Page 73 of The Wedding Situation Romance

“Maybe not your palm,” he says. “But I am interested in your aura. And your aura right now is very…pink.”

“Dude, shut the fuck up,” I snap, and Drew laughs.

“All I’m saying is one…I am not surprised it happened given the circumstances and your history.”

I arch an eyebrow. “History?”

“Yes. Your history of driving each other crazy. She is literally your sarcastic, conversational equal, my friend. Like it or not.”

“I mean, she is a lawyer’s daughter,” I say.

“Yeah? Which lawyer?” he asks.

“Not sure. Her last name is Delaney and I don’t know anybody by that name,” I answer.

“Either way, you two are fire and ice. Sex was inevitable, especially in a hotel suite overlooking the ocean with just one bed. And speaking of that,” he says, and I knew it would loop back to this. Honestly, I am starting to kick myself for setting a one-bed suite. Even though that room could have had ten, we would have ended up in the same one. At least I could say there was more than one.

“Yes?” I ask as we continue to walk.

“How did you pull that off?”

“Same thing I told her. It would have looked suspicious if we weren’t in the same room. Most couples these days aren’t saving themselves for marriage, especially not at my age.”

“And a suite was the only option…” Drew presses.

“The suite was an upgrade. Yes. I admit it. Ryan had us set up in a normal king room on, like, the seventh floor or some shit. Which I mean, come on. No offense, considering he paid for it and all, but the seventh floor overlooking the parking lot is hardly romantic–”

The world comes out of my mouth before I can stop it, and I immediately kick myself in the teeth for it.

“Romantic, huh?” he says.

“It’s a figure of speech,” I say.

“A figure of speech August Reid Remington never uses,” he says, and he’s not wrong. Just really fucking annoying.

“You know what I mean,” I snap, my tone a warning sign that he needs to tread lightly. Of course Drew doesn’t give a shit. He’s known me for too long to give a shit.

“Here’s a question,” he goes on. “Are you sure it wasn’t just meaningless sex?”

“I never said it was meaningless,” I argued.

“So it meant something.”

“It meant…it was good. Really good sex. Mind-blowing if I am being honest. Like I’ve never connected with a woman like that in the bedroom. Physically speaking, of course,” I answer.

“Of course,” he echos.

“And that’s all it meant. We are sexually compatible.”

“Alright,” Drew says. “And is there any area in which you are not compatible?”

I scoff. But I also don’t have an answer. So I reroute. This conversation is getting old, and we are at least a twenty-minute run from our cars.

“Is there a point to anything you’re asking me?” I ask.

“I just think you should be careful,” he says, and I roll my eyes.

“Careful of what?” I ask.