Same hereis mine.
I fight off a grin, but it’s hard not to smile at her reply, and at the pic she sent me while I was playing. It’s perfect, the shot of her at the spa with cucumbers on her eyes—perfect because she took it. Perfect because she sent it to me.
I shove my arms into my suit jacket, raring to go see the woman who sends me quirky photos that let me into her world.
“See you kids in a couple of days,” I say, grabbing my tie and tossing it over my shoulder, then tucking my phone into my pants pocket.
“Have fun at the wedding, lover boy,” Corbin calls from his stall. “And have fun paying Ivan.”
I don’t even know where Ivan is, but I crane my neck around to flip them all the bird as I head to the door and walk straight into a hockey stick.
“Oof,” I blurt out, as it lands across my stomach.
Which joker did this? My vision goes dark when the joker tosses a jersey over my head.
“You’re not missing the spa day now.”
It’s Miller, his voice laced with amusement as my world flips upside down. One of them hoists up my arms, the other my legs, and someone ties my hands with my own goddamn necktie.
I’ve been kidnapped.
Again.
* * *
They don’t tell me where we’re going as they toss me into the back seat of someone’s car. They keep the jersey over my head, using it like a pillowcase.
But unlike the first time they did this earlier in the season and dragged me to play lawn games, I’m antsy. A little worried. And frankly, annoyed I have to say this.
But I do. I fucking do.
“Guys, I need to text Remy. I was supposed to meet her.”
“Aww, so cute. I texted my hubby too, and told him I’d be home late,” Ivan teases from the front seat.
“Seriously. Untie me.”
“Only if you let me into the bet,” Riggs says from next to me.
“You need a grand that badly? Why don’t I just give you the name of my money guy so you can manage yours better,” I counter. Because I can’t just give in.
“Sure, if it means I can bet on you falling for the woman you’ve been obsessed with for more than a year.”
I growl. “Why are we fucking friends?”
“Are we?” Riggs asks dryly.
“Whatever,” I say, then tug hard on the tie, but these assholes probably took a knot-tying class just to do this.
“I’ll text her for you,” Riggs offers.
“The fuck you will,” I say.
But it’s too late. He’s dictating into his phone. “Hey, Remy. It’s Riggs. We kidnapped your boyfriend since he needs to get his balls waxed before the wedding tomorrow. Says he wants to be beautiful all over for you. He’ll see you later with his good luck nuts all nice and shiny.”
I’m going to kill him.
* * *
