“They’re our best friends," he says. “And we could use their help.”
I nod. Yeah. He’s actually not wrong about that.
“And I’m sure they’ll understand why we’re doing this, once we explain. You managed to convince me, after all.” He tips his chin toward my empty coffee mug. “Just direct that same caffeinated energy at them. They’ll have no choice but to get on board.”
I eke out a laugh. “We’ll have to assure them right away that we aren’t getting married for real,” I say. “Not real in the emotional sense, I mean. Just real in thelegalsense.”
“Of course.” His jaw tenses. “Legal only. No emotions.” His eyes land on mine, and the sunbursts in his irises catchme off guard. There’s so much depth there. Like this calm, quiet strength. The combination is magnetic.
And yes, I’ve always known that Bridger is attractive. Objectively. Inside and out. But when we met, I was engaged to someone else. I didn’t catalogue the many qualities that could draw other women in.
Then, after Foster dumped me, Bridger became my rock. He’s been a constant source of stability and support since then. He wipes my tears. He moves my mattresses. Metaphorically and literally. Above all else, I trust the man. So, no matter how great his irises are, I can’t let our plan muddy up the waters of our friendship.
Losing him is another thing I can’t afford.
No mud?
No loss.
He rises from the couch, phone in hand, and before I can help myself, I do a double-take on the fit of his joggers. They hang low on his hips and hug his legs in all the right ways. But the thickness of his thigh muscles is just … mud. Very muddy mud.
I need to stop staring at my future husband’s butt.
Immediately.
“Are you calling them now?” I blurt.
Smooth, Loren. Smooth.
“No. I found a website.” He taps at his screen, brow creased in concentration. “I googled how to get married. No waiting.”
“Oh, wow.” I bark out a nervous laugh.
“That’s what we’re doing, right?” Bridger cuts a glance at me. “The sooner we’re married, the less time my mother has to interfere. If she shows up and we’renotmarried, she could try to stop us.”
“You think she’ll show up?”
“Not if we make it unnecessary.”
“Right. Yes.” My throat goes hot. “No waiting.”
He returns to the screen, reads for a bit. I tighten the belt on my robe.
“Good news,” he says. “Here in North Carolina, we can get a license and arrange a civil ceremony on the same day.”
“Thatisgood news,” I agree. And honestly, the way he’s taking charge is even more attractive than his irises. Or his thigh muscles. But this is about a marriage license.
Not Bridger’s butt.
“Apparently, we’ll need two witnesses.” He shrugs. “So, Sayla and Dex?”
“Easy enough,” I say, even as normal breathing becomes more difficult.
My phone buzzes and I hop up to grab it from the charger.
“Speak of the devil,” I say. “Sayla must’ve channeled our conversation or something.”
SAYLA