His buddy Brek lived there with his wife, Velma, and their kid, Lily. These were his best friends. The ones who knew him, supported him, and had his back. Marlee had her crew—Sadie, Becca, Kellie. He had his—Brek, Jase, Dean. And their wives. Well, Heather and Jase weren’t hitched yet. Hence the engagement party. Point being, none of them knocked anymore when they visited each other.
“Yup.” Eli turned the handle, pushing the door in.
He held the door so Marlee could pass through, swallowing the lump of holy-shit-I-brought-my-wife-to-meet-my-friends lodged in his trachea.
His friends were already there, scattered around the kitchen island. Velma and Brek’s place was a fancy-ass—that was Brek’s description—apartment overlooking Washington Park. Velma had decked the place out in white furniture. Brek had added a ridiculous painting of a pigeon dressed like he was from the 1800s—blue jacket, white ascot, and a look like he was supremely unhappy to be gracing the mantle.
All conversation stopped when Marlee and Eli stepped through the doorway. Six sets of eyes focused intently on the two of them.
His hand seemed to be a magnet to Marlee’s waist. Walking into a room of people she didn’t know must be hard, but he had her back and he wanted her to know. She turned to him, the little smile at the corner of her lips making him feel ten feet tall.
He met her smile with one of his own.
“Sorry I couldn’t cook for this. Just got back to town.” He handed the bottle to Velma.
“Where’d you take off to?” Brek asked, always way too curious for his own good.
Eli grunted because he didn’t want to deal with explanations at that specific moment. Let him get settled. Let him say hello. Then they could deal with it. What he wanted, right then, was a beer.
He beelined for the minibar Brek had set up by the sink. He had it stocked. What else could Eli expect from the owner of Denver’s newest nightspot? The place was a dive, but Brek had quickly made it the go-to spot in Denver if you wanted to hear a good band. He used to manage Dimefront, the currentitband, so his connections in the music industry practically made Eli’s boeuf bourguignon look like a box of processed macaroni-and-cheese product.
“Are you going to introduce us to your date?” Dean asked from behind him.
Eli started to grunt a reply to that, but Marlee had it covered.
“Oh, I’m not his date,” Marlee answered. “We’re not dating. And I’m Marlee.”
Eli clocked the moment Dean placed her. Of course, it would’ve been Dean. He followed sports like a Denver super fan. He was also one of Denver’s best financial gurus, so he knew the comings and goings of Denver’s elite families.
“Marlee Medford?” Dean asked. He sounded surprised. Like he knew her. But of course, he knew her. Knew of her, at least. Her parents were practically Denver royalty. Princess Marlee. Anyone who followed sports knew her.
“That’s me.” Marlee was clearly in her element. She loved people. People loved her. These were his people. And he was happy to share them with Marlee. She needed people.
Dean squinted in her direction. “I thought I just read in the paper that you—”
“Don’t go there.” Eli shook his head, his focus on the brown bottle of unopened beer in his palm. Any talk of her ex was forbidden that night. They were there to celebrate the upcoming marriage of his buddy Jase. Not dissect his wife’s failed engagement.
“If you’re not his date…that makes you…?” Velma’s last word hung in the air like a bomb for Jase to diffuse.
Yeah, Jase used to diffuse bombs for the government.
Marlee glanced at Eli with the question in her eyes,What do you want me to say?These were his friends. She wasn’t going to fuck anything up for him.
He’d do that all on his own. “She’s my wife.”
Marlee’s eyes went all soft, like she was eating his lemon meringue and it was the perfect balance of tart and air and crème. Yes, he’d used the word wife and hadn’t had a stroke. It’s not like he’d used them-word.
“Fucking hell, I lost the motherfucking goddamned bet,” Brek said under his breath, low enough his wife probably couldn’t hear.
“Yougot married?” Jase choked on whatever he was chewing. Heather pounded on his back.
“We did.” Marlee stared at the artistic pigeon print over the fireplace, her forehead scrunched together.
“Whendid you get married?” Jase asked on a wheeze.
That’s when he saw it. Marlee got her groove back. She smiled that smile that could drop a man to his knees begging for her touch. “I think we’re going to need hard alcohol for this story.” She glanced at Eli and winked. “Actually, I think that’s what got us into this mess.”
“Can we start over?” Dean’s wife, Claire, asked. “I’m Claire. This is my husband, Dean. Brek. Velma. Heather. Jase. And you’re Marlee. And you got married to Eli?”
