Good Boy (WAGs #1)(7)

“I’m seriously heartbroken, Jess. This is worse than opening up Brandr and seeing guys on there who used to stuff me into lockers. Jamie was one of the good ones. And he’s marrying a celebrity athlete. He should be marrying me.”

I take a sip of my tea, then a deep breath. “Are you going to be able to contain your disappointment tomorrow? Because I really need your help.”

“Sure.” He sniffs. “Maybe I’ll catch the bouquet.”

There won’t be a bouquet, but he doesn’t need to know that yet. I flip to the back page of my day planner, where I jot down last-minute notes about the wedding. “Oh, hey, I’m going to need you to sit on Wes’s side of the aisle tomorrow. All his teammates will be there, but I’m not sure that’ll be enough to balance out the Canning side.”

“Baby, you had me at teammates. Please tell me there won’t be enough chairs and I’ll have to sit on one of their laps.”

“You want to try to sit on a hockey player’s lap? Do you care about your teeth? If not, go ahead.”

Laughter fills my ear. “I’d get punched in the mouth any day of the week if it means hooking up with a hockey player. You know my life’s goal has always been to be a puck bunny.”

Trust me, it’s overrated, I want to tell him.

Instead I say, “Please don’t get punched in the mouth. Wes’s teammates have been awesome. But it’s not like I made all the guests fill out a questionnaire checking off ‘Cool with the Gay Thing / Less Cool with the Gay Thing’ boxes.”

And Dyson is the biggest flirt I’ve ever met. I swear, he probably flirts with himself in the mirror when he’s home alone.

“I’ll be a perfect gentleman,” Dyson promises.

“Thank you.”

We hang up a few moments later, and I quickly go over the rest of my list. As long as the minister and the caterer show up, along with the tables and chairs I’ve rented, the show could go on. But I won’t be satisfied by merely pulling this off. It has to be perfect. It needs to be such a gorgeous wedding that people are talking about it for weeks.

Once I’m satisfied I’ve covered every detail, I finish off my tea, drop my mug in the kitchen sink, and wander around the apartment turning off lights. I have a bad habit of leaving every single light on. When I was in high school, my dad used to take a percentage of the money I earned at my part-time job at the ice cream parlor to put toward our electricity bill. He claims I was to blame for how high the bills were. I call bullshit, but I can’t deny I suck at remembering to turn off lights.

My bare feet slap the hardwood as I walk into my bedroom. I’m nervous about tomorrow, but excited, too. Jamie and Wes are going to have such an amazing life together. I’ve never met two people more perfect for each other. Even Tammy and her husband, John, who are disgustingly in love, don’t seem to have that same deep, tightly woven bond that my brother has with Wes.

I wonder what that feels like. Loving another person so much that they become a part of you. I thought I’d been in love before, but sometimes, when I watch my brother and Wes together…I question everything I’ve ever felt in the past.

Sighing, I crawl under the covers and push aside my Deep Thoughts. I need to get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a busy, busy day.

The moment I close my eyes, a loud bang bursts through the apartment.

It takes a second to realize that someone is knocking on the door. I shoot up in bed and flick on the lamp on the end table. It’s almost one a.m. Who on earth would—

“J-Babe! Yo! Open up!”

Why the hell is Blake at my door?

I whip the covers off and hurry out to the front hall. I swear to God, if he’s here to tell me that Jamie and Wes are in jail because of something that happened at the bachelor party, I am going to murder him.

There’s another heavy thud on the door. “Come on, Jess! I’m tired. If I don’t get the exact right amount of beauty sleep, I’ll—”

He stops talking when I fling the door open. A happy grin stretches his mouth, but it turns into a smirk when he notices my pajamas. “Aw shit, that’s so fucking adorable. I love bananas—did I ever tell you they’re my favorite fruit? And apricots. I like apricots, too.”

I am literally seconds away from strangling him. Yes, my neon-pink pajama pants and matching tank are covered with yellow cartoon bananas. But it’s one in the morning, he’s clearly drunk judging by the bright shine to his green eyes, and he’s at my doorstep talking about fruit?

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here.” Each word is punctuated by the slap of my hand on the doorframe.

Blake steps closer, a black duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “Your mom didn’t tell you? I’m crashing here tonight.”

My jaw falls open. “Oh no you’re not.”

“Oh yes I am.” He drops the bag on the stoop with a loud thump. “My man Cindy said she ran it by you.”

“My mother is not a man,” I grind out.

He waves a big hand. “Figure of speech. My pal Cindy, how about that? She said she texted you.”

I hesitate. Okay, that’s actually possible. There were about two dozen texts on my phone after the rehearsal dinner, mostly from the caterer and some wedding guests asking me last-minute questions. I hadn’t finished going through them, so I suppose I could’ve missed a text from Mom.