Falling for the Groomsman (Wedding Dare, #1)(48)

“I-I can’t,” Christine said, shaking her head. “I can’t do this. I have to go.”

Christine turned and swung toward the door, her breathing coming fast and hard. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she was about to cry. But she didn’t do that anymore. Not since Tyler had left her in alone Mexico.

“Christine!” Kady called. “Get back here!”

Nope. Not happening.

She’d rather break her other ankle into a million freaking pieces than talk to anyone right now. From the back of her mind, behind the pain and fear, she heard someone stop Kady from following her. Colt, maybe? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she escaped before she broke down and cried in front of everyone.

She hobbled toward the doorway, the overwhelming grief squeezing her chest tighter and tighter with each step. She needed to get out of here. Needed to get away from all the prying eyes and curious stares. She focused on the door, refusing to look anyone in the eye. Focus, Christine, focus. Once you get to your room, you can break.

But not a second before.

“What the hell is wrong with everyone?” Kady shrieked.

Christine wanted to turn around and comfort her friend, but she couldn’t. Not this time. She entered the elevator on autopilot, her emotions shut down and locked up tight somewhere inside her. She left the elevator and hobbled down the hallway, her eyes on her door. As soon as she got there…she’d be okay. She had to be.

As she passed Tyler’s room, she heard something loud crash against the door, followed by a string of curses. She flinched, knowing he hated her right now. She wanted to knock and continue their discussion, but she couldn’t. Not now.

Instead, she opened her door and closed it quietly, not wanting him to know she’d come up, too. Then, and only then, she let herself slide down the door and crouched on the floor in front of it, her back pressed against the steel and her injured leg straight out. Her facade crumbled, and so did she. God, so did she.

Tears blurred her vision, and she covered her face with her hands, sobbing hard and deeply. For the first time since Mexico…she cried.

And once she started, she couldn’t figure out how to stop.





Chapter Seventeen


Tyler took a swig of vodka, set down the bottle, and fell back on the bed, his eyes scrunched shut. He massaged his temples, unable to believe the turn his evening had taken. A list. This whole damn thing had been about a stupid sex list, and he hadn’t seen it coming at all. He’d thought she was as into him as he was with her, and she’d been playing him the whole f*cking time. He’d been willing to move for her, and she’d been laughing at him this whole time.

Knowing that when the wedding was over, she’d be gone from his life for good.

Knowing they never stood a chance in hell. But she hadn’t cared, because she hadn’t wanted them to stand a chance, had she? The irony of the situation hit him hard. She didn’t give a damn about him, and he couldn’t stop giving a damn about her.

He growled and rolled over, rising to his feet. The vase full of fake flowers he’d thrown against the door lay in shards now. Something more he’d have to pay for, but it had been worth it. Watching that vase shatter had been more satisfying than he’d thought it would be.

He picked up the bottle of vodka. Tipping his head back, he lifted the bottle to his lips but nothing else came out. He cursed and shook the bottle as if that would magically make more appear. When it didn’t, he chucked it into the recycle bin.

He needed another drink. His head wasn’t spinning enough yet.

And the pain wasn’t gone, either.

He crossed the room, bent down, and picked up the shards, tossing it into the recycle bin. Then he laid the fake flowers on the desk. Much like the broken vase on the floor, it was time to pick up the pieces and move on. He had a huge promotion waiting for him in Portland. A nice house. Enough money to help out those who needed it, and plenty of reasons to smile.

He’d give himself tonight to mope about her not wanting to be with him, and then he would move on. He would watch his sister marry the man she loved. He would report for duty with his job in Portland. But first? He needed to get f*cking drunk.

So drunk that he didn’t give a damn about Christine.

As he exited his room, he hesitated in the hallway. If he turned left, he’d hit the elevator. If he went right…well, he’d be in front of her room. Was she in there? Had she left the waltz when he had? She’d said she was going to her room.

Maybe if he had more time with her, he could make her want him as much as he wanted her. It might have been all about her list for her, but she’d had fun with him, too. There was no denying that. If he could get back into her bed, he could win her over through seduction.

But what if that was all she wanted to give him? It wouldn’t be enough. He wanted more. He wanted her heart. When it came to Christine, it was all or nothing.

She had to belong to him.

He headed for the elevator. The whole ride down, he fought the urge to go right back up to her room. But he wouldn’t give in to the urge to chase after her. Not this time. He’d have enough drinks to be plastered into oblivion and go back to his room, crash hard, and wake up a new man.

A man who learned a hard lesson: love f*cking hurt.

He sank down onto the barstool, not even bothering to scan the room for any familiar faces. If he had any luck left, there wouldn’t be anyone he knew. If he had any luck at all, he would be able to drink in peace.