Chapter 22
RANSOM
I am most definitely a mantra guy.
But I don’t need a mantra to tell me this: My wife-to-be is an undeniable babe. Also, she owns both my heart and my dick, because both are enjoying the photo of her on my screen. The light-blue dress clings to her curves in a way that is almost indecent.
Almost.
After all, indecent wasn’t the dress code for this afternoon’s wedding.
Fitz gives a low, appreciative whistle as he sidles closer to me in the private bar area and glances at my phone. “No idea how such a hot babe wound up with you, Ransom.”
“I could say the same thing about yourself.”
“It’s true. My man is hot AF,” Fitz says just as Dean joins us and slides his arm around his husband’s waist.
“You two are disgustingly in love,” I say dryly.
“Just like you,” Dean replies.
I raise my glass. “Madly and passionately. I am well and truly committed.”
“Did someone say you need to be committed?”
I grin at the sound of Logan’s voice and swivel my stool to face him and Oliver as they walk into the bar.
“Very funny.” Fitz stands and rolls up the sleeves on his button-down shirt before opening his arms out wide. “C’mere, asshole. Give me your last hug as a free man.”
“I’m getting married, not going to jail.” Logan laughs and claps him on the back, then slides onto the stool next to mine as he signals to the bartender for a round of drinks. When the beers arrive, we raise them in a toast.
“To Logan, the man of the hour,” I call out. “May you enjoy a long and happy marriage. And may said marriage not impede on your ability to commit to paintball or laser tag or kickball.”
“Hear, hear,” calls Fitz.
After our bottles clink together I shake my head, checking out the scene, kind of amazed. “Whoever thought this would happen? All of us studs, married or getting married.”
But that’s the story of my friends and me. A bunch of lucky guys who didn’t let their loves get away.