VIOLET
WHITE SULPHUR SPRINGS, WEST VIRGINIA
“It seemssome other people stayed busy last night, no?” Kitty asked, looking around at her circle of bridesmaids while a stylist stood behind her, curling her long brown locks. “A couple of you bailed on me in favor of getting ass.”
“Not my fault your brother’s fine,” Tania cracked, sending the rest of us into shrieks.
I laughed while Kitty continued her interrogation, lifting my coffee mug to my lips. I was going to need every drop to get through the wedding day. Even though I was tired, a fresh feeling coursed through my veins, like taking that first breath of outside air on a warm day. My night with Colton kept playing on repeat. There was no kissing, no yelling, none of the things I feared coming to this wedding. Just his smiles and rapt listening, his kindness given so freely. I felt everything: guilt for talking bad about him, shame for my behavior with our breakup, elation at seeing him again and being in the glow of his presence, hope that maybe it wasn’t all ruined.
Kitty’s attention turned to me. “Vi, I saw Colton chatting you up last night.”
I thought about how I’d used hurtful words about him just a day before and how fucking awful that was of me. Yes, I made up shit about him when I was nineteen to avoid questions. But that didn’t mean I needed to keep up that unfair ruse at age twenty-seven. It was time to start telling the truth . . . or at least as much as I was willing to give away. The flutters I felt when he said “pretty girl” returned.
“Yeah, it was surprisingly good to see him.” I quickly diverted the attention away from the confusing blend of feelings inside me. I turned to look at Annie, the maid of honor. “But I noticed some little blondie running off with a certain goalie.”
Annie groaned and put her head in her hands. “Do we have to?”
“Poor Annie had a less successful night,” Kitty said, sipping her mimosa to stifle a laugh.
Jessie’s eyes rounded. “Oh no, what did he do?”
The conversation moved to Annie’s disastrous hookup, and I was able to let my tired brain drift back to Colton. I was shocked at how easily we still got along, catching up, shooting the breeze. At how readily he forgave me. What would our lives look like if I hadn’t ended things? It could be me wearing white and getting the princess treatment. It could be my friends giggling in a room and spilling their wedding sexcapades. My sister as my maid of honor, regardless of the ways our parents pitted us against each other. My mom in attendance, maybe happy for me.
It could be Colton waiting for me at the end of the aisle, almost certainly crying, but definitely wearing that legendary smile. His crew, all grown up, not quite as foolish as I once knew them to be—but loved them for it anyway.
It could have been wedding goggles, the romance of the occasion that had us all together. But I couldn’t stop mypattering heart, the feeling that I floated above the ground, the sense that Colton was still mine.
My Colton.
The cake was cut,the reception dress was on, and the dance floor was hopping under a pristine white tent. When the song that was popular at our alma mater came on, Guy, Kitty, Mikey, and I made a circle in the middle of the floor with some of Kitty’s friends.
And Colton.
I’d had some champagne and was riding that pleasant edge between buzzed and loose. Colton looked to be about the same. But he was in peak party boy Colton mode: hair messy, voice ragged, eyes sparkling, and skin a little sweaty, but in a way that added to his charm.
When it came to the part we all belted out as drunk dummies in frat house basements, Colton dropped to his knees next to me and threw his head back.
If there’s something to be said for Colton Jones, it’s that he’s always game for a good time. Even if it hurt him. He’d paste over his own hurt with joy, faking it until he made it back to the happy-go-lucky, dependable guy everyone knew him to be.
I laughed when he took my hand on the appropriate lyric, beg-singing on his knees. My other hand covered my mouth, embarrassed for him since he sure as hell had never known shame. Kitty let out a loud whoop and Guy booty-bumped Colt’s shoulder to shove him into me.
It was ridiculous, but it was also just plain fun. Colt’s aura was made of fun, sunshine doing cartwheels.
“Get up, you wiener,” I shouted over the music.
He gave me a scampy smile. “You love my wiener.”
I blushed and covered my hot cheeks. There was a time when, yes, I loved his wiener. Colt’s wiener was the first wiener I ever loved, if one can love a wiener.
Maybe the only wiener I ever truly loved. I only dabbled in a few other wieners, and all were lackluster. Other wiener owners wanted me to do something with their wiener while I wanted to go slow. Unsolicited wiener pics. Pressing their wiener against me like that would somehow tempt me.
But Colt was never like that. He waited. Never pushed. If he did happen to get turned on, he’d just laugh.Ignore him.
There are all those phrases about dicks: “It’s not the size of the boat, but the motion of the ocean.” “It’s not about the hammer, but how hard you nail it.”
But what I’ve found is that it’s not about the wiener, but about the wiener owner caring about you.
And the man on his knees before me cared.
