“You gotta finesse it,” I throw in, smirking.
“Oh, yeah?” Chace challenges.
“Sure.” I nod sagely. “Like…Logan, does it ever get weird, you know, with Mac and Braden looking so much alike? When your balls-deep in her, do you ever—”
Silence. Total, immediate silence.
“That was…” Chace stammers. Sam’s mouth hangs open. Logan doesn’t move. The air turnsdense.
“Trey,” Logan says—low.
“And that, gentlemen,” I mutter, “is how one digs a grave.”
Oh, shit. I fucked up.
He’s going to bludgeon me with his Spanish sausage.
Death by chorizo.
“Anyway, gotta skedaddle! Pretty sure I heard Mac calling my name.”
I try to pivot, but a vice-like hand clamps on my shoulder, spinning me back around.
“Trey.”
“Yes, my paella prince?” I grin, my stomach turning. I didn’t mean it likethat.If I actually upset Logan…the guilt hits fast and hard, hollowing me out.
Logan’s lips twitch into something between a snarl and a smile. “Braden would be belly-laughing at that,” he says finally. “So today, you still get to get married. But Baker—” he steps close, blue eyes burning—“you’re onthin ice.”
The heat in his stare could melt metal—or make me swoon. Not sure which is worse.
“If you didn’t wanna get married, bro,” Sam pipes up, “you could’ve just said so. That waswaysketchier than saying no.”
“Yeah, picking on Logan’s bad for your health,” Chace mutters.
“You’re telling me. I think I’m getting a panic boner,” I say.
Logan looks me up and down, head tilted, then steps back slowly like he’s studying a specimen.
“This all started because you saidshit,” I blurt.
“Don’t look at me!” Chace calls from the corner.
“You’re both on my shit list,” Logan mutters, but there’s laughter in his tone now.
Sam shakes his head, cereal crunching between his teeth. “I can’t believe you’re actually doing this, bro. Like—marriage. Legal documents. Rings.Vows.”
“So, everything’s set up,” Chace says, leaning back in his chair. “All that’s left is for you to pick which of us gets to be the flower girl.”
I blink. “That’s it? No one’s gonna tell me I’ve completely lost my fucking mind?”
Sam raises a brow. “Have you not?”
“I—” I glance between them, hands half raised. “She needed help.”
Chace leans forward, deadpan serious. “So? Anormalperson might call the cops, or a shelter, or—hell, I don’t know—a therapist. But you? You’re like,oh, no, I better marry her.”
“In all seriousness,” Sam says, wiping cereal off his lip, “you marrying a stranger isn’t exactly out of character for your dumbass.”
