Page 22 of Baby for My Best Friend's Brother

He’s walking her down the aisle. Their parents are no longer in the picture. So he’s doing what he’s done for her all her life. Being the one she could count on.

I press a hand to my heart.

Cliff’s face is all fierce devotion as he leads her toward the altar. But then, halfway there, his eyes flick to me.

The air punches from my lungs.

He doesn’t smile.

He doesn’t wink.

But something passes between us. A current. A knowing. A promise.

I see you.

And somehow, it’s more intimate than if he’d stripped me bare in front of everyone.

They reach the altar, and Cliff gently presses a kiss to Winter’s temple before placing her hand in Slate’s. The officiant says something about love and family and new beginnings, but I’m too busy watching Cliff move to stand beside Slate, taking his place as best man. He folds his hands in front of him, stoic and silent.

Except when he glances my way again.

I’m doomed.

I knew that already, but standing there in a borrowed dress with a bundle of flowers clutched to my chest, I can feel it in my bones. This isn’t just a fling anymore. This isn’t just hormones or the magic of a wedding weekend.

This is… more.

And it terrifies me.

Because I’ve already made my decision.

I’m going home.

I have appointments. Frozen eggs. A plan. A future that doesn’t include waiting around for someone to maybe love me back.

But when he looks at me like that?

I want to forget all of it and imagine a life where this isn’t just a fun fling but forever. A life where this is real.

Winter and Slate share a kiss that makes the whole crowd sigh—and then they’re turning to walk back down the aisle, hand in hand, all glowing and giddy.

Cliff steps forward to offer me his arm. “Can I escort the most beautiful bridesmaid back down the aisle?”

My heart flutters like it’s trying to make a break for it.

I slip my hand into the crook of his arm. “Only if you promise to behave.”

He chuckles low in his throat. “Not a chance.”

We walk in sync, his arm solid beneath my fingers, his scent messing with my ability to think straight. When we reach the end of the aisle and round the edge of the seating rows, he tugs me slightly off course—toward a quiet corner behind the tent.

Before I can ask what he’s doing, he pulls me behind a tall hedge, out of view.

His hands are on me in a second—one firm palm sliding down to cup my ass.

He pulls me flush against him, and his hard cock presses squarely against me.

His mouth is on mine. My lips part, inviting his tongue.

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