When he collapsed against her, depleted and breathless, she was just floating back to reality. Before she was fully recovered, the couch dipped beneath her knees, and he pulled out of her and stood.
He gathered his clothes and began walking down the hall. “Are you going to take a shower?”
He froze, then turned towards her, his expression like a teen who got caught with weed in his backpack. “I am.”
She sat up. “Want some company?”
His entire body relaxed as the clothes he held dropped to the floor, he crossed back to her in two strides, picked her up, tossed her over his shoulder, and slapped her ass playfully as she giggled. “I would fucking love some company.”
As he carried her down the hall, her bouncing on his shoulder, Poppy wondered if this was what the secret to happiness was, finding someone who saw you, who got you, who didn’t love you despite your idiosyncrasies or insecurities, who loved you for them.
If it was, then she hoped she would be happy for a very long time.
20
“Today’s the big day!I can’t believe you’re getting married! Dr. Dreamy finally settling down!” Roger, one of Liam’s brothers-in-law, raised a shot glass high overhead, the rays of light shining in from the half-subterranean basement window caught in the golden tequila and tossed fractured mosaics across the ceiling.
The rest of the men celebrating the groom stood around the battered foosball table and erupted in a chorus of “To Dr. Dreamy!”
The boisterous energy was at odds with the somber wood paneling and the faint, lingering smell of varnish that haunted every square inch of the basement.
AJ found himself, as usual, slightly to the left of the action, present, observing, but not quite a participant. He’d knocked back the first two shots out of obligation but now nursed his third, tapping the top rim of the glass and watching the men with a curious detachment. He’d always found alcohol confusing—its taste, its effect, and the inexplicable urge it inspired in grown men to shout at the top of their lungs or wrestle like puppies. It was even more confusing when it was consumed before dinner,but this was a day for celebration, and AJ understood, at least intellectually, that there was a script he was meant to follow.
On the bright side, Liam had forgone the bachelor party tradition, which would have been a living hell for a couple reasons. For one thing, it would have been awkward considering the bride had been engaged to the groom’s younger brother up until a few months ago, and said former fiancé would have most likely been the one planning the festivities. Secondly, AJ hated most bonding-bro activities, but bachelor parties were the absolute worst, especially when there were strippers, which nine times out of ten there were. He would never understand the appeal of giving money to a woman to watch them take their clothes off and pretend they like you. He’d observed, more than once, the way men’s eyes changed in strip clubs, how desperation and self-loathing flickered beneath the mask of bravado. It made absolutely zero sense to him.
“How weird do you think it is for T? I know hesayshe doesn’t care and he’s clearly happy with Em, I mean she is a Victoria’s Secret model, but it’s still gotta be a little strange, right?” Niko spoke at a volume only AJ could hear.
Despite there not being scientific proof behind twin-telepathy or twin-tuition, AJ knew he and his brother shared a bond he didn’t have with another human on the planet, Spidey sense hearing.
“He seems fine.”
Tristan and Emmanuelle were happy, and even he had admitted he knew that he and Frankie didn’t belong together.
“When are you flying back?” Niko changed the subject.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Niko asked, his expression morphing into a bad De Niro impersonation. “How is that possible?”
His brother’s confusion was understandable. AJ alwaysplannedeverything in his life. Nothing was left to chance ordone spontaneously. The seat of his pants did not fly, they drove the speed limit with the seatbelt on.
“I don’t have a return ticket,” he explained.
“What do you mean? What about work?”
“I’m not going back. I decided not to re-enlist.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
That was another phrase he never understood. Why, when someone says something that is unbelievable or requires more clarity, would the response be to instruct that personnotto speak?
“What about your house?” Niko countered. “You love that house.”
“I put my house on the market. The first open house is today.”
“So where are you going to go? What are you going to do?”
“I’m staying here through the holidays.”
