body. It was like happiness bubbled from within him. That usually annoyed me in people.
For some reason, in him it didn’t.
“So, did you get in the bathtub with him?” I asked, eyeing his soaked T-shirt.
Good thing it was navy blue and not white or the man would be a contender to win a wet T-shirt contest.
“I might as well have.” He snorted. “I should toss this in the dryer.”
Before I could suggest he just leave it on, or even better, go upstairs and put on a nice thick sweatshirt or something a lot less tempting, he’d whipped the shirt off and was strutting away from me and toward the laundry room, his muscled back working as he wadded the shirt up in this hands.
Damn, the man was perfection.
And, he was not for me.
After that reminder I forced my eyes down to the stack of mail I’d grabbed from my apartment on my way home.
My gaze hit on a big thick cream-colored envelope.
Only one thing came in an envelope like that. An invitation. Specifically, a wedding invitation.
With trepidation, I glanced at the return address and my devastation was complete as I read the name. I knew what it was without opening the envelope, but I tore into it anyway, hoping against hope I was wrong. Maybe my aunt and uncle were writing to invite me to something else.
Yeah, right.
Steeling my nerve, I pulled out the thick embossed card. And there it was. Just as I feared. My cousin was getting married—I glanced at the date—in less than two weeks from now!
I flipped the envelope over, saw the yellow forward sticker, and confirmed what I already suspected. She’d sent the invitation to my old address. The apartment where I’d lived with my ex until just about six months ago.
My mail was still being forwarded from there to my current apartment.
This missive from Hell had taken weeks to reach me.
My stomach twisted. Could I get out of this?
Could I return that tiny response card with a no and say I can’t attend? Could I pretend I never got the invite at all since it had gone to the wrong address first?
I knew the answer. No. Not without causing a family scandal that would be talked about forever.
But how could I attend? He was going to be there. Hell, he’d probably be in the wedding party since he was one of the groom’s best friends.
My ex. The man who’d ruined me for all other men and not in the good way.
And chances were very good he’d be there with her.
I’d knew from the grapevine—and through a little cyber stalking—that he was back with the woman he’d been serious with for years before me. They’d met freshman year of college and dated for like seven years before they’d broken up.
Greg obviously hadn’t forgotten her during the four years he’d dated me, lived with me, since she was the woman he’d gone running back to almost immediately after he’d dumped me.
Four years. Living together. Talking about our future. Then bam! He broke it off, coincidentally just two weeks before our lease was up, leaving me reeling and homeless and emotionally devastated.
I hadn't been able to eat. I couldn’t sleep. What I did do, because I had to, was find a new apartment and move everything I owned. Thank goodness for Kim and her husband and his pick-up truck.
And now, just when I’d started to get my life reordered after my sister’s deployment and Stewie becoming part of my life, this.
Against the straight jacket of emotions binding my chest I struggled to breathe while staring at the invitation, shaking in my trembling hand.
“You okay?”
I glanced up from the devastating card to find Boone—still shirtless—looking concerned.
“Fine.”
He narrowed his eyes, evaluating me. “That’s a lie.”
Completely invading my privacy he strode over and stood behind me so he could see the invitation over my shoulder.
I was so shaken at the prospect of seeing Greg again, I couldn’t even rally enough to scold Boone for sticking his nose into something clearly not his business.
“Who are they?” he asked after reading what was obviously a wedding invitation.
“My cousin and her fiancé.”
“And you don’t want to go?”
I let out a snort. “You could say that.”
He was freakily good at guessing what I was feeling. Although if I looked half as bad as I felt, it wouldn’t be all that hard to guess I would rather go in for a root canal than attend this wedding.
“So don’t go,” he said.
If only it were that