Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 31414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 157(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 157(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
He laughs as he eyes my hair. “No way.”
“Yes, way,” I assure him. “I have the worst hair in the family. Apparently, I take after Dad, though he was bald by the time I was born, so I can’t confirm that with first-hand knowledge.”
“My dad is bald, too,” he says. “It’s a miracle I’ve held onto my hair this long.”
I cock my head to one side, trying to imagine him bald.
He grins. “Trying to imagine me bald?”
I laugh. “Yes.”
He mock-winces. “Yeah, it’s going to be bad. I have a giant skull with weird lumps at the back. I’m not going to be a handsome bald man. If you want to call it off now, I understand.”
Chest filling with that increasingly familiar warm, giddy-but-grounded feeling I’ve only felt with him, I take his hand and give it a squeeze. “Nah, you’ll still be sexy.”
His smile fades and a flicker of heat sparks to life in his eyes. “You think so?”
“I know so. Your sexiness comes from the inside.” I bite my lip, glancing around to make sure no one’s close enough to hear before I add, “Which reminds me… I’ve been meaning to ask—do you think we should wait until after the wedding? Or…give things a try beforehand? Just to make sure it’s all going to work out okay?”
The hunger in his expression makes my heart beat faster as he assures me, “It’s all going to work out just fine. No doubt in my mind. But whatever feels right to you. I think you’re in the more unique position here. I want to do whatever makes you most comfortable.”
I pull in a breath, but before I can tell him that I’m torn between the old-fashioned romance of waiting and my burning need to be naked with him again, the couple in front of us steps away and it’s our turn. We give the man behind the glass our documents and IDs, answer a few questions, sign the official paperwork and…voila, we’re ready to go.
“That wasn’t bad,” I say as we descend the courthouse steps, Connor carrying both our suitcases as we head for the corner to meet the car service he ordered inside. “Way easier than the DMV.”
“I’m sure that’s deliberate,” he says. “Can’t run a get-married-quick industry without an efficient licensing process.” He pulls in a breath, exhaling with a big grin. “Ready to see the room? I looked online, and we’re cleared to check in.”
I bounce lightly on my toes. “Yes! I can’t wait. It’s been so long since I stayed at a hotel. Binx and I were supposed to go on a girls’ trip to Chicago last month, but Sprout was sick and Binx had to stay home to take care of her while Seven was running a retreat up at their camp.”
“She’s a great stepmom,” he says. “My parents and I like to hit Bettie’s bar on Sunday afternoons in the summer for a cocktail. Almost every time we go, Binx is down by the lake swimming with Sprout. They always look like they’re having the best time.”
“They’re kindred spirits,” I say. “And Sprout is the funniest. We’re the ones who got Binx and Seven together, you know. We parent-trapped them.”
“No way,” he says, lifting a hand to motion to the driver pulling down the block toward us. “You didn’t.”
“We did,” I say. “My mom nearly ruined it when she found out, but luckily they’d already come to their senses and stopped fighting the love by then.”
“Why were they fighting the love?” he asks, waving hello to the driver. The man in a Golden Knights ballcap waves back and pops the trunk. As Connor loads our suitcases into the back, he adds, “You should never fight the love.”
“Agreed,” I say, struck all over again by how easy it is to be with him.
It feels like we’ve taken a hundred trips together, and I already can’t wait for our next adventure.
Before I can tell him the story of Seven’s reluctance to date a younger woman, however, a pathetic voice squawks from farther down the block. “Sharkbait! Sharkbait! Don’t Stop Believing! Hold onto that feeling!”
Connor freezes with his hand on the door to the backseat. “Where’s that coming from?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know, but the man we saw on our way in is gone.” I glance toward the driver, meeting his gaze across the top of his car and holding up one finger. “Just a second, I’ll be right back.”
Then I turn and hurry down the block, spotting Sharkbait all alone on the gravel beside a spindly tree struggling to survive in the heat. When he spies me, he gives a tired hop and croaks, “Jessie’s girl! I wish I had Jessie’s girl!”
“He clearly learned to talk listening to 1980’s songs,” Connor says from behind me.
“Which seems meaningful considering we were just talking about an 80’s wedding,” I murmur, my chest aching as the poor little thing hops from one foot to another and emits another strangled squawk. “I think the gravel is hurting his feet, the poor thing.” Before I can think better of it, I reach for him.