned up my dark-gray dress shirt over it. “We don’t even know if this is going to work.”
“It’s Milo.” Jason pulled out a flask. “It will work.”
“How long until brunch?”
Jason checked his watch. “A half hour.”
“Which means we only have . . . ?”
“Two hours until pictures, four hours until the wedding.” He started pacing, then stopped. “You think it’s a bad sign that it’s my wedding day and the only thing that makes me smile is a vision of my hands around Jayne’s neck?”
“Just tell yourself you’re into BDSM—makes it totally acceptable.”
“Good call.” He held out his fist for a pound just as someone knocked on the door.
It could be anyone, though I was hoping it was Max. He was supposed to be bringing us our victim.
As expected, it was Max—and the man I could only assume was his brother.
“Fellas.” Max slapped the guy’s back. They looked nothing alike. His brother had curly blond hair and green eyes. I assumed Max was adopted and the guy in front of me was the product of good genes at work.
“Reid.” He held out his hand. “I hear you guys need my help.”
“He’s an actor.” Max nodded. “Broadway, soap operas, big time. He’s like a big fish—no offense to your homegrown small-townness, Jason, but you’re like a sad goldfish just waiting to go belly-up. We need a betta or something.”
“None taken.” He held up his hands. “To bait Jayne we need a big fish or, er, a betta.”
Reid laughed. “One word, man.”
We all waited.
“How?” He shook his head. “How? Jayne?” He whistled.
“That was two words, actually.” Max cleared his throat.
“How the hell did you and Jayne even get together?”
“Yeah I lost count at eight words.” Max shrugged.
Jason cringed. “Long story. Lots of mistakes, lots of—”
“It goes like this,” Max interrupted. “Boys are told since they’re little that pretty things are good. Pretty things equal happy things. So when we grow up and see a shiny pretty thing, we’re drawn like moths to a flame. We keep flying toward the light until it’s too late. You know, like that Sleeping Beauty chick with the spinning wheel?”
I chuckled. “Are you seriously comparing us to a Disney princess?”
Max waved him off. “ ‘Oh, look, it’s so pretty, I want to touch it. I want to touch it, and kiss it, and make love to it’—boom!” He slammed his hands together. “Trapped. You’re trapped in her web of lies. Oh, no, your body’s going numb, help! You yell! You gnaw off your own leg in order to escape, you bleed out, and just when you think you’ve made it, the spider returns and offers you food. ‘Aren’t you hungry?’ she says. And then come the compliments, ‘You’re so strong, look how great you are.’ ”
“So we’re flies now?” I asked.
“And boom!” He slammed his hands together again. “Not only are you trapped all over again, but you feel guilty that you even tried to escape.”
Something happened in that moment, as if a light were suddenly turned on in my brain. I looked around at Jason and Reid, and an expression of awe marked their faces, as if we’d just experienced greatness but were unable to describe how or when it had happened.
It was official. Max was a certified genius.
“So.” Max cleared his throat. “You ready, spider? Ready to get out of that web and become a free man? Just think, I’m not the fly, I’m not the fly. Come on, repeat after me, ‘I’m not the fly.’ ”
Jason whispered, “I’m not the fly.”
“Again.”
“He likes metaphors, huh?” I asked Reid.
“You have no idea.” He rolled his eyes.
“Again!” Max shouted. “Let me hear you!”
“I’m not the fly!” Jason’s voice could have shattered windows.
“Good.” Max slammed him on the back. “Good work here, boys. Good work. I feel like we made progress. Now, stick to the plan, and we’ll be toasting our success tonight. Hands in.”
He held his hand out. With a curse I put mine on top, Jason followed, and finally Reid.
“Feel pain, no Jayne!”
“Feel pain, no Jayne!” we shouted, and lifted our hands into the air. A rush hit me like we’d just won the Super Bowl or something. We’d save Jason, and then . . .
Then I was going to kiss my girl.
But not until I’d served her a bit of jealousy—after all, it was so much more fun kissing her when she was pissed as hell.