Chapter 18 Vince #2
“Yeah, but Adrian probably knows people personally. Relationships matter when you’re asking someone to prioritize helping a friend over random wedding number six this weekend.
” Trevor’s already dialing. “Plus, he understands aesthetics. He’d know what would work as substitutes if we can’t get exact matches. ”
I want to object and point out all the reasons this call is unnecessary. But I’m too late.
“Adrian? Hey, it’s Trevor. How have you been? Thank god you answered. I’ve been trying to reach you since you left Tuesday night, just to make sure you got home safe.” He pauses, listening to Adrian’s response. “That’s good, mate. Listen, I know this is crazy, but I need to ask you a huge favor.”
I can’t hear Adrian’s side of the conversation, but I watch Trevor’s face as he explains the florist disaster and the lighting problems, everything. His expression shifts from desperate to hopeful.
“You know someone who could help? That’s…mate, that would be incredible.” Trevor glances at me, then quickly looks away. “Actually, would you mind flying back down? I know it’s a lot to ask, but you’d understand the vision better than anyone, and if you’re coordinating multiple vendors…”
Another pause.
“I know we only just met, and you’d think we don’t know you well enough.
I know things got a bit too…complicated too fast,” Trevor says, his voice shaky and almost breathless.
“But I don’t believe for one bloody second it’s over, yeah?
Besides, we need your artistic perspective on this. ” He looks at us and winks.
“Friday morning? Tomorrow? Perfect. That gives you time to make calls and line things up. What…what do you mean you’ll do it for free?
Of course you’ll be paid for all this. And don’t worry about your flights either.
We’ll take care of that.” He falls silent again, letting Adrian push back, but I know Trevor never goes back on his word.
His voice softens, quieter and more sincere. “And honestly? Becca and I really want you at the wedding. We all do. This just gives us a proper excuse to ask.”
When he hangs up, Trevor looks both relieved and a little emotional.
“He’s catching a flight tomorrow,” he announces. “He should land first thing in the morning.”
“That’s good,” Lance says, clearly excited.
“Good? It’s a bloody miracle.” Trevor slumps back in his chair.
“He’ll make calls to the vendors in the area.
Apparently, he knows a florist shop that his high school friend owns in Santa Barbara, and there’s a lighting guy in Ventura who owes him a favor from some event space opening last year. He can help.”
“So, crisis averted?” George asks.
“Crisis managed, maybe even upgraded.” Trevor pulls out his phone, likely to text Becca. “Adrian said he’s handled similar logistics before. Vendor management, timeline coordination, troubleshooting when things go sideways.”
The thought of Adrian coming back fills me with a mixture of anticipation and dread that I don’t want to examine too closely.
“I’m heading to the gym,” I say, pushing to my feet. “Might as well get a lift in before the afternoon crowd shows up.”
“We’re picking Adrian up at the airport tomorrow morning,” Trevor calls after me. “Are you coming with us?”
The question hits me in the chest, but I don’t let it show. “No, I don’t want to crowd the car. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”
It’s a reasonable excuse. There’s nothing suspicious about not wanting to cram five guys into a rental sedan. But as I walk away, I hear Lance mutter something that sounds like “stubborn bastard” under his breath.
He’s not wrong.
Later that afternoon, George and I end up at the resort gym, running circuits because neither of us knows what else to do with the restless energy coursing through us.
I’m on shoulder presses, George working through cable rows like the machine owes him money.
The place smells like disinfectant and old sweat, a pop remix playing overhead that’s too fast and loud.
George breathes out slowly and evenly, pulling the cable toward his chest. “Good thing he’s actually coming back.”
I rack the dumbbells a little too hard. “Who?” I ask dumbly.
He gives me that dry, knowing look. “You know who.”
“He was never meant to stay long-term.”
George stays quiet.
I move to the pull-up bar, burn through a set in silence. I try to focus on the ache in my shoulders instead of the one twisting behind my ribs.
“Look, he was just some guy we hired,” I push it, trying to believe what I’m saying. “It was always gonna be temporary.”
George tilts his head. “That’s the thing. For some reason, it felt like he wasn’t just passing through.”
The bar creaks in my grip. At that time, back when we were practically kids, he definitely didn’t feel like he was passing through in my life.
George stands and grabs a kettlebell off the rack. “Honestly, I think we all treated him like a novelty act, a fun story to tell after the wedding. But somewhere along the line, it shifted.”
Something in my chest pulls tight.
“He wasn’t just a show, not by the end.” George’s brow furrows as he does a clean press. “He got closer than I expected, closer than I let most people get.”
I drop from the bar, fists tightening at my sides. My chest twists, stomach rolling with sourness I didn’t expect. “You sound like you caught feelings,” I say loudly, the words harsher than I intend.
George barks a short laugh. “I didn’t say that.”
“You sure as hell sound like it.”
He gives me a slow, sidelong glance, finally registering the heat in my voice. “You’re really not okay, are you? Do you dislike him that much?”
I don’t answer. I just wipe my palms on my shorts and move to the bench.
George sets his dumbbells down and stretches his arms. “I don’t usually say this stuff, and I sure as hell don’t go sappy,” he says slowly. “But the guy made it feel safe to look past what everyone else thinks is convenient to see in me.”
My grip on the towel hardens, the fabric twisting in my fists. I force my expression to stay blank, but inside, something yanks tight, sharp enough to cut. Jealousy drags like claws across my chest, raw and ugly, as if George has already reached for something that should only ever be mine.
George doesn’t notice.
“He wasn’t what I expected,” George says. “Not just the…physical stuff. That was…fuck, yeah, that was good. But it’s not about that. He showed me something I didn’t know I needed to see.”
I stare at the floor while I control each breath with careful focus.
George leans against the rack, tone steady, thoughtful.
“I’ve spent years thinking I was one kind of man.
Back when I was in the Navy, then later at the garage, there were always guys who’d flirt.
Quiet, bold, it didn’t matter. I never got weird about it.
I just brushed it off. I didn’t feel anything, so I figured that was that. ”
He lets out a slow breath. “But with Adrian, it wasn’t something I could brush off. It was like someone turned on a light I didn’t know was off. He didn’t push; he just let you figure it out on your own time.”
I realize George isn’t describing romantic feelings at all.
He’s talking about self-discovery, about seeing himself more clearly.
The jealousy eases, replaced by something quieter, more like recognition.
He’s just another person Adrian helped see themselves better, the same way he’d done for me all those years ago in high school.
I remember those nights Adrian spent with me and my friends, the way he moved, spread out, flushed and gasping, surrounded by hands and mouths that weren’t mine.
I’d stood off to the side, arms crossed like a man in control, like I was above it somehow. But I wasn’t, not even close.
Watching them touch him, eager and shameless, I should’ve felt disgusted.
I should’ve turned away. Instead, I watched every second like it was branded into me.
Every sound he made crawled under my skin.
Every twist of his hips, every tremble, every breathless moan hit something in me I didn’t really have a name for.
And the worst part? I liked it.
I liked seeing him like that. Open, wrecked, and desperate in the most beautiful fucking way.
I liked the way he let them in, let them use him, let me see it. It was like I was allowed to be possessive without ever having to say the word. But the second it felt like more, like they might see the part of him I wanted to keep for myself, I couldn’t stand it.
George lets out a long breath, then adds, “It was like there was tension every time you looked at him. You two had some kind of pull. I don’t know what it was. Is there something going on with you two?”
I keep my expression flat and give him a grunt as my answer.
George gives me a look, not judging, but just trying to make sense of how I’ve been acting since Adrian showed up in our hotel suite for Trevor’s bachelor party.
The problem is, I already know why it’s eating at me. I’ve known since the moment I saw him, looking exactly the same and completely different all at once. The same Adrian I convinced myself had played me, when maybe all along, I was the one too scared to play at all.
And now he’s coming back. In less than twenty-four hours, I’ll see him again. The thought terrifies and thrills me in equal measure, like standing at the edge of a cliff and realizing you want to jump.