26. Chapter 26 #2
After his initial apology text, all of our messages back and forth had been oddly…
normal . For us, anyway. He’d sent an abundance of photos from Miami, ranging from a seagull scarfing an entire taquito in one go to selfies of him with his family members, including his tough-as-nails abuela .
Along with the photos, he’d kept a running commentary on things that happened there.
It was almost like he’d never left, and we were chatting over dinner.
Almost .
As much as I acted like everything was fine over text, the agitated, sinking feeling since he left hadn’t completely subsided. It was an undercurrent, a subconscious tensing of my muscles that never eased. All of which I wouldn’t let him know, in threat of death.
I forced my shoulders to relax and my errant brain to focus more on my relief and delight to see him again rather than our murky future. “Hmm, actually I think it accentuates your figure quite nicely.”
It accentuated his everything quite nicely.
Which was weird, right? It should be comical—and it was—to see your forbidden crush in a thrift store wedding dress, but the dress didn’t hurt his looks at all.
What I could see made my mouth go drier than a Walmart cake.
Toned, corded muscles rippled under his olive skin.
The spaghetti straps against his shoulders, though funny, trailed down to a straight neckline that showed just the right amount of chest hair.
I wasn’t even a chest hair kind of girl until now, but golly dang dill pickles , he’d converted me.
The stark white of the dress made his smooth skin glow and accentuated his black hair and dark lashes.
“You think so?” he asked, pulling my attention away from ogling what shouldn’t be an attractive sight to begin with. “Would my beauty pageant sister be proud?”
“Oh, for sure. In fact, she’d be so proud, she’d want to tell everyone she knows.” I smirked, barely keeping my smile in check. “You should send her a pic.”
He twanged one of the spaghetti straps. “Maybe I will. I think white is my color.”
It was. It so was.
“Oh yeah?” I bit my lip, my smile making a desperate bid for freedom. “You aren’t afraid she’ll be jealous?”
His eyes tracked the motion, darkening to soot.
I shivered despite the sticky humidity. For someone who regretted the kiss so much, he sure looked at me like he wanted another go.
He blinked, and the smiling, couldn’t-be-bothered Max stood in front of me once again. “Are you kidding? That’s exactly why I’ll send her a photo. I haven’t been able to beat her at anything since senior year of high school.”
I laughed, finally letting my smile free. Man, I’d missed him. Even when things were weird between us, even when I didn’t know how we’d get through whatever bump in the road we’d hit, I still missed him.
“Alright,” Hattie called over the crowd, waiting until the din died down, “thank you all for coming. Boys, thank you for combining part of Colt’s bachelor party with us tonight, and for being secure enough in your masculinity to participate fully.”
Max leaned in, whispering, “Or McBride threatened us, but let’s go with the masculinity thing.”
I snorted again, which drew everyone’s attention away from Hattie and toward me.
Oh sweet baklava , put me out of my misery. Could I pretend it was someone else? Just in case, I looked behind me, scrutinizing the ground as if I’d find the pig behind the snort hiding in the grass.
No such luck. There was a suspicious looking branch, but that was it.
“Good save,” Max whispered, not the least bit penitent for causing me to snort in the first place.
I elbowed him, which was as effective as elbowing a brick wall. “Shh, I’m trying to pay attention.”
He laughed but otherwise remained quiet.
“Many of you are likely wondering why we’re out here in the woods for our party, and why we combined what are traditionally very separate events.” Hattie grinned, relishing the suspense as she slowly panned over the crowd. “Well, it’s simple, really. We’re here to play capture the flag.”
A murmur went through the crowd as a thrill of excitement and trepidation raced up my spine.
“But,” Hattie projected over the noise, “this isn’t any old game of capture the flag.” Another ripple of sound went through the crowd, mainly the men and Lex. “Oh no. This is much better.”
With that, Kris opened the trunk of her minivan as McBride opened that of the SUV. Stacks of masks lined each trunk with a large case on each side. Hattie opened one of the cases, pulling out a gun with a weird bulbous thing on top filled with tiny pink balls.
Max let out a low whistle, eyes alight with excitement. “Paintball?”
Hattie beamed, soaking in the anticipation radiating off the bridal party. “Yep, paintball. Bride tribe versus groom squad.”
After McBride finished his instructions and the “before” photos were taken, the men and women split up to don their gear.
Lex and I tied our curls back to fit the masks on our heads easier.
By the end, we resembled what I imagine an apocalyptic wedding party would look like, assuming the only clothes to survive the apocalypse were wedding dresses.
With my mask and paintball gun, though, I felt pretty awesome.
Not even my bubbly skirt could dampen my excitement.
Once the bride tribe was outfitted with pink stripes of duct tape on our gun muzzles and the groom squad received their strips of blue, we lined up for another photo. Since Kris and I were the tallest girls, we ended up closest to the line of guys in the back.
The blond version of Colt leaned in toward me, his voice slightly muffled from the mask. “You’re the maid of honor, right? Lex’s sister?”
“Yep.” I smiled at him, though I wasn’t sure he could see it through my mask. “I’m Dekker.”
He nodded at me, maybe smiling behind his mask, too. Hard to say between the equipment and the fact that we were still staged for the photo. “Nice to meet you. I’m Booker, the best man.”
“Ah, like the peanut farmer Booker T. Washington.” I forcibly stopped myself from facepalming. Who says stuff like that after introductions?
He chuckled, sparing me a glance before returning to face the camera. “I’m pretty sure that was George Washington Carver.”
Great. Not only was I awkward, but I was also wrong. Apparently I needed to brush up on my peanut history.
“Oh, right. The other Washington.”
Queen of eloquence, that’s me.
Somehow he must’ve found that funny, since he laughed. Or he took pity on me, which was the likelier option. “Maybe I should’ve been named Washington instead and just covered all my bases.”
I sighed dramatically. “Such a wasted opportunity.”
“Tell me about it.” He held still as Hattie snapped another photo and set the camera on a timer so she could be included. “You know, we should get together some time and talk over some of the details for the wedding.”
Oh, right. That was probably what most maids of honor and best men did, huh? I was pretty sure we were the ones who were supposed to spearhead the tasteful vandalism of Lex and Colt’s getaway car after the reception.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” I replied, inclining my head in his direction.
“Awesome. Does Tuesday night work for you?”
“Oh, uh.” How did I break it to him that I had the bedtime of a toddler? “As long as it’s before seven, that should be fine.”
Yes, very good . Make it seem like I had a busy nightlife instead of a date with my pillow.
“How about six, then? We can meet for dinner at Giovanni’s, if you like Italian.”
Like Italian? Ha! If only he knew. Italian food was the closest thing I had to a boyfriend.
But I kept my cool. Or as much cool as I had, anyway, which wasn’t saying much. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
He nodded at me as we finally dispersed after the last photo. “It’s a date, then.”
I blinked stupidly after him, frozen in place.
A date? Did I just agree to a date? Surely he didn’t mean it was a real date.
I hadn’t been on one of those in forever, since dinner at the Dominican restaurant was never a date .
It was just a phrase, right? We were just meeting to go over wedding details, that was all.
That was what any good maid of honor and best man would do.
“Staying out past your bedtime again, Chef?” Max asked, casting Booker a long look over his shoulder.
I hoped the mask would distort the redness staining my cheeks. Though Max had been at the end of the line of men, he’d witnessed my entire awkward interaction with Booker. Awesome. And now he knew I had a date with Booker on Tuesday.
Why I felt guilty about that fact when Max had been the one to flee after our kiss, I had no clue.
We weren’t an item. I could date whomever I wanted.
So what if the only person I wanted to date didn’t want to date me back?
Nothing I could do would change that, so my attention would be better spent on a man who did.
Or might. I still wasn’t sure about the nature of the date.
“There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for some good Italian food.” I shrugged. Besides, I’d taken a nap, and a five-hour energy shot today, so I could practically see sounds. Future late bedtimes had nothing on me.
He looked toward Booker again and hummed in reply, though it was lower and more gravelly than normal. Nearly a growl even his mask couldn’t swallow. “How about a wager?”
I cocked my head, trying not to read into his behavior. I’d been wrong too many times to count. “I’m listening.”
“Loser makes dessert tomorrow.”
And commit to the perfect opportunity to have the talk ? Not on his life. “I’m busy tomorrow.”
“Then Monday.”
“I’m busy then, too.” Busy doing what , I had no idea. I was really banking on Max being too polite to pry.
He sighed, his muscles way too distracting from such a simple movement. “We’re going to have to talk about it eventually, Dekker.”
I shook my head vigorously. “I’m perfectly happy pretending nothing happened and moving on from it, thank you.”
“Well, I’m not.”
I froze. He’d used his Special Agent voice. The one that made my knees weak, and my heart compose sonnets on the spot, despite the fact that I hadn’t written a sonnet once in my life.
“This is too important to me to let it go.” He gestured between us. “ We are too important to me.”
Holy halibut , was I dreaming? That didn’t sound like something someone who regretted kissing me would say. Maybe he wanted to solidify the boundary between friends and more, and our friendship was what he was referring to. Or maybe…
I shut the thought down before my fantasy of miniature Max’s and Dekkers running around took off without me. I couldn’t do that to myself. I wouldn’t let myself hope until I knew.
“Okay,” I agreed, my voice quiet despite my thumping pulse. “Tomorrow it is.”
“In that case” —he moved forward as if reaching for me, but the brunette guy Alec shouted something to him, and Max stopped short— “may the best team win.”
I grinned, my stomach swooping despite my vow not to get my hopes up. “Can’t wait to see what you bake for me.”
He returned the smile. “Funny, I was about to say the same thing to you.”
I chuckled, and my smile didn’t fade until I’d made it all the way to my team.
“Dang, girl,” Kris cocked a hip, looking every bit like a boho superspy, “you got two guys vying for your attention now?”
Hattie cackled, the sound much too sedate for her through the mask. “The way that Max of yours reacted when blondie boy asked you out— whoo, doggy . If looks could kill, Blondie would be roast on a slice of toast.”
“How could you even see his look through the mask?” I asked, more to distract from the fluttering in my chest than anything else. “There’s no way you could see that much while taking the photos.”
“Oh, I saw enough,” Hattie answered, aloof as always. “That boy of yours didn’t try very hard to hide anything.”
“Let’s focus,” Lex interjected, mercifully saving me. She held up our white and pink bedazzled flag and led us toward our half of the turf. “Each of them is trained in tactics and firearms, so even if they’re wearing wedding dresses, we’ve got our work cut out for us.”
Yeah, our odds didn’t look so great. Lex and Rowan knew what they were doing, but otherwise we had a drama teacher, a librarian, a stay-at-home mom, and a baker going up against a bunch of trained agents.
“We’re kind of at a huge disadvantage here,” Annie said, voicing my thoughts. “How do you figure we’ll stand a chance?”
Lex chuckled. “Don’t sell yourselves short, okay?
We’ve got a CrossFit legend who can climb trees and run in dresses with her eyes closed” —she nodded at Hattie— “a wildcard no one will know how to defend against” —now a nod at Annie— “a secret weapon no one will see coming” —and a nod at Rowan— “and two agents of our own.”
And that left me. The baker who hated cardio and thought swole was what you got after Thanksgiving dinner. Awesome.
“Furthermore” —Lex’s masked face panned across the group— “I know everyone on that team. So we won’t play the game, we’ll play our opponents.”