The Consequence of Loving Colton
“Aha, what?” Colt asked in a mocking tone. “My hands are on you for three seconds, and suddenly all traces of sexual frustration leave? Damn, I’m good.”
“It’s your fault!” I snapped, staggering away from him. “I’ve had a crush on you for how long? And suddenly we’re married and, oh, my gosh, why didn’t I think of this before?” Panic set in. I was attracted to him. I wanted to be the ice on his Popsicle, the charm on his bracelet, the milk on his mustache—you get the point. And he didn’t care! Nothing about him screamed sexual frustration. My mind whirled, my breathing quickened.
He didn’t want me.
Not the way I wanted him.
In that moment I kind of wanted to cry, because what guy, what man actually lets a guy like Max, a guy who—let’s be honest—cries during Cheerio commercials, interrupt what could have been the best pool sex to ever take place in the history of the universe? So I have high hopes. That’s not a crime!
“Milo?” Colt reached for my hand. I let him take it, mainly because I was still thinking about the pool, and what could have happened, and the fact that I had been naked and Colt hadn’t told them all to go to hell and leave us alone.
“Do you think I’m pretty?” I asked in a low voice, not willing to look him in the face because I was that embarrassed.
“Not really. No.” He shrugged.
My heart dropped into my stomach as I tried to pull away from him, but his hand tightened around mine as he jerked me across his body.
“Girls like you, sorry, women like you aren’t merely pretty. Pretty is the definition of something you put on a nice shelf for people to stare at. Pretty is a Christmas tree.”
“But—” I sniffed. “I really like Christmas trees!”
Colt groaned. “Milo, I’m not saying you’re a Christmas tree.”
“I can be a damn tree, Colton! Just give me a chance! I’ll even put those tiny silver balls on and—” Yeah, I needed to stop talking.
“Sweetheart,” Colton whispered. “You would be a very pretty tree, but what I’m trying to say is pretty . . . Pretty is something you can’t touch. Pretty is what moms warn little boys about. Hell, I can’t even count how many times my mom said, ‘Colt, that’s a pretty, don’t touch it.’ ”
“So I’m not a tree,” I croaked. “And now you can’t touch me?”
Colton shook his head, showing some frustration. “Women are such pretzels! Geez, let me finish!”
“YOU KNOW I HATE PRETZELS, COLT!”
“Holy shit, where’s Max when I need someone to say something stupider so I look like the good guy?” Colt groaned and leaned his forehead against mine. His whisper came out hoarse, almost raw. “You’re the sunset.”
“Oh.”
“Because I can’t describe your beauty—and every day I see you, it’s like seeing a new sunset, you’re never the same. I always notice something different about the way the light reflects off your eyes. Or the way your hair feels when I run my fingers through it. You’re not just pretty. You’re indescribable. You’re terrifying in your beauty—and I. Love. You.”
So maybe we didn’t have pool sex, but that speech was pretty epic. I was having a hard time breathing while trying not to swallow my tongue, so I nodded before saying, “So you’re attracted to me?”
“Do bears shit in the woods?” a male voice interrupted.
“A little late, man.” Colton shook his head and chuckled. “But thanks, Max, for totally ruining what could have been a really special moment. No really, I appreciate it.”
“Blue Christmas balls.” Max nodded. “Not such a merry Christmas or happy New Year? Feel me?”
“What?” I looked between the two of them as Colton flushed bright red. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, look.” Max thrust his fist into the air and sang, “And a happy New Year!”
Colt and I said nothing. Merely waited. It was Max. There had to be a point to his insanity, otherwise he was just that—insane.
“Fine.” He sighed. “Don’t sing, but at least thank me for being the best best man ever.”
“You weren’t my best man.”
“We never established it.” Max shrugged.
“I established it,” Colt argued. “And it was Jason.”
“Jason couldn’t see, nor was he even aware he was alive for at least half the day—dead people don’t count.”
“Nor do drunk ones, yet here we are,” Colton said in a singsong voice.
“Remember this moment.” Max nodded and took two steps toward us. “As the day Max saved Christmas.”
“It’s not Christmas.”
Max rolled his eyes. “It’s more badass-sounding than ‘the day Max saved the marital bed.’ ”
It was my turn to blush.
“Boutique hotel down the street, the one with the flowers in front and the bar with five-dollar mimosas.” Max grinned. “Honeymoon suite.” With a bow he finished, “Paid for in full.”
“Aw, you did that with your paper route money!” Colton teased.
“Ass.” Max rolled his eyes. “And if I did have a paper route I’d skip your house every damn time.” His gaze met mine. “But for Milo.” He shrugged. “You guys deserve some time uninterrupted. And I wanted to give you that, so take any one of the cars except for Reid’s since he’s probably going to have to sleep in it tonight on account that Grandma keeps copping a feel, and enjoy yourselves.”