I press a hand to my chest. “Gutted. You know, for a guy who once did a billboard campaign in nothing but football pads, I thought I was at least semirecognizable.”
Annabelle levels me with a look. “I live under a rock. And apparently you’re not as famous as you think.”
I lean my elbows on the kitchen table and eye her robe-clad figure. “You’re deflecting. You haven’t said no yet.”
She snorts again. “Did you even bring dress shoes?”
“No. But I have incredible confidence—and I know for a fact the theme of the wedding is nature.”
She gawks at me. “How do you know what the theme of the wedding is?”
Easy. “When I was done getting my massage the other morning, one of the groomsmen had loose lips. Gave me all sorts of private information.”
“What kind of information?” she repeats, stepping closer like I just whispered a government secret.
I grin, lifting my brows. “Oh, you know. Groom’s ex-girlfriend RSVP’d yes, but the bride didn’t know she had been invited.”
Her eyes widen. “Nooo ... ! That is juicy.” And completely fabricated—but it could happen! “You’re lying.”
“Am I?” I ask, tilting my head.
“Yes,” she says slowly. “I think. But I want it to be true so bad.”
Don’t we all?
Annabelle is impulsive beneath all the sarcasm. She’s the kind of girl who eats dessert before dinner, the kind who texts you from one bedroom away to send a meme. The kind of girl who will100 percentcrash a wedding with me if she thinks she can get away with it.
“Hold on one second,” she says and vanishes down the hallway.
I stand and pace the kitchen, swipe my phone open, check the time. It’s a little after seven. Which means the ceremony is over. Dinner is wrapping up. Dancing is about to start.
Perfect.
I don’t know why this feels like a good idea. It’s not. It’s the exact opposite of a good idea after over three days in the woods with barely any internet, spotty cell service, and a whole lot of sexual tension between me and the roommate ...
Crashing a wedding sounds like the exact kind of dumb fun I need.
And then she steps back into the room holding a dress toward me, on its hanger. “I brought this just in case. Thoughts?”
Dragging my gaze from her face to the delicate spaghetti straps of the skimpy dress she’s holding, I take note of the slit in the skirt, cataloging every dangerous, perfect inch of fabric. Baby blue. Satin.
“That’s what you brought ‘just in case’?” I ask, voice a little hoarse, because holy hell,just in caseis doing a lot of heavy lifting in her world. Like—damn!
She shrugs one shoulder. “You never know when you’ll need a dress!”
“Annabelle.”
She raises her brows like she’s daring me to say something dumb.
“That dress is a felony in five states,” I tell her. “Six if you wear heels.”
Her lips twitch, but she’s still playing it cool, swinging the hanger by one finger like it’s no big deal.
It’s a very big deal.
“Would it be weird if I asked you to try it on?” I say, only half joking. “For, you know, research purposes.”
She snorts. “For science?”
