Page 72 of Sweet Surrender

“I need a name, Wright.”

“It’s Jase. Gizmo. Whatever you want to call him—”

“You’re shitting me?”

“No.” I shake my head back and forth.

“You’re shitting me.” Her voice escalates to a screechy pitch. “Jase fucking Gizmodo?”

I wince. “Shh.” I glance over my shoulder at the security screen door at the back of the bakery because there’s no way her voice isn’t carrying out there. “Keep your voice down.”

“Don’t you dare tell me to keep my voice down when you just dropped a goddamn bombshell in my lap!” She yanks me in for a hug of all hugs, squeezing the breath out of me as she jumps up and down.

“I can’t breathe.” I laugh. Seconds before she pushes me away and grabs my hand again with a renewed fascination over it.

“That is a ridiculously expensive rock.”

“It was two minutes ago too.”

She waves a hand at me. “Yeah, but that’s when I was convinced it was fake despite what you said.” She studies it again and then looks up at me breathless. “How—why—WHEN? I mean what the ever-loving fuck, Hendrix—”

I hold my hands up. “I know. Outwardly I’ve been lamenting Paul and how bad he’s screwed me over with the bakery but somehow this was slowly happening.” Please believe me. “What started with a run into each other outside your coffee shop a few months ago, ended up with him calling me for an order of cookies. That order turned into a conversation. A little flirting. Oddly enough we have a lot in common. We were friends—have been friends for the past three months. I thought what I was feeling for him was more of a thrill because another man was paying attention to me and hearing me and validating how I felt about things . . . but then a few weeks ago, he kissed me and—”

“That must have been one earth-shattering kiss for you to go and get married.”

“I know. It sounds crazy,” I say, finishing the lie we’d rehearsed over and over. “It wasn’t planned. The wedding. It was impulsive and the most reckless thing I’ve ever done but . . . it made me feel alive, Josie. Like . . . for the first time in as long as I can remember.”

She studies me as the shock gives way to hearing what I’m saying. She nods as if she understands and her incredulous smile softens. “When did this happen? I need details.”

“This past weekend. We were in Vegas and . . . and we joked about it, then the joke turned to driving to the chapel and—”

“And Elvis married you?” she barks as she pushes the call that comes through her phone to voicemail.

I nod. “Yes. Not the wedding I’d ever thought I’d have but . . . it was perfect nonetheless.” My smile is genuine because it really was a great night.

The dress. She’s not going to believe it was spur-of-the-moment when pictures are leaked and I’m in a wedding dress. Think.

Think.

“I mean who knew me pointing to a wedding dress in the window of a boutique in the hotel was going to turn into him daring me to try it on. Then he gave me a look and said, come on, let’s do it. Leap without looking. Live a little . . . I mean, I think I’m still in shock.”

Stop rambling, Hendrix. Rambling means lying. She knows you well enough to notice that.

She shakes her head. “I’m digesting all of this. Slowly. I might need a minute.”

“I’m still digesting it too.” I snort.

“It’s all so sudden. You didn’t think of waiting? I mean . . .”

I shrug. “I know. I’ve thought of all that since then but honestly, Josie, it just felt right. Maybe it was fast because of who he is. And . . . maybe, and probably more so, because of Paul. He made me feel like I was nothing when Jase, he makes me feel like I’m everything.” My voice drops. “I know this isn’t like me—to be impulsive like this—but it felt good and right and so I acted out for once in my life.”

“The fact that you’re dead serious is mind-boggling. And fucking awesome at the same time,” she sings.

“It’s been . . . a whirlwind to say the least, overwhelming and isolating, and I’ve been dying to tell someone.” Even if it means lying to a woman I consider my best friend.

She raises her hand. “I’m your girl for all the juicy details. But . . . Hendrix. HENDRIX.” She releases a long breath, then starts ticking things off her fingers. “So let me get this straight. Jase Gizmodo. Rock star. Infuriatingly hot. Tattooed, talented, ridiculously rich.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes.”