“I don’t know about that. But Iamdefinitely opening a bottle of wine.” She scoots to the edge of the bed. “You want a glass?”
I glance at my watch. “I should actually get going. I’ve got an early morning.”
“Youalwayshave an early morning.”
“Not Saturdays and Sundays.” I stand, tossing my jacket over my arm. “Is the new Mrs.—” I pause, grinning. “—going to want breakfast in bed?”
She gathers the tray of food from the bed. “Gross. Don’t call me Mrs.” She shoots me a look over her shoulder. “Ever. Come on, I’ll walk you out.”
The walk out is about ten steps. No exaggeration. I look around one last time. The place is excruciatingly small, and the decor is simple, but it still has Jordan written all over it. Expensive. Elegant. None of this shit came from HomeGoods.
I’m not judging. Just confused.
Jordan has always lived in places with extra space. Mostly for thecloset. That woman has a shopping addiction. Shoes, specifically. And she’s very good at buying them.
“Okay,” she says, wrapping her arms around my waist. “I’ll just text you when I leave my office tomorrow. Thanks for stopping by and checking on me. Even if itiscreepy that you’re basically a stalker.”
I chuckle. “Is it creepy or kind of sweet and sexy?”
“Creepy.” She steps back, patting my chest. “Now go home and change. You look stiff.Good.But stiff.”
A smirk tugs at my mouth. I can’t help it. She set that one up too easily. “Only one thing that’s stiff, babe.”
She grins, shaking her head, already turning away. “Goodnight,” she calls, not looking back.
I don’t say anything. I don’t need to.
I just take her in from behind, appreciating the curve of her lower back down to her ass. Then I turn and quietly slip out, letting the door click shut behind me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
MATT
I lean backin my office chair, clicking the end of my pen up and down, my chin resting on the ball of my fist. My calendar is slammed today. I rearranged my entire schedule just to carve out a lunch break to get married. But it’s not a big window.
I’m grateful for the distraction. Being busy has kept me from thinking too hard about what I’m about to do and what it will mean.
But my last meeting ended early, and now I’ve got ten minutes to kill. Ten quiet, uninterrupted minutes.
It’s not that big of a deal, is it?
It’s just a piece of paper. At least that’s how I sold it to Jordan. A legal document that can be undone in a few months by another legal document.
I’ve never understood why people put so much emphasis on it. Standing at an altar, spouting promises, most of which end up being bullshit anyway. A marriage license is just another contract. No different than the ones I sign every day.
And yet, somehow, the thought of signing this one has every nerve inside me buzzing like a live wire.
Maybe because it’s one thing to cheat the system, to lie. It’s another thing entirely to do it with Jordan. Because itfeelslike I’m lying to her. And that’s not something I ever want to do.
It’s just a fucking piece of paper.
It’s not like Jordan doesn’t know what she’s doing. She’s a big girl.
Besides, it’s the words people say, their actions when the going gets tough, honesty, loyalty, staying when everything goes to hell, fighting to keep each other. That’s what makes a marriage. And unfortunately for most, they just don’t get it.
My parents sure as hell don’t. Jordan’s didn’t.
So sure, we’regetting married.So what? The only real thing that’s changing is the label we’re putting on our friendship. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
