The Consequence of Loving Colton

Max reached into his back pocket and pulled out a flask.

“Seriously?” I smacked him in the chest.

“A dying man’s wish,” Colton said defensively. “If he wants to bathe in whiskey while mermaids sing to him—let it happen.”

“Mermaids don’t wear tops,” Max apparently felt the need to point out.

“Focus!” I clapped my hands. “You go in, you get out.”

The guys burst out laughing, then Max added, “Aw baby, that’ll leave her frustrated, now won’t it?”

“I hate men,” I muttered.

“You love us,” Max declared loud enough for me to want to punch him in his perfect face. He put on his leather jacket and grabbed the keys to his car. “Wish me luck!”

“Good luck!” we said in unison.

“Dude has balls.” Jason stared after Max like he was some sort of Greek god or football legend.

“Of actual steel,” Colton agreed once Max had gotten into his Jeep.

“Cheers, to the man we all hope to be one day.” Jason lifted the flask into the air and drank, then passed it to Colton.

“Unbelievable. He’s not going to war, people! He’s going to a bachelorette party. He’s surrounding himself with horny bridesmaids and trying to get the spawn of Satan to admit she isn’t pregnant, which by the way we still aren’t sure of. Most likely he’ll be drunk within two hours and end up in prison.”

“Have you met her friends?” Jason asked.

“Well, no.”

“Yeah.” His jaw flexed. “Let’s just say their idea of a party involves tea, biscuits, gossip, and a hell of a lot of perfume.”

“But it’s a pre-bachelorette party?” I watched as Max drove away.

“Pre-bachelorette party? Hell? Both are interchangeable.” Jason nodded. “Trust me, the guy’s going to hate women for at least a week, hope that’s not a problem.”

“Nope.”

“Thanks, Sis.”

“Huh?” I was too busy hoping my friend came back safe, and not in a box like he assumed. “For what?”

“Letting us use your fiancé.” Jason nodded. “I have to admit Colt and I were worried that you jumped into things—but he’s pretty straight, you know?”

“Yeah.” I didn’t know what to say so I just agreed. “He’s pretty awesome.”

“Anyway, I guess, without getting too sappy, Colton and I are proud of you for settling down with such a stand-up guy, right, man?” He hit Colton on the back, but Colton didn’t say anything for a minute. Instead he stared right through me, and then he seemed to collect himself.

“Thrilled.” He cleared his throat. “Tickled abso-freaking-lutely—pink.”

“All right.” Jason clapped his hands. “I’m going to go take a quick nap in the guest room so Mom can’t find me, then get ready for the rehearsal dinner. You coming, Colt?”

“Give me a second.” His eyes didn’t leave mine.

I shifted nervously on my feet.

We were standing in front of the house. The afternoon breeze picked up, making me shiver.

“What’s up?” My ability to sound unaffected as he continued to stare was basically nonexistent. I scratched my arm nervously and waited.

“You and me.”

“You and me, what?”

“It’s time.”

“Huh?”

“I cheated too.”

What. The. H.

“You have a girlfriend!” I shouted, fighting the tears as they pooled behind my eyes.

Instead of answering he took my hand and led me back into the house, then downstairs into the basement.

I needed a damn paper bag or something! Girlfriend! This whole time! What the crap?

Shaking, I sat down on the couch and waited for him to give me the talk. You know the one, where the guy pats your hand, tilts his head two degrees to the right, gives you the pity smile, then angles your chin and does the soft punch across your jaw, like “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.”

I had that speech memorized.

He gave me that stupid speech when I was sixteen after I mauled him with my lips.

To be fair, the whole underwear incident killed whatever romance could have been there, and, well, technically, I mean he was eighteen, meaning it could be considered, er, slightly illegal. But not really, I mean who actually paid attention to those laws?

“I cheated,” he began again. My heart dropped. No. No. No. “At Ping-Pong.”

My head snapped up. “Come again?”

“You had a few points that I didn’t count, you couldn’t tell because it looked like it missed the table—the ball hit the table three times that I said it didn’t.”

“You sick bastard!” I roared, launching myself across the couch as I beat him with my fists. “You took an oath! An oath to always be honest and true when we play games! We shook hands, asshole! We exchanged spit—”

“My favorite part,” he grunted from underneath me, as I continued to beat on his back. He turtle-shelled me so I couldn’t actually hit anything of substance. “You worn out yet? Or you wanna go another round?”

Heaving, I fell back onto the couch. “I’m gassed out.”

“Losing your touch.”

I raised my hand then dropped it when Colt started talking.

“Do it,” he challenged. “Slap me, see what happens.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">