I frowned. The man did have a thing for punctuality, but it wasn’t why he was toeing the line of a panic attack.
My stomach became tight as I watched him chew on his bottom lip. There was nothing I wouldn’t have done to take that away from him. But no two people on the plane had had the same experience. The minute those wheels hit the ground, our lives were ripped apart. We came home to the same house. Slept in rooms that were across the hall. Quietly ate breakfast at the same table each morning. But just like the cabin of that plane, something had been broken.
God bless Mark. I had no idea what the two of us would have done without him. As much as Aaron and I tried to be there for each other, broken couldn’t fix broken.
Mark never knew the right thing to say or do, but he tried. If I woke up confused or afraid, he was the first one in my bedroom, arms open wide. And when it was Aaron’s turn to lose it, Mark would sit for hours at the foot of his bed, talking him down.
It was memories like those that made me feel guilty for not letting him eat my Frosted Flakes. He deserved the whole damn cereal aisle.
Mark loomed over us, flicking his gaze between Aaron and me. “You want me to go with you guys? I can have Eric meet the beer distributer at the bar. It won’t take me but a minute to get dressed.”
“No,” Aaron returned immediately. “It’s fine. I’m fine. We’re all just fucking fine.”
I gave his arm a squeeze, letting it linger. “I’ll be ready in five. I promise.”
His face softened and his shoulders rolled forward. “I’m sorry. I…”
I shook my head. “Hey, you don’t have to explain anything. Let me go get dressed. You drive, and I’ll do my makeup on the way. Okay?”
He nodded and offered me a tight smile. “Okay.”
On my way out of the kitchen, I bumped my shoulder with Mark’s. At five-two, I barely came up to his chest, so realistically, it was more like bumping my shoulder with his elbow.
He shot me a wink and slanted his head toward my room. Go. I got this, he silently replied.
My chest warmed. Comfortable and sad aside, this was why we were all twenty-nine, successful, and still living together.
Just before I got to my room, I barked a laugh when I heard Mark start in on Aaron.
Remember the aforementioned part about him never knowing what to say or do? Proof: “So, Mr. Three-Piece Suit, did you prepare a speech to accept your Oscar or are you just going to wing it?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Aaron bit back, but there was no mistaking the humor in his tone.
Remi
I should have known better than to wear that damn black maxi dress. I didn’t personally believe in witches or magic, but it was cursed. There was no other explanation for it. I’d survived two of the worst dates of my life in that dress and broken a heel while on my way to show a million-dollar home in that dress. It was also what I’d been wearing the day I found out a buyer had been arrested on embezzlement charges an hour before the biggest closing of my life.
So when I said the dress contained some seriously bad vibes, I was not exaggerating.
I had no idea why I hadn’t burned the damn thing yet, but after I’d promised Aaron I’d be ready in five minutes, it turned out to be my saving grace. Banished to the dark depths of my closet, it was in the bag from the dry cleaners when I found it. Since it was the only article of clothing I owned that didn’t need to be ironed, I took a chance.
Now, I was paying the price.
On the car ride over, I twisted my unruly blond hair into a loose braid that hung over one shoulder, and despite the potholes, which I swear Aaron hit on purpose, my makeup was almost perfect. For as much as I’d been dreading the day, I felt pretty good when we walked up to the courthouse. There was a line down the front steps to get through security, so Aaron and I made small talk while we waited. The usual stuff: work, the bills, the brunette in front of us who was one hair flip away from breaking her neck to catch his attention.
And that was when the black maxi dress from hell got its ultimate revenge for being awakened from its peaceful, plastic-wrapped slumber.
I thought nothing of the little string when I saw it flapping in the breeze. At first glance, it didn’t look like it was attached to the dress at all. More like a loose fiber that had landed there by chance.
Oh, how wrong I was.
That bastard string slid out without so much as an argument. And with it, the whole left side of my top fell open like Janet Jackson at the Super Bowl halftime show.
Aaron scrambled, trying to block me from view, but there were a solid ten people who got up close and personal with my bra.
Fortunately, I had a wonky-looking safety pin at the bottom of my purse that Aaron and I managed to rig the traitorous dress back into place with just before we reached the metal detector.
Unfortunately, I’d forgotten to take the pepper spray out of my purse, so we were turned away, but being that he was my best friend and possibly still scarred for life after being so close to my boob, Aaron agreed to run my accidental contraband back to the car so I didn’t have to throw it away. Then, because the black maxi dress from hell wasn’t done with its reign of terror yet, he’d barely disappeared around the corner when the safety pin gave up on life and popped off my dress.
Ten more scandalized people and a seventy-something security guard who shot me a wink later, there I was—on my knees, holding my dress to my chest with one hand and using two twigs I’d broken off a shrub to dig the pin out of a crack in the steps like a game of Operation. It was a worthless effort. The damn pin might as well have entered the witness protection program, never to see the light of day again.
Okay. Plan B. When Aaron got back, I’d ask him for his suit coat. I’d have to button it closed and I’d look absolutely ridiculous, but at least we wouldn’t be late.
Careful not to give the dwindling line of spectators another show, I crisscrossed my arms over my chest and stood to my full height. My one remaining strap slipped off my shoulder and I swung my elbow up to keep it from falling down my arm.
Business as usual in the cursed dress from hell.
Except for the fact that pain exploded in my elbow.
“Ow!” I exclaimed at the same time I heard someone rumble, “Shit.”
Grabbing my elbow, I spun and found a man on the stair below me using both hands to cover his nose. And because I needed to seriously work on respecting personal boundaries, I lurched toward him, stacking a hand over his as if three hands covering his injury were the medically recommended amount.
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”
“Son of a…” he trailed off when he opened his eyes.
Holy shit. The most gorgeous golden-brown eyes I’d ever seen collided with mine. And I don’t mean that our eyes simply met. I mean, they met and locked and I somehow ended up pregnant in the span of one blink.
Fantastic. He was gorgeous, and I’d potentially broken his nose, wrecking a perfect profile.
“Are you okay?” I asked. He was tall, but I was on the step above him, so we were almost level and only inches apart—the perfect missionary position for a mutual eye-fuck. Except, based on his furrowed brows, this was a solo act.
“Shit,” he repeated, clearing his throat and backing down a step, out of my reach. As he lowered his hands, my breath caught. He had full lips, and even hidden beneath a closely trimmed beard, I could make out a sharp jawline. His nose though…