CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MILO
“Okay, you have two hours to save his life.” I gripped Max’s shoulders. “Can you do this?”
He rolled his eyes. “Blindfolded.” Max shivered in disgust. “Not that I’m wanting to be blindfolded anywhere near that girl.”
“You’re pretty cool, you know that?” Jason nodded, apparently they were friends now that they weren’t behind jail bars anymore. “Oh, and P.S.: If she finds out it’s a setup, I’m denying all charges and throwing your ass in jail. Again.”
“On what charge?” Max asked.
“Illegal prostitution,” Jason answered.
“Wouldn’t look so good on my job applications . . .” Max tapped his chin, then turned to me. “Okay, spray me.”
“You’re really letting him go through with this?” Colton grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled my body away from Max. “He’s your fiancé.”
Max raised his hand.
“Not now, Max,” I snapped.
“No, I think he should get to talk. After all, he’s going to go whore himself to Jayne and sacrifice his manhood on the altar of skank.”
“Thanks, man.” Jason exhaled. “Good to know I could still be stuck with that altar every freaking day of my life. Anyone have any whis? Anyone?”
Max reached into his back pocket and pulled out a flask.
“Seriously?” I smacked him in the chest.
“A dying man’s wish,” Colton said defensively. “If he wants to bathe in whiskey while mermaids sing to him—let it happen.”
“Mermaids don’t wear tops,” Max apparently felt the need to point out.
“Focus!” I clapped my hands. “You go in, you get out.”
The guys burst out laughing, then Max added, “Aw baby, that’ll leave her frustrated, now won’t it?”
“I hate men,” I muttered.
“You love us,” Max declared loud enough for me to want to punch him in his perfect face. He put on his leather jacket and grabbed the keys to his car. “Wish me luck!”
“Good luck!” we said in unison.
“Dude has balls.” Jason stared after Max like he was some sort of Greek god or football legend.
“Of actual steel,” Colton agreed once Max had gotten into his Jeep.
“Cheers, to the man we all hope to be one day.” Jason lifted the flask into the air and drank, then passed it to Colton.
“Unbelievable. He’s not going to war, people! He’s going to a bachelorette party. He’s surrounding himself with horny bridesmaids and trying to get the spawn of Satan to admit she isn’t pregnant, which by the way we still aren’t sure of. Most likely he’ll be drunk within two hours and end up in prison.”
“Have you met her friends?” Jason asked.
“Well, no.”
“Yeah.” His jaw flexed. “Let’s just say their idea of a party involves tea, biscuits, gossip, and a hell of a lot of perfume.”
“But it’s a pre-bachelorette party?” I watched as Max drove away.
“Pre-bachelorette party? Hell? Both are interchangeable.” Jason nodded. “Trust me, the guy’s going to hate women for at least a week, hope that’s not a problem.”
“Nope.”
“Thanks, Sis.”
“Huh?” I was too busy hoping my friend came back safe, and not in a box like he assumed. “For what?”
“Letting us use your fiancé.” Jason nodded. “I have to admit Colt and I were worried that you jumped into things—but he’s pretty straight, you know?”
“Yeah.” I didn’t know what to say so I just agreed. “He’s pretty awesome.”
“Anyway, I guess, without getting too sappy, Colton and I are proud of you for settling down with such a stand-up guy, right, man?” He hit Colton on the back, but Colton didn’t say anything for a minute. Instead he stared right through me, and then he seemed to collect himself.
“Thrilled.” He cleared his throat. “Tickled abso-freaking-lutely—pink.”
“All right.” Jason clapped his hands. “I’m going to go take a quick nap in the guest room so Mom can’t find me, then get ready for the rehearsal dinner. You coming, Colt?”
“Give me a second.” His eyes didn’t leave mine.
I shifted nervously on my feet.
We were standing in front of the house. The afternoon breeze picked up, making me shiver.
“What’s up?” My ability to sound unaffected as he continued to stare was basically nonexistent. I scratched my arm nervously and waited.
“You and me.”
“You and me, what?”
“It’s time.”
“Huh?”
“I cheated too.”
What. The. H.
“You have a girlfriend!” I shouted, fighting the tears as they pooled behind my eyes.
Instead of answering he took my hand and led me back into the house, then downstairs into the basement.
I needed a damn paper bag or something! Girlfriend! This whole time! What the crap?
Shaking, I sat down on the couch and waited for him to give me the talk. You know the one, where the guy pats your hand, tilts his head two degrees to the right, gives you the pity smile, then angles your chin and does the soft punch across your jaw, like “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.”
I had that speech memorized.
He gave me that stupid speech when I was sixteen after I mauled him with my lips.
To be fair, the whole underwear incident killed whatever romance could have been there, and, well, technically, I mean he was eighteen, meaning it could be considered, er, slightly illegal. But not really, I mean who actually paid attention to those laws?
“I cheated,” he began again. My heart dropped. No. No. No. “At Ping-Pong.”
My head snapped up. “Come again?”
“You had a few points that I didn’t count, you couldn’t tell because it looked like it missed the table—the ball hit the table three times that I said it didn’t.”
“You sick bastard!” I roared, launching myself across the couch as I beat him with my fists. “You took an oath! An oath to always be honest and true when we play games! We shook hands, asshole! We exchanged spit—”
“My favorite part,” he grunted from underneath me, as I continued to beat on his back. He turtle-shelled me so I couldn’t actually hit anything of substance. “You worn out yet? Or you wanna go another round?”
Heaving, I fell back onto the couch. “I’m gassed out.”
“Losing your touch.”
I raised my hand then dropped it when Colt started talking.
“Do it,” he challenged. “Slap me, see what happens.”
Not one to back down—no matter how gorgeous the taunting face might be—I raised my hand again, but Colt intercepted it, flipped me off the couch onto my back, and pinned me to the floor.
Cool air hit my stomach as my shirt hiked up toward my bra. Colton kept his hands pressed against mine—which were still pinned to the floor like freaking thumbtacks.
“Easy or hard?” he breathed, lips an inch from mine.
I refused to answer.
“That’s what I thought—for you—always hard.”
I smirked and arched underneath him.
He cursed and looked away. “Right, so I cheated, sue me. At least I apologized, and I’m willing to spend the next two hours watching one, not three, Star Wars movies, so take your pick.”
“You will?” I couldn’t keep the excitement out of my voice. When we were little Colton and I had had movie night every night of the summer. Jason always fell asleep so it was always me and Colt eating popcorn, playing games, getting sick off candy.
The two things I missed more than anything in the world while I was away at school? Colton and movie night.
My throat got all thick as I tried to rein in my emotions, but that’s the thing, when you want something so bad that you ache—you can’t help but respond with raw emotion.
Forget wanting the guy to kiss me—those feelings would always be there. But having him as my friend? My lifelong friend who used to do the Chewbacca voice for me so I wouldn’t be scared of Stormtroopers in my closet?
Colton was always there for me when I needed him, maybe that was part of my driving force, part of my desperation. He was everything I’d always wanted.
We fell asleep together on the couch—always.
Until I started to grow up.
And then we sat in separate chairs, until finally we stopped movie night altogether.
“You okay?” he whispered, gently releasing my hands and brushing some hair from my face.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“I’m sorry.” His eyes searched mine. “I’m sorry that the minute we started getting older these things, these moments, stopped. I’m sorry I stopped playing dragon slayer. But I’m not sorry for fighting with you.”
“What?”
His forehead touched mine. “I’d rather fight with you, bicker with you, every damn day of my life than have nothing at all. I’m selfish enough to want any piece of you—even if it’s the bad, the ugly, the ridiculous. So even if you hated me, I’d still die a happy man—because I’d still be on your mind.”
“Yeah?” I said weakly. My heart soared, even though I told it to stop getting its hopes up. Colton wasn’t being romantic, he was just reminiscing about childhood.
“I’d rather be on the receiving end of a black eye from you—than the receiving end of a kiss from another.” He kissed my cheek, his five o’clock shadow rubbing against my skin. “Truth.”