“Yeah.” Dex coughs into his hand. “Keep telling yourself that, man.”
I push out a chuckle, playing along, but the truth is, the last thing I want is for Loren to wear a dress she bought for Foster.
In fact …
I just may have to do something about that.
Chapter Ten
Loren
Full disclosure, Sayla and I barely talked about my clearance-rack wedding dress in the bathroom. She mostly wanted to reapply her lipstick. Oh, and to make sure we’d both thought this whole wedding idea all the way through.
I told herof coursewe hadn’t.
I only cooked up the scheme with Bridger this morning. We haven’t exactly given ourselves a lot of time to mull over the consequences. But I reminded Sayla, and myself, that technically, the actual wedding isn’t happening until tomorrow, which means we may have the license, but we also have a night to sleep on it.
“Before you start sleeping under the same roof, you mean.” She blotted her lips on a tissue. “Why are you doing that, exactly? If this is strictly platonic …”
“Our marriage needs to look as authentic as possible to avoid any questions or legal disputes. Moving in together isjust another way to cross every T and dot every I. For his mom.”
“But in the midst of this oh-so-realistic performance, you and Bridger are going to be careful not to blur the lines of friendship, right?”
“There will be no blurring,” I insisted. Still, my memory flashed back to how he’s been caring for me these past few days. Or months, really. More like ever since we met. His steady strength. Those irises. The competence. The eggs. The butt. “Zero blurs of any kind,” I repeated.
To her. To myself.
“Because once you cross a threshold like that,” she said, “there’s no going back.” She returned her lipstick to her purse. “You’re already worried about your dad. And he’s worried about his mom. All those emotions will be heightened once you’re married. But that’s not a normal situation for people who are just friends. So you can’t proceed normally. You know?”
“I know.”
She tipped her chin. “Doesheknow?”
I met her eyes in the mirror. “I think so.”
“You’ve had the conversation?”
“Yes.”
She hoisted her purse strap on her shoulder. “Because you wouldn’t want to get caught up in a moment without the feelings to back it up, or you could get hurt. Bridger could get hurt.” Her eyes softened. “You could lose what you already have. Which might be worth the risk, don’t get me wrong. But it’s a risk. So you should be sure.”
I bobbed my head.
Then she started washing her hands a second time.
“This will probably sound selfish”—she pumped more soap into her palms—“but I just love you both so much. And I get nervous about things changing between you.” Shelathered and rinsed. “Maybe for the better, but maybe … worse.” She shut off the water. “Maybe for all of us.”
I gave her a small frown. “You’re the least selfish person I know,” I said. “Okay, maybe the second least after Bridger. But you’d give me the dress off your back—literally. So trust me when I tell you I don’t want anything to change, either. For any of us.”
She dried her hands with a paper towel, tossed it in the bin, then turned to me.
“Yes, and …” Her voice trailed off. After years of teaching improv to her theater classes, Sayla loves the old “yes, and” thing. She’s trying to get me to dig deeper. But in this case, I had no idea how to complete the sentence.
“Yes, and … what?”
“Yes, you don’t want things to change. And …” She laid a hand to her chest … “This might still be a big challenge for you, here.” Her mouth curved up. “I’m talking about your heart, not your boobs.”
I pressed out a laugh, despite the lump in my throat. “I know.”