Why am I giving him so much attention? Because I think he’s a good guy, and because Rory asked me to look out for him, to make sure he had a good time. And if anything, I know how to have a good time.
The room falls silent as Colby lets out a long breath and then looks at Stryder.
“Ten years ago, I was waiting in line to be admitted into the Air Force Academy, my duffel at my side, and a shit ton of information being thrown my way. I’d prepared my entire life for that moment, to become a cadet in training, and I’d thought I was ready.” He shakes his head. “God, was I wrong.” Low laughter falls throughout the room. “I was scared once I was there. I might have told you otherwise, that I was stoic and excited, but I’m going to be honest, I was terrified.” Colby points at Stryder, “But not as terrified as this guy.”
“Oh fuck off.” Stryder laughs, draping his arm around Rory.
“Nah, we were both shaking in our combat boots, but I remember looking at Stryder and seeing something in him that I saw in myself: determination. I didn’t know it at first, but that one look secured the bond I always wanted. A brother. A family. He became my right-hand man, someone I could depend on whenever I needed him, and someone who always put me first.” He pauses, allowing those words to hang heavy in the room.
Stryder always puts everyone first; it’s one of his best qualities. He’s always looking out for others, one of the many reasons Rory fell in love with him.
Colby turns his attention to Rory and says, “Rory, I couldn’t be happier to share my best friend with you. You’re lucky because you found the real deal, and I know deep in my soul, the love he has for you is greater than any other love on this earth.”
Jesus Christ. I wipe away a tear at the same time Rory does. Colby holds up his glass to everyone. “To Rory and Stryder, I love you both dearly and couldn’t be happier that you have found each other. Cheers.”
“Cheers,” everyone says before taking a sip of their drinks and clapping for the well-spoken Colby.
Sharing a quick hug with the bride, Colby turns to Stryder and pulls him into a giant bear hug. They both hold each other a little longer than expected, Stryder whispering something into Colby’s ear. When they pull away, they both smile at each other before taking their seats again.
I’m still wiping my tears when Colby spreads his legs and slouches in his seat, letting out a long breath. When he eyes me, a stupid smile crosses his lips. “Make you cry?”
“No, it’s really dusty in here.”
“Ha, totally made you cry.”
I push his shoulder. “Shut up. It was unexpected, that’s all. You don’t have to be a dick about it.”
He rests his arm along the back of my chair, smug and happy with himself. “Just take it as payback for the penis bouquet probing earlier.”
“Oh, you’re evil, you know that?” I blot at my eyes. “My eyelashes are going to fall off.”
“Excuse me?” He leans back, startled, as if I told him my eye was about to pop out of its socket.
I carefully dry my eye with my index finger, making sure to keep everything in place. “Do you really think these eyelashes are real? Oh, you’re so sweet, Colby.” I pat his leg. “You don’t want to know the kind of work it took to put all of this together.” I motion to my body.
“What? You’re not naturally like that?”
When I look at him, I see that devilish smile again, and I’m pretty sure that was sarcasm.
How dare he.
Playfully I smack his leg. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that, Brooks.” I stand and push my chair back under the table. “Come on, we have a bar to visit.”
“Do you really believe I’m going to drink and dance with you?”
“Yeah, I do. So get your ass up and stop wasting valuable drinking time. Open bar, you fool. It’s our duty to make sure the bride and groom get their money’s worth.”
* * *
“This is stupid.”
“Is it? Because you can go dance, that has always been the option. You don’t have to answer the question.”
Colby has stripped down to his button-up shirt now, sleeves rolled, top two buttons undone, showing off a little V of tanned and ripped skin.
I looked, I gawked, and I’m okay with it. I’m a woman, and I’m allowed to look at men. Especially this very fine specimen in front of me.
“I’m not dancing.”
I twirl the shot glass in front of him and say, “Then drink or dance.”
We are sitting at our table, a tray of shots in front of us—slightly watered down with some juice because, hey, we want to be able to walk tomorrow morning—and playing a fair game of truth or dare.
“You’re the devil.”
“I’m smart.” I tap my temple.
“I can’t even punish you with dancing because you want to dance.”
“Exactly, sooo . . . why don’t you just take me out on the dance floor already?”
“Never.” He runs a hand through his short brown hair and sighs. “What was the question again?”
“You’re stalling.”
“Just tell me the damn question again.”
God, he’s funny when he gets frustrated and flustered. He’s a far cry from the closed-off Colby I first met, and I feel like his time with Rory and growing up has opened him up even more to the people around him. It’s nice. He used to be like a brick wall to talk to, now a softer, cushier wall that’s easily penetrable.
Granted, he’s still stubborn and reluctant to share, but at least he jokes around and smiles on occasion.
“The question is”—I pause for dramatic effect—“have you ever measured your penis?”
He lets out an exasperated breath and drags his hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.” He eyes the shot and then says, “Yes.”
I squeal like a little girl and clap my hands, drawing attention to us. “I knew it.”
“You’re ridiculous. Your questions aren’t fair.”
“It’s not my fault you can’t seem to ask me good questions.”
“I can’t think of this kind of shit on the spot. My head is full with other kinds of information, I don’t have room to think about random questions.”
“Oh yeah? What kind of information? Airplane stuff?”
He brings a shot glass to his mouth and swallows it quickly, even though he didn’t have to since he answered the question. “Pretty much.”
“Well, that seems boring. Do you have a life outside of flying?”
He purses his lips and shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Does that make you a workaholic?”
He takes another shot glass but this time hands it to me and tips his chin up for me to drink. Taking his command, I down the drink and put the empty glass next to his.
“Am I a workaholic? No, I’m a fighter pilot for the United States Air Force. I have to be thinking about my job all the time to stay alert when I’m in the cockpit.”
“That makes sense.” I hand him a shot glass this time. “And what about when you’re not in the cockpit. What are you doing?”
He shrugs. “Hang out at my house. Read.”
“Like novels?”
“Yeah, fictional combat shit.” He takes down another shot. “It’s interesting to me. Do you not read books?”
“I mean, I dabble here and there when Oprah convinces me to try her next tearjerker that will make me contemplate my entire life.”
He hands me a shot glass. “So only books Oprah approves of?”
“Pretty much.” I take the shot, not even feeling the burn anymore. “I do like to watch a lot of porn though.”
Colby sits up and starts choking. My confession apparently shocks him. “What?” he asks mid cough.
“I said I like to watch a lot of porn. I don’t know, it’s fun to me. What kind of porn do you watch?”
He looks around, his eyes scanning the room, I think to make sure no one is listening to our conversation. “Can you keep your voice down?”
&nb
sp; “What? We’re adults, we can talk about porn.”
“There are kids on the dance floor, and Rory’s parents are a few tables away.”
“Oh please. I bet they totally watch porn in their matching sweaters. A couple who matches most definitely watches the freaky stuff together.”
I have no idea if that’s true. I’ve known Mr. and Mrs. Oaks for the longest time—they’re like second parents to me—so thinking about them getting it on is vomit-worthy, but I can’t help but enjoy the ghostly white look on Colby’s face.
It’s priceless.
Never pegged him for a prude.
“At least tell me the last time you had sex.”
He takes another shot and shakes his head. “Yeah, I think we’re done with this conversation.”
I scoot on the edge of my seat and place both my hands on his knees. “Ohhh, that makes me believe it wasn’t recent. Am I right?”
He chews on the side of his cheek, his jaw working back and forth. “I said we’re done with this conversation.”
“And because you said so, that means we’re done?”
“Yup.”
“How about I’ll drop it if you come out on the dance floor with me?”
He lulls his head to the side, his eyes glassy now from the drinks, and then looks back at me. “What’s your obsession with getting me on the dance floor?”
“You need to loosen up. Look at how much fun Stryder is having.” We both watch him pelvic thrust the air, hands behind his head, charging after Rory like a man on a pelvic-thrusting mission.
Colby shakes his head, a small chuckle under his breath. “He’s always been like that, and I’m always the guy who sits on the sidelines and watches.”
I stand and take his hand in mine. “Not tonight, mister. Not on my watch. Let’s call the fire department, because you’re about to burn up the dance floor.”
I pull him to his feet as he says, “That was really fucking lame. You know that, right?”
“Hey, it got you up, so seems like it works.”
* * *
Colby wasn’t kidding. He doesn’t dance. Even with copious amounts of alcohol in his system, he’s stiff as a board and asking him to shake his hips is a freaking chore.
He’s sidestepping and snapping his fingers at his side right now. My grandparents have better moves than him.
But what the best part is, his inhibitions were thrown out the window about ten minutes ago, so even though it looks like a newborn fawn trying to learn how to walk, the look on his face means BoogeyTown business.
He is feeling the music in his head . . . but not translating it to his body.
It’s actually rather adorable, how hard he’s trying.
“I think I’m feeling this song,” he shouts, louder than necessary.
I give him a once-over. “Oh yeah, you’re feeling it all right.”
On his own accord, he spins around, arms spread wide, whacking Grandma Oaks right in the head with his meaty hand.
“Oh shit.” He scrambles to pick up the flower he knocked out of her hair. “I’m so sorry.” Due to his alcohol consumption, he starts laughing while trying to put the flower back in her hair, simultaneously caressing her cheek and telling her how beautiful she is.
Uh-oh.
We might have had a little too much to drink.
Hell, instead of helping, I’m standing here, pelvic thrusting the air while pointing at Colby . . . even though in my head I’m telling myself to stop and helping him.
But the beat is holding my pelvis hostage, and I can’t seem to stop.
“Ryan.” A soft hand grabs my shoulder and spins me around.
When I see the bride, I squeal and throw my arms around her. “Roooory! I’m so glad to see you. Do you see these hips of mine? I am so in tune with the beat.”
Rory pats my back and says, “You really aren’t, honey. You actually have no rhythm at all.”
“What? You’re insane.”
“I’m not and you’re really drunk. We had the staff bring over coffee and cake for you and Colby. I think you guys should maybe try to sober up just a little.”
A wave of heat consumes me as my face flames. “Wait, am I”—I lean and whisper, at least I think I’m whispering—“making a fool of myself?”
Rory cringes and says, “Not yet, but I can see it heading that way, especially after you just did your Elaine impersonation from Seinfeld.”
“Oh yeah, I only do that when I’m drunk.” Rory nods. “Hmm, okay, I’ll go drink some coffee.” I bop Rory’s nose. “Colby,” I shout, “follow me.”
Stuffing the flower awkwardly in Grandma Oaks’s hair, he follows closely behind me, saluting Rory on the way. “Nice wedding,” he says, stumbling into my back, careening me forward into a chair.
“Oompf.”
“Oops, sorry.” Colby laughs as he straightens me up and escorts me to our seats where he pulls my chair out for me like a gentleman.
With an exhale, he takes a seat, his broad body filling up the little space we have. “Fuck, the room is spinning.”
“Yeah, I’m getting the same feeling as well. Think it’s an earthquake?”
Colby shakes his head and picks up the cup of coffee resting in front of him. “No, I think we’re drunk.”
“Can shots do that to you?” I pick up my coffee as well and clink my mug with his.
“Pretty sure shots are the only reason I’m drunk right now.”
From behind, Stryder comes up to us, squatting down and resting his arms on the back of our chairs. “Hey, you two.”
“Stryder, my man.” Colby pulls him into an awkward hug and then kisses the top of his head.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters before pulling away and gripping Colby’s shoulder. “Dude, you need water and coffee right now.”
“That’s what I’m drinking right now, the queen’s delight.” He motions to his coffee and then takes a sip.
“The queen drinks tea, man.” He looks nervously toward the front of the reception area and pulls on the back of his neck. “Rory and I are heading out. Are you going to be okay?”
I pat Stryder’s leg. “Oh don’t worry, I have this under control. The big guy will be just fine.”
Stryder looks at me and shakes his head. “You’re just as twisted as he is.”
“No, that’s not true. I’m fairing better, because I’ve been drinking in altitude more than he has since he lives . . .” I sway forward and grip Colby’s knee. “Where do you live?”
“Las Vegas.”
I snap my finger and point to the sky. “That’s right, Las Vegas.”
“I’m nervous. Will you guys be able to make it to your hotel rooms?”
“Psssh, of course,” I scoff at Stryder. What could he possibly be worried about? Of course we can make it to our rooms; we’re not children. “We’re adults,” I say out loud, smacking the table with my fist.
“Uh, yeah. I’m aware,” Stryder answers, looking at a waiting Rory. Did she say bye to me? Maybe that’s why she hugged me and offered cake. So considerate. “All right, just be safe, okay?”
“I’m always safe,” Colby says before grabbing Stryder again and hugging him. “Congrats, man.”
“Thanks.” Stryder gives me a quick hug and then takes off toward Rory.
“Aw, they’re so cute, don’t you think?”
Colby nods and picks up a piece of cake. “Am I feeding you?”
“I don’t think we have any other choice.” I point to my mouth. “Stick it right there.”
Chapter Sixty-Five
COLBY
Oh.
Fuck.
The sun beats down on me, forcing me out of my deep slumber.
I can’t move.
Not a bone or muscle in my body wants to attempt at blocking the sun, but I have to move somehow, because it’s blinding me, making my retinas feel like they’re about to disintegrate.
Why didn’t I shut the curtains last night?
Why did I drink
so much?
Why won’t my head stop pounding?
Christ.
My brain tells my arm to lift up and cover my eyes, but I don’t move as my stomach rolls, my mouth incredibly dry, the sun soaking up my will to live at this point. Dramatic, yeah, but fuck, I’m hung over.
I honestly can’t say I’ve ever felt this hung over or drank as much as I did last night. At least I think I drank a lot. I can’t remember anything past truth or dare with Ryan.
Maybe there was dancing?
If there was dancing, I fucking hope there’s no video, because I’m shit at dancing.
Shit, I hope I didn’t make a scene.
Eyes shut, I reach over to the nightstand, searching for my phone but come up short. Not surprised. I would have been the smartest drunk on the planet if I’d bothered charging my phone.
Doesn’t matter. I’m not ready to get up yet.
Groaning, I force myself to roll away from the sun and toward the other end of the bed for a little bit more shut-eye. You can do it.
One.
Two.
Three . . . and roll.
I snuggle into the pillow next to me and cling to it as if it’s my lifesaver, keeping me afloat.
Mmm, what’s that smell? Whatever the hell it is, it smells really fucking good. And this pillow, so soft.
I squeeze my hand, my thumb rubbing over something hard . . .
“Oh, that feels good,” a voice says next to me, shooting me out of the damn bed. I lose my balance, trip over clothing on the floor, and fly into the window where I grab the curtains to steady myself.
I blink a few times, trying to make out the figure in my bed, still sleeping.
My eyes are so damn blurry, all I can make out is the slope of a bare torso; pillows and sheets are covering the rest.
In a panic, I look at my crotch that is covered by my boxer briefs. Okay. Check number one.
I scan the room, taking in my clothes and shoes scattered all over the floor, a coffee mug toppled over a plate of what looks like massacred cake.
No condom wrappers.
Could be good or bad.
Curious who is in my bed, and needing some much-needed answers, I tiptoe forward just in time to see a mess of blonde hair turn toward the sun, beautiful full breasts with tight little nipples poking out from under the covers, and swollen lips peeking past the mess of hair.
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