By the time we reached high school, Pete slimmed down, grew taller, and joined the wrestling team, but one thing remained the same—he always had my back. He was and still is my best friend.
Pete waved a finger around. “Over two dozen heads turned when you walked over here. I’m surprised you didn’t trip over a few drooling tongues along the way. I was afraid I’d have to kick some ass to fend them off.”
“Shut up.”
“No, you shut up!”
Pete seemed amused. “I think that’s what I love the most about you, kid. You’re the most self-deprecating person I know, even though you have absolutely no reason to be.” I winced. How absurd. “Everyone’s just curious to see who was able to capture Ry-an’s attention, that’s all.”
“See? You can’t even take a compliment about not being able to take compliments. You’ve always been an enigma, Ms. Mitchell. A complete contradiction.”
I bristled with fake horror. “Did you just call me an enema?”
“Yep. You’re a total pain in my ass.” I laughed at our banter. We had always had this easy friendship, even lasting while he was madly in love with Melanie, the sister of my ex, Thomas. Throughout the years I often pretended Pete and I were really brother and sister, separated by a tragic mix-up in the hospital. He was always there for me no matter what, watching over me like a brother should.
Something caught his eye. “Ryan is a good man . . . a real good man, Taryn. I’m glad everything worked out. You finally picked one that doesn’t trigger my urge to bash his head in.”
I smirked at his lording. “Thanks.” It warmed my heart to know that Pete and Ry-an had a lot of respect for each other.
The niggling memory of just seven days ago, when I thought Ryan’s parents had come to move him out of the apartment, crept back into my thoughts. “I just wish one of you would have told me what was going on.”
Pete’s attention averted to his drink but it was time we had this talk. “I almost did. I came close to spilling the beans a few times. I couldn’t stand seeing you in so much pain. Just know . . . it killed me.”
“So why didn’t you?”
He swirled the ice in his glass, hesitating.
“Truth? Because I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know if Ryan would actually do it or not. I mean, he told us he was going to. Hell, he even asked us all for our blessing. But then you two were touch-and-go there for a few days and . . .”
He straightened up and looked me in the eyes. “If we would have told you he was going to propose and then he didn’t . . . God . . . I just couldn’t do that to you, Taryn.” I rubbed my hand gently, briefly over his shoulder, trying to alleviate his obvious remorse. “I understand. I . . . I just feel like such an idiot, carrying on the way I did. Seeing him kiss Lauren in that restaurant and that freakin’ note . . . it was so convincing. I know I should have never doubted him, but standing there watching it, it was like reliving the Thomas nightmare all over again.
Only this time, it hurt a million times worse.” Pete’s lips curled into a familiar, sympathetic smile.
“I know what you’re going to say next,” I interjected, reading the rest of Pete’s expression. “I have to put that all behind me now and never allow myself to get that low again.”
“Yep,” he confirmed with a smirk. “But what you also have to keep in mind is that this time around, you’re with a guy who’s totally in love with you.”
I didn’t need to be an interpreter to catch Pete’s allusion. Despite his contrary actions and Pete’s opinion, Thomas did love me. He even said it to me out loud once. He just didn’t know how to show it all the time.
Pete glanced over in Ryan’s direction. “I mean, just look at him. He’s got all sorts of women hovering around him but he never acknowledges them—ever. He’s been like that since the first day he walked into your pub. Like you are the only woman on the planet. And the funny thing is, no matter where you are in the room, Ryan knows exactly where you are. He may be talking to somebody rich and famous but he’s always got one eye trained on you. That poor bastard. He’s such a goner.”
I rolled my eyes at his teasing.
“Speaking of goners . . . before I forget, Tammy has been bugging me. You know we still have a little problem with the wedding and who you’re going to be partnered with. I didn’t want to ask my cousin in case you wanted Ryan but . . . do you want me to ask Ryan?”
“Ask me what?”
My head jerked, surprised by his voice.
Ryan reached out and gently caressed my cheek in his hand, silently mouthing “hi” to me. In that moment, everything else ceased to exist. His love for me was overwhelming and in that instant something new, something profoundly deep tied us even stronger. I felt it as sure as I felt my own heartbeat. I gathered his warm hand quickly and gave it a kiss.
“Oh hey,” Pete said, giving me the “see what I mean” lopsided look I know so well.
Ryan straddled the chair next to me, pressing his body close to mine. My mind quickly veered to thinking about how much I’d like to just snuggle up in his arms and end this tiring day. I was starting to feel like Pete looked—exhausted. Ryan softly kissed the exposed skin on my shoulder and oh so seductively drifted the tip of his nose on my neck.
Freaking tease.
Pete cleared his throat. “Ryan, I was wondering how you’d feel about being Taryn’s partner in our wedding. I’d be honored if you were one of my groomsmen.”
Ryan perked up a bit. “Really? Wow. Sure, I guess. Um . . . wait. I don’t know,” he said.
That’s when he parked his forehead on my shoulder.
“I thought you were clear for the first weekend of September?” I reached for my phone to check his calendar, swearing that I had blocked it off, but other thoughts quickly dawned on me.
“I am, I think,” he muttered. “That’s not it.
Pete, I’m honored that you asked but I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. You know I tend to cause a stir wherever I go. I don’t want to ruin your wedding day. That’s your day.”
I set my evening bag back down on the table and sighed, imagining the pandemoni-um that would ensue from Ryan and me being seen in a church together. This morning’s tabloid gossip reported that Ryan proposed because I’m supposedly pregnant. “Yeah, he’s right. You don’t want the paparazzi at your wedding.”