He nods, his lips rolling inward before he whispers, “We do need to talk about last night.”
“Yeah, we should,” I agree, a somber smile curving my mouth. “But, unfortunately, we don’t really have the time right now.”
“I know. After, though?”
This time, it’s my turn to nod, and though I know I need to get moving, my feet remain rooted in place thanks to the anvil now pressing on my sternum. The pressure only increases when he takes a couple steps toward me and wraps his hands around the back of my neck, clearly not willing to let me go yet either.
Warm, cracked-clay irises scrape over my face, and I swear, I can read his damn mind before he even speaks.
“Cam, I love you.”
The muscle in my jaw jumps, the words I’ve wanted to hear for so long now tearing me apart inside. Because as much as I want to say it back again, as loud as I’d love to scream it to the world, I can’t. Not when I’m still raw and bleeding from the whiplash of emotions.
Not when we still have no idea where we’re going from here.
But despite myself—and regardless of knowing how stupid it is to give in to my desires—I lean in, pressing my lips to his in a chaste kiss before forcing myself to leave.
Fortunately, my room is just on the other end of the floor, making it a quick task to shower and change into a new suit—this one a charcoal gray. But as I’m knotting the navy-blue tie around my neck, I notice a dark patch on my skin just above my shirt collar.
Goddamnit.
I’m not sure when Logan managed to do that last night, but the only thing I can do about it now is hope it’s mostly covered by my collar. Otherwise, I’m gonna be in for one helluva inquisition—most likely from Theo.
Clean, dressed, and hair styled, I rush like my ass is on fire down to the suite where Oakley’s getting ready, hoping like hell I’m not so extremely late that I’ve missed my chance to wish him luck. Or congratulations, maybe? To be honest, I have no fucking idea what the proper protocol is, since he’s the first one of my friends to tie the knot.
Though, from the black ring I saw Phoenix sporting last night, that won’t be the case for long.
Thankfully, when I crack the door open, I find Oakley still inside, along with Holden, Phoenix, and Theo. Notably absent is Logan, but I’m sure I just beat him down here. There’s no way Oakley actually relieved him of his best man duties.
Right?
“There you are,” Theo chides when he spots me. “Did you forget to set an alarm?”
The comment has Phoenix and Holden looking in my direction, only for Phoenix’s gaze to narrow on me. “Babe, go fix his tie. It looks like Charlotte tied it.”
My hand instinctively flies to my throat, attempting to adjust it myself, but Holden is already here, batting my hand away to take care of it himself. He’s in the middle of redoing the knot when his gaze catches on the side of my neck.
“Jesus Christ, did someone try to suck your blood last night?” Holden says much,muchlouder than I’d prefer.
I grimace before muttering, “I was hoping my collar would cover it.”
“Yeah, not even close, dude.”
Theo takes the opportunity to peek around Holden, attentionpausing on the hickey I’m sporting before he meets my gaze. “Dare I ask who gave you that?”
“If I had to wager on it, I’d say it was theotherperson notably missing from dinner last night,” Holden murmurs as he finishes adjusting my tie.
My lips roll inward, and I avert my gaze to the floor. Of course, all that does is make me look even guiltier, but there’s no chance of me lying my way out of this one when the evidence is staring them dead in the face.
“Goddamnit, Cam,” Theo hisses, keeping his voice low. “This is exactly why I told you not to be alone with him. What were youthinking?”
He goes to run his fingers through his styled hair, but Phoenix grabs him by the wrist to stop him from messing it up. Which, of course, just enhances the frustration he’s already feeling due to my poor decision making.
Looking for something to get the spotlight off me, I glance over at Oakley, ready to compliment him on his hair or suit or fuckinganything.And as he ties his shoes, my gaze catches on the very peculiar design on his socks, looking almost like—
“Is it my dyslexia talking or do your socks saytrophy husband?” I ask, cocking my head.
His lips lift in a smirk as he pulls his pant leg up. And sure enough, there’s a white sock with little gold trophies on it, those two words written in bold on the sides.
