Page 35 of Stick Fight

“We were all friends.”

“We were.” A beat and then, “For fuck’s sake, Rip, out with it.”

He shrugs. “I think what you’re doing is damn admirable. You’re total hero material, Romeo.” he jokes with a grin, but there’s something deeply serious beneath it. “I just worry about her getting the wrong idea.”

“She knows my reputation. I didn’t exactly hide the fact that I planned to get with a bridesmaid or two. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“I know what those dimples do,” he teases, but then his gaze strays to the big bag in my hand. “I don’t want you to get hurt either, bro. If she still loves this guy…”

“Aww, you care about me.”

“What I care about is you going and fucking yourself.”

I laugh out loud, and just like that the heaviness of the moment lifts. What doesn’t lift though, is his warning. He’s right. Love like that doesn’t die in one night.

As that thought rattles around in my brain, we hit up a few more shops, and Rip buys a new ballcap, putting it on as we walk. It looks ridiculous with his dress clothes, but he seems to want a moment’s peace, which is crazy, because dude loves the limelight.

Is there something going on with him?

I’m about to ask, but as we approach our hotel, a bunch of women dressed as Helen Roper from that old show Three’s Company that my grandmother adored, get off a tour bus, their laugher drawing lots of attention from everyone on the street.

“Looks like they’re here for a good time,” Rip laughs.

“Yeah,” is all I say and when one pulls off her wig, scratching her head before she puts the mop of red curly hair back in place, I stop dead in my tracks.

“See something you like, Stanley?” Rip teases as they walk to the outside luggage compartment to collect their bags.

“Yeah, I do, actually.”

10

Gabby

“No, sorry. I don’t need…”

What the heck?

I wipe the sleep from my eyes, convinced I’m hallucinating. There’s no way I’m actually seeing Helen Roper tiptoeing out of the bedroom. Yeah, I must still be dreaming. Although why my subconscious would conjure up a character from that old seventies sitcom is beyond me. Maybe because that’s what my life has suddenly become. But then Mrs. Roper turns around, and she’s wearing…Roman’s face, I pinch my eyes shut. Did room service spike my coffee?

“Hey.” Roman’s voice pulls my eyes open. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Roman.” I inch up, blinking hard. My jaw drops when he sits next to me, the bed dipping under his weight. “What are you wearing?”

“There’s a Mrs. Roper convention.”

“You, uh…signed up?”

“No, Gabs.” He stands, spins and strikes a runway pose in the hideous house dress, complete with big orange flowers. “This is your disguise so you can join me on the rooftop.”

I stare at him, my sleepy mind racing, trying to make sense out of this. “You want me to wear that?” He nods. “Wait, why are you wearing it?”

“I thought I’d try it out. To see if anyone recognized me.”

“Did they?”

“Nope.”

“Or maybe they did…” I wave my hand up and down the floral disaster clinging to his very male frame. “…and they were too horrified to say anything.” He laughs and moonwalks across the floor like that somehow improves the situation. I shake my head. “You have no shame.”

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