Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“Oh. Wow. That’s…” I blinked. “Congratulations, I guess.”
He snorted. “Not to me.” A smile that I’d already started to think of as Oscar’s real, unrehearsed smile broke across his face like sunshine, and a kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttered madly around my stomach in response. “To his boyfriend. Scotty. But he’s asked me to be his best man when Scotty says yes.”
“When,” I repeated.
“Yep. It’s about as close to a sure thing as you can get.” Oscar’s attention was on the bartender, who set down glasses of champagne in front of each of us, but there was something almost wistful in his tone. Like he wished he was someone’s sure thing.
Jesus. My cheeks went hot, and I took a deep drink of cold champagne to cool myself off. This fairy-tale madness must stop.
“So I guess you and Frank will be pulling out your tuxes again soon, then,” I said easily, toying with the stem of my glass. “You guys have a talent for this best man business, huh?”
Oscar turned to me, raised one eyebrow, and lowered his eyelids to half-mast. “Baby, I have a lot of talents. And if you play your cards right, you can experience them all firsthand.”
I had made the mistake of taking another sip at that exact moment, and the laughter that burst out of me caught me unawares. Bubbles of Cristal flew up my nose, and I choked. “One out of ten,” I wheezed when my coughing fit subsided. “Oh, god. That line was literally attempted murder.”
Oscar smiled, slow and wide and challenging. “Please. That was at least a five. It was amusing. And ironic.”
“If you have to point out the irony though, is it really ironic?” I mused. I patted his hand consolingly. “Don’t worry. I’m sure they have some kind of remedial communication classes for this.”
“Classes—? I could teach classes, Hugh. I am a celebrated public speaker.” Oscar motioned to the bartender again, and he brought over a bowl of nuts and pretzels. “I gave a commencement address at Harvard last spring that was so inspiring there wasn’t a dry eye in the house—”
“Boredom does make some people cry,” I agreed.
“And when I spoke at an investment symposium in Switzerland last month, people hung on my every word—”
“How many of them spoke English?” I asked politely.
“And my best man speeches are renowned for their unique blend of humor and insight—”
“They’re unique.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll give you that. Not sweet or romantic or wedding appropriate, necessarily, but definitely unique.”
Oscar’s eyes narrowed, and he pointed one long finger at me accusingly. “Oh my god. No wonder my lines aren’t working on you. You’re a closet romantic. Admit it.”
“Freely.” I drank more champagne and found it settled nicely in my stomach, warming me all the way through. “Nothing closeted about it. I want candles and poetry and fireworks. I want handholding in starlight and passionate declarations of love. I want the irresistible, can’t-fight-it-so-don’t-try, absolute knowledge that someone is it for me and that I’m it for him. Yep. That’s about it.”
“You want a fairy tale.” The way he said it made the word sound dirty. “That’s how hearts get broken, Hugh.”
There were a lot of things I could have said to that. Like, that I’d already had so many heartbreaks over the years I was used to them. Like, there were lots of ways hearts could break, and not all of them had the promise of a happily ever after at the end.
Instead, I shrugged. “You just have to kiss a bunch of frogs until you find the right person. Believe me, I know. But you can’t win the lottery if you don’t pay for the ticket, right? And the more you lose, the more likely you are to win next time.”
Oscar rolled his eyes to the ceiling and muttered something that sounded like “gambler’s fallacy,” whatever that was.
“Anyway.” I cleared my throat. “What were we talking about before?”
Oscar sighed. “I was talking about my oral skills,” he said dejectedly. “I was going to offer to demonstrate them for you, upstairs, all night long. You were gonna be putty in my hands.” He took a long drink of champagne. “But now I’m thinking about frogs.”
I stared, transfixed, at the way the strong, tanned column of his throat bobbed when he swallowed.
This man—this sexy, intelligent, witty man—wanted me. I sucked in a breath as a flash of heat kindled in my gut, and my balls tingled. There wasn’t a single thing romantic about it. He was not The One, this was not my HEA, and I knew exactly how it would end…
But Jesus fuck, I wanted him too.
I set my champagne on the bar with a little clack.
“Nine out of ten,” I declared.
Oscar’s head swiveled in my direction, and a confused pucker appeared between his brows. “What?”