Luka doesn’t hesitate. “It has to.”
I swallow.
“Right,” I say. “Right. Okay.”
The tuxedo shop looks like someone dropped a grenade of hockey players and pocket handkerchiefs because the moment Luka and I walk in, both of them are as far as the eye can see.
Fabric everywhere. Tailors everywhere. Hockey players everywhere.
Not a single one of us belongs in a place this fancy.
Aleksi is already on a fitting platform, shirt half-open, arguing with a tailor about why he can’t “go commando in formalwear.”
JP is holding up a bowtie like it personally offended him.
Wolf is trying to button a vest that absolutely does not want tobutton.
And Olsen is standing in front of the mirrors, arms spread, admiring himself like he’s auditioning forThe Bachelor.
“Gentlemen,” the master tailor says, pinching the bridge of his nose, “please—stop moving. Every single one of you so that our tailors can get to work.”
“Can’t,” Aleksi says. “I was born to move.”
“No, you were born to skate,” Hunter says. “And even that you fuck up half the time.”
The moment the guys realize that Luka and I just walked in, their heads swivel in our direction. Smirks. Predatory grins. Shit-eating delight. They’re a bunch of sharks smelling blood.
“Easton!” JP crows. “There he is—the groom himself.”
“Here we go,” I mutter.
Olsen lifts his chin majestically. “Gentlemen, please refrain from mobbing the bridegroom. He is in a fragile emotional state.”
“I’m not fragile. I’m just—”
“Nervous?” Wolf offers.
“Terrified?” Trey adds.
“Thinking about the wedding night?” Aleksi grins with a wink.
They all ooooh like middle schoolers, jabbing each other with their elbows and laughing.
I close my eyes. “Jesus Christ.” This is going to be worse than the locker room.
Hunter claps me on the shoulder. “It’s okay, man. First-time jitters are normal. Do you want me to go over how it all works down there?”
“I’m not—” I stop, because this is a losing battle no matter what I say.
Wolf wiggles his eyebrows. “You know… dancers are flexible. The last ballerina I was with could put her leg behind her head, and then during sex she’d––”
Luka’s head snaps toward him so fast the air shifts.
“You finish that sentence,” Luka says slowly, “and I will remove your tongue.”
Wolf lifts both hands. “Hey. I am just saying she is a professional athlete. With an excellent stretch range. It comes in handy on more than just the stage.”
Luka takes one step toward him.
