“It’s here though. He had it all this time, and . . . now it’s mine.”
“Maybe he saved it so you could raise your family there if you wanted.”
Her head drops. “This is all too much.”
I wrap my arm around her shoulders, and she leans into me. I hold her, not caring about anything other than giving her what she needs. I hate this part of myself, the one that wants to save her, help her, be there when I know it’s all bullshit.
I am the friend, the guy who’s good at offering support but is never more.
I’ve been nothing more than that over and over. I’m the best man, but not the best man for her.
I shove that aside because, no matter what role I play in this, I want to touch her. I’ll take the selfish part that enjoys this and let it happen.
Maren lets out a long sigh and then smiles at me. “Thank you, Oliver.”
“For?”
“Being so damn amazing. I couldn’t have done any of this without you, and you are seriously the best.”
The best is so often not good enough. “Well, I’m good at a lot of things.”
“Like what?” she asks, the mood shifting.
“Oh, sweetheart, if you only knew.”
A blush covers her face, and she looks away. “Men, you’re all the same.”
“We like to keep you women thinking that.”
“Is that so?”
“Absolutely,” I reply, getting to my feet. “Now, let’s get out of this shit, get comfortable, and open the rest of our cards.”
Maren takes my extended hand. “Sounds like a plan, Mr. Parkerson.”
“Good thing you’re so agreeable, Mrs. Fake-Parkerson.”
She laughs and then heads over to her bags as I go to mine.
I grab my gym shorts and T-shirt, and when I turn around, Maren is tossing things out of her bag and muttering.
“You okay?” I ask.
She sighs heavily and continues her search. “No.”
“Why is that?”
Tossing down the item in her hand, she straightens and glares at the mess. “Because someone repacked me.”
“My sister and your maid of honor . . .”
“Yes, well, they didn’t repack me the same stuff I packed.”
“And that’s a problem because?”
Maren grabs one of the items she tossed down. “Because this is what they repacked!” She holds up the very thin scrap of white silk.
My brows shoot up, and I grin. “Well, that was nice of them.”
“Was it? Do you remember just about a minute ago when you were talking about all the things you don’t want?” Maren’s eyes narrow just a little. “When you reminded me that we shouldn’t be doing any of the things that I really wanted to do?”
“Sure . . .”
“Well, good luck to the both of us then.”
She lifts another item, and Jesus Christ, it’s another see-through nightgown—if you can even call it that.
“You can’t wear that.”
“Oh? And what would you like me to wear then?”
“Anything else,” I sputter. There’s no way in hell I have enough self-control to be anywhere near her in that.
“There is nothing else. They packed three of these to sleep in. Apparently, your sister and my best friend think I don’t need clothes.”
Clothes. I heard that word. “Okay, what about shorts?”
She smiles without any humor. “Oh, they took care of that too. All I have are bathing suits and dresses. I’m going to kill them.”
“We’ll go shopping on our way to South Carolina tomorrow. For tonight, you can just wear something of mine.”
My sister did not pack my bag, so I know I have clothes.
“Fine,” Maren says with exasperation. “I’ll do that.”
I pull out a pair of basketball shorts and a T-shirt and hand them to her.
“Thanks.”
While she’s in the bathroom changing, I sink down on the chair. This is a disaster. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to endure this for five days. There is no way I’ll be able to ignore this ache for her. Not to mention, she doesn’t need me all over her. She was just dumped by the guy she was going to marry, which doesn’t exactly scream ready to jump into bed with me.
I know from personal experience that almost marrying someone doesn’t necessarily equal love. Hell, I watched the woman I loved date someone else immediately after we broke up.
I can’t put myself in a situation that I know is going to crash and burn.
Been there. Done that. Own the T-shirt company.
Rubbing my hands over my face, I take a deep breath and stand. I’m a strong man who doesn’t bend easily. I’ll just plaster a smile on my face, get through the next few days, and then come back to the life I’ve designed.
I unbutton my shirt, and just as I’m about to remove it, the bathroom door opens to reveal Maren still in that dress.
“I need you.”
I need you.
I need you to strip me down and make me scream for hours. Please, Oliver.
That’s not what she says. No, she actually sighs and shrugs. “I can’t undo my dress. Can you help me?”
Well, that’s kind of like stripping her down. It actually is stripping her down, but the rest of that sentence hasn’t been uttered . . . yet.
I clear my throat and walk over. She turns, pulling her hair over her shoulder, giving me a fantastic view of her back. She’s so damn beautiful with her hair completely down so it cascades like blonde silk.
Once I’m behind her, she turns her head, peeking at me from the side. My fingers move to the button at the top. “You know, I am kind of glad this isn’t really our wedding night,” I say as I fumble with each one.
“Why is that?”
“Because if you were my bride, I would’ve torn your dress off you.”
She shivers a little. “Really?”
“Absolutely,” I say with a deepness in my voice that I hope covers the desire flooding my system.
I couldn’t even last two minutes after that stupid pep talk I gave myself.
I focus on the buttons again and manage one more.
“Why is that?” Maren whispers.
Don’t answer her, Oliver. Don’t fucking do it.
“I would’ve needed you naked on the bed so badly that I wouldn’t have cared that the dress was on the floor in pieces.”
Maren’s breath jumps as she turns, facing the mirror. “I’m sorry that this isn’t your real wedding night.”
“Me too.”
She smiles a little as I undo the last button. “Thanks.”
You are so not welcome.
“Of course,” I say with an easy smile even though nothing feels easy inside me.
She steps back into the bathroom, closing the door behind her, and I get changed before falling into the chair that I’ll be sleeping on.
How the hell did I get myself into this?
After what feels like an hour, Maren emerges, wearing my shorts, which are folded about four times and look like she knotted them or something. My shirt is huge on her, and while it should be completely unattractive, it’s not. She’s in my clothes. Naked under them.
“Thanks for letting me borrow this tonight.” Her eyes dart to the floor. “It’s a bit big, but it’s better than the nightie.”