Page 55 of The Wedding Situation Romance

“I mean it. The other weddings are a bit more lax because they’re all just friends of mine. These are people I work with. Professionalism is a must.”

“And I will be just that,” I say, and I do mean it. He might drive me nuts, but I would never purposely hurt his image.

He can do that on his own.

“But it goes both ways,” I say as our food arrives. “No dragging me off into the woods or locking the two of us in a public restroom.”

“Done. And no wearing clothes you fall out of or grinding your ass against my crotch and then acting innocent,” he says, and I muffle a giggle.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” I tease, and he shoots me a look. The giggle escapes. “Fine. And no kissing me unless it’s for show. I’ll play arm candy since this is a professional appearance, but outside of the wedding itself, you have to agree to keep your hands to yourself.”

“Fine,” he says.

“Good,” I say.

“Great,” he ends it.

We eat our meal in more or less silence after that. And I can’t help but wonder if we are both thinking the same thing.

A destination wedding. At a beach. In a resort. Where the water is warm and the sand is white, the sun is cozy, and the alcohol is free…

I just pray wecanbehave. If we have a hard time keeping our hands to ourselves in the dank, muggy woods, I can’t imagine how it’ll be at a place like Myrtle Beach.

Chapter 23

Quinn

“Areyou sure this is a good idea?” Allegra asks. She is on a grocery run, but when I told her about the pop-up wedding, she took a detour to my apartment and is now sitting on my bed watching me pack.

“In short? No,” I answer. “But it’ll be fine,” I say as I toss clothes from my closet onto the bed between her and my open suitcase. Allegra grabs the clothes one by one and folds them before setting them neatly in the suitcase for me.

“Will it, though?” she asks. “It feels dangerous.”

I snort. “Dangerous? In what way?”

“In every way?” she asks. “Forgive me for doubting you two are capable of self-control.”

“We’ve been perfectly successful at controlling ourselves up to this point,” I say, and this time she chortles.

“Right.”

I look back at my friend. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

“It means that I am a therapist, Quinn. I literally majored in studying people. And you have not been one hundred percent honest about what has happened at these other weddings. That much I know for a fact.”

My jaw drops open, but no words come out. Because I can’t defend myself. Because she’s not wrong.

My cheeks blossom with pink splotches of embarrassment. “Okay fine. We’ve…fucked around a little.”

“Have you slept with him?” She asks, continuing to fold my clothes.

“No,” I say, and my tone is steady because I’m not lying. We haven’t. And won’t. Hopefully.

No, we won’t. We can’t.

“Well, that’s good. But that might be kind of hard to avoid this time, seeing as how it’s out of town,” she says.

“Allegra,” I say. “I am perfectly capable of not having sex when I don’t want to have sex,” I tell her.