Page 95 of Summer with My Sexy Ex
Wyatt comes jogging over and puts an arm around Blake’s shoulders. “Let’s get a drink, bud. Then we’ll track down some apples.”
“We don’t have time for a drink,” Blake says.
“There’s always time for a drink.”
* * *
On his third whiskey, after shooting the first two, Blake appears calmed down. Not entirely but enough to talk.
“I feel like I’m going insane,” he says. Wyatt sits on one side of him; he puts a hand on Blake’s shoulder and squeezes, then leaves it there.
I place my hand on Blake’s forearm on his other side and curl my fingers around it slightly. I think both Wyatt and I are hoping he’ll appreciate a small touch to remind him that we’re here for him.
“It’s turned into such a production,” Blake continues. “What happened to it being about two people who love each other and want to spend their lives together.”
“It’s still about that,” I say.
Blake points to his phone. “Taylor is having an absolute shit fit over the apples.”
“She’ll be fine,” Wyatt says. “She just needs a little time to wrap her head around it, that’s all.”
“Who do you think she is?” Blake asks. “She’s not a little-time-to-wrap-her-head-around anything kind of person. You’ve met my fiancée, haven’t you?” He grabs his phone and unlocks the screen to show us.
The tally boxes show one hundred and twenty-three unread emails. And forty-seven unread text messages.
“What am I looking at?” Wyatt asks.
“I haven’t checked my email since last night,” Blake says. “But I’m willing to bet eighty percent are from Taylor.”
“So, like a hundred or so,” Wyatt says. “That doesn’t seem too bad. I’m sure she’s had to forward you the contracts and various things you’ll need until she gets here.”
“There’s a color-coded, tabbed, two-inch binder filled to the brim back at the hotel, Wy.” Blake says. “Do you honestly think all that information isn’t already there? Not to mention, these are just the emails fromlast night.”
“Maybe it’s just people excited about the wedding,” I say, trying to stay positive.
“All of the texts are from her,” Blake says.
“Okay.” I grab his phone and open the thread. The texts are almost non-stop, and all the new ones are from the last hour. “How do you even send forty-seven text messages in an hour?”
“An hour?” Wyatt grabs the phone from me and whistles under his breath. Then he reads a few and laughs. “She wants your Uncle Charlie to wear a long-sleeved shirt, so his tats don’t show?” Wyatt laughs some more.
“Oh, oh, and don’t forget when you cut your hair, Blake, have them use the number one blade on the back of your neck no more than two days before the wedding so it’s the right length for your shirt.” He looks at us. “She not serious, right?”
“She’s serious,” Blake says.
“Well, shit, dude. Clearly—”
I kick Wyatt under the table as hard as I can. He gives me a dirty look in return. I don’t know what he was going to say, but I don’t think it was positive, so I don’t want him to say it.
Blake is hurting right now, and I want to make this as easy on him as I can. If that means excusing Taylor’s behavior or finding apples, I’m going to do it.
“Any more word on the baby? With the chicken pox?” I ask.
“Nothing. It’s almost like it’s not a priority for her. I’m thinking of calling the doctor myself and just asking,” Blake says.
“You should,” Wyatt agrees.
“What can we do to help you the most right now?” I ask Blake.
