Page 118 of Fake Shot

“Exactly. So don’t give me shit for seeing Lauren on our wedding day. Besides, we wanted to take some first look pictures before the chaos begins.”

“So that’s where you went.” An hour ago, Jameson told me he had to take care of something, and he’d meet me in this room before the ceremony. I watch the way his eyes get misty as he stares off into space. “Shit, you cried, didn’t you?”

In typical Jameson fashion, his jaw ticks as he holds his emotions in.

“Don’t worry, man,” I say and clasp him on the shoulder. “There’s, like, a ninety percent chance I’m going to cry when I see Jules, and we’re not even the ones getting married.”

“Yet.”

“Yeah, we’ll see. She’s not ready for that yet.”

“You guys just going to stay engaged forever?” Jameson asks.

“Not sure. First, I have to really propose, and she has to really say yes.”

“Bora Bora?”

“It’s been three months,” I say dryly. I’d have married her yesterday, but even I know that three months is quick. She’s still wearing my ring, over a month after we were knocked out of the playoffs, which was our end date. We’ve had endless talks about the future, but she’s never said the word “marriage.” I did think about proposing to her on our vacation this week, but I’m waiting for her to let me know, without a doubt, that she’s ready for a lifetime commitment.

“Dude, you wouldn’t be okay without her. You know that,right? It’s like being with her has altered some part of your brain chemistry, and you’re no longer Colt, you’re Jules and Colt.”

“I’m fine with that.”

“Me too,” he says with a nod. “You’re a better version of yourself this way.”

“So I was a dick before?”

He sighs. “You were just you. And right now, you’re acting awfully cagey. It reminds me of all the times you did something I was going to have to fix, but you didn’t want to tell me.”

I chuckle. I used to do such stupid shit and try to hide it before expecting him to fix it, instead of owning up to my mistakes.

“Don’t worry,” I say as I reach for the door and pull it open. “I’m not planning anything sketchy.” If we don’t get out of this small room, just him and me, I’m probably going to break down and tell him my plan.

We enter near the altar of the church right as Drew is ushering Graham, in his little six-year-old-sized tux, out of the church through the doors into the entryway. Which must mean the bridal party has arrived.

The other groomsmen—Lauren’s friends’ husbands, Nate, Beau, and Alex—meet us at the front of the church, joined shortly after by Drew, whose amused expression makes me wonder what kind of pandemonium is going on out there. With Lauren’s three-year-old twins as flower girls and Graham as the ring bearer, not to mention Lauren’s seven bridesmaids, I imagine it’s quite the scene.

When the music plays, and the bridesmaids start walking in, I can’t take my eyes off Jules. As always, she’s the moststunning woman in the room—she’s wearing minimal makeup, but her blue eyes sparkle under those long dark lashes, and her lips are glossy and so fucking delicious looking that I want to meet her halfway down the aisle and kiss the shit out of her. But I refrain, because it’s my best friend’s wedding.

When she gets to the end of the aisle, she gives me a wink and then takes her place on the steps leading to the altar. Morgan is the last bridesmaid down the aisle and she’s flanked by Lauren’s twins, who are doing a great job throwing petals onto the runner, and only occasionally stopping to say hi to people. Graham comes down the aisle with the rings, followed by Lauren’s Maid of Honor, her sister, Paige, and then everyone is standing.

When the doors open and Lauren steps through—her white lace dress clinging to her small frame all the way down to her knees before fanning out toward the ground, and her face covered in a short veil—my best friend clears his throat several times.

And I don’t even want to give him shit about it because I’m choked up too, thinking about what it will be like to one day see Jules walking toward me like Lauren is walking toward Jameson.

We’ve already started our life together, much like they have, but there’s something about the idea of a ceremony where we commit to each other in front of our friends and family that has me suddenly feeling very impatient.

JULES

“Hey, Tink.” Colt’s voice wakes me up. Or maybe it’s the way his hand is stroking my face gently, and the familiar feeling of his thumb tugging at my lower lip like it so often does before he kisses me. “We’re here.”

I open my eyes and see nothing but darkness out the tinted windows of the big, black SUV. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, and I hate the way I feel—confused and incoherent—when I’m woken up with anything less than a full night’s rest.

“Where are we?” I ask. I guess when we left the reception and he said we were staying somewhere else before tomorrow’s flight to Bora Bora, I anticipated a short drive to a hotel. Instead, we’re somewhere pitch black. It feels like we’re in the middle of nowhere. If I weren’t with Colt, I’d be terrified to wake up not knowing where I am or how I got here.

“You’ll see.” He opens the car door, and there’s nothing but the sound of crickets and the gentle rustling of leaves. The air is markedly cooler than when we left the wedding, and I don’t know if that means we’re far away or if it’s the middle of the night, or both?

Two months ago, this not knowing would have been enough to send me spiraling into a panic attack. Today, I just inhale a deep breath of the crisp evening air—taking note of the earthy, damp smell as a hint that we’re not near the city—and give Colt’s hand a squeeze.

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