Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Cole smiles, his thumb tracing my puffy lower lip. “Now who’s grumpy?” he teases, but he sounds as disappointed by waiting as I am. He kisses me again, but this time it’s gentle and soft, not to build the heat we’re both trying to tamp down. It’s an apology and a promise. A to-be-continued.
His phone dings with an alarm, interrupting even our small kisses, and I know I made the right decision. He has to go, but he takes the time to press his forehead to mine. “Text me when you get there?”
I smile. “I’ll be fine. I can handle . . .” I stop when he gives me a pointed look and joke, “Or you could put an AirTag on me if you’d rather?”
“Don’t tempt me, woman.”
Okay, so that should probably be worrisome. Samantha the Therapist would counsel me to run for the hills from the stalkery guy. So why does Cole’s obsessive nature feel romantic to me? I’m probably unwell, and it’s likely from my childhood trauma, but whatever it is, I don’t care when he looks at me like I’m his whole world.
And it’s not like I haven’t already considered that he’s going to leave for a job and I won’t know where he is and had my own freak-out about it.
“I’ll text you,” I vow.
Cole
Leaving Janey this morning without sinking into her is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I couldn’t even adjust myself in my jeans without fear of shooting off like a firework. But I have to meet my brothers.
Today is one of the most important days of Chance’s life, and I’m going to stand by his side in solidarity. Though I would never tell her as much—because words and people—Samantha is too good for my brother. Not because he’s a bad guy. He’s great, actually, but Samantha’s in a league of her own and Chance couldn’t have found a better partner to create a little chaos in his rigid, planned to the nth degree, scheduled life.
As evidenced by where Samantha chose to have the wedding.
Years ago, Chance started a club of sorts. It’s part mentorship, part gym, part self-improvement, and all his pride and joy. Called the Gentlemen’s Club, it was an entire dick fest until Samantha came along and started teaching classes about dating, relationships, sex, and more to the members. Now, the two of them spend nearly every waking moment inside the club’s walls, so you’d think they’d want somewhere else—anywhere else—for their wedding.
Hell, with Chance bankrolling it or Mom and Dad pitching in, the wedding could be at the Ritz-Carlton if Samantha requested it. But no. She wants to say their vows in the place that’s most important to them—the club. Chance did hire both a wedding coordinator and a designer to turn the indoor gym into a reception space and the outdoor ball court into a ceremony space, but it’s never going to be as fancy as a regular wedding venue. But that’s not what matters to Chance and Samantha, and I’m glad. To me, it shows that though they’re so diametrically different on the surface, underneath all the trappings, they value the same things.
I park in the empty lot next door—a purchase Chance recently invested in for possible future expansion of the club—noting the cars and trucks already here. Looks like I’m the last Harrington to arrive, so it’s a good thing I didn’t stay at Janey’s. Even if I really would’ve liked to.
I walk through the big double doors, glancing up at the fancy, gold, lion’s head sculpture above them. Chance might be practical and a bit stuffy, but he knows how to represent, and the lion is the club’s mascot of sorts.
“Hello?” I bellow. “Where are you all?”
“Cole? Back here,” Chance shouts. I follow his voice, passing by a team of people who are in the finishing stages of decorating. It looks good to me, with flowers, lights, and dozens of round tables already set for dinner.
Down the hall, I find the guys in what I’m guessing is a classroom, given the stacks of chairs on one wall. It appears they’re getting ready . . . with glasses of amber liquid in their hands. Chance passes me one as a greeting and then lifts his in the air.
“Guys, I want to tell you how much your being here means to me,” he starts, already sounding emotional for this early in the day’s activities. “I wasn’t sure we’d get to this point. You know how Samantha is.”
We chuckle good-naturedly, remembering the time we all got together like this to discuss their relationship and Chance had confessed to being desperately in love with Samantha but unable to tell her because she’s a track star-certified runner from anything resembling love, relationships, and commitment. Well, she was. I think now, instead of running away, she’d run straight to Chance in any situation. Even if he fucked up, she would chase him to kick his ass, not kick him to the curb.