Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
The frisson of heat surging through me tells me exactly who just saved me before I even look, but I look anyway, hoping I'm wrong.
Nope.
Briggs Ward, brother of the groom and the man supposed to walk me down the aisle, is right there, his hands still around my waist.
Of course the hottest fucking man at this wedding would find me right now. Of course he would.
If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all.
I glance up, meeting his denim eyes. That frisson dies a quick death when I see the amusement tugging at the corners of his lips.
He's as infuriating as he is beautiful, and believe me, the man is stunning. Those gorgeous eyes are just the tip of the iceberg with him. There's also the thick dark hair, the full, kissable lips always tipped up in this smile that says he knows something I don't, and more muscles than my brain can even process. He's effortlessly sexy and annoyingly charming.
He also has this way of focusing on me that's had me in a constant state of fight, flight, or fuck since we met last night. It's like I don't know whether I want to climb him, flee from him, or karate chop him in the throat. This is a problem for a few reasons. One, I just met him yesterday. Two, he's my brother's friend. And three, like my brother, he plays hockey.
The red flags don't come in a brighter shade. If there's anything I've learned in my twenty-four years on this planet, it's to stay away from attractive men, especially if they're friends with my brother or play hockey.
Don't get me wrong, my brother is great. But he's the exception to the rule. In my experience, most hockey players are cocky, self-serving assholes. Like Daniel Jordan, the jerk I dated during my freshman year of college. He had me convinced he was a good guy…right up until I found out precisely how wrong I was.
He was never the guy he pretended to be. He just wanted to win a bet and bragging rights with some of his stupid teammates. And I was the bet.
The whole, ugly truth came out in front of his entire team and three dozen witnesses the morning after I gave him my virginity.
My freshman year was hell because of him and his teammates. And I haven't dated since. I will never be a stupid bet, game, or bragging rights for some brainless athlete ever again.
"You know you're supposed to drink the water, not flood the church, right?" Briggs asks me, chuckling again.
"This isn't funny!" I whisper-hiss in response. Except…it kind of is. The water fountain in the church has gone demonic, I look like a drowned rat, and I'm being rescued by the man I dreamed about last night.
If you don't laugh at your misery…well, then you're just miserable. Might as well get a laugh or two out of it, right?
"What happened?" he asks, his gaze raking down my body. To his credit, his eyes don't linger very long on my boobs, which I'm sure he can probably see through my dress right now.
"I wanted water. The fountain said no," I grumble, trying to wring out my hair. "I think the church needs an exorcism."
"Wrong denomination, babe," Briggs chuckles before kneeling at my feet.
My mind immediately goes to places it shouldn't be in a place of worship.
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…
"What are you doing?" I hiss, swatting at his hand when he reaches out.
His brows furrow. "Turning off the water? I mean, unless your plan was to turn Harlan and Sophie's wedding into a biblical flood?"
Oh, right. The water.
I slide out of his way, pretty sure my face is flaming red.
I watch as he reaches beneath the fountain, twisting something. Within two seconds, the geyser has turned to a trickle and then ceased entirely.
Dammit. I didn't think to check underneath the fountain for the shutoff valve.
"There," he says, rising gracefully. "Problem solved."
"Um…" I blink at him, then grimace. His white shirt is plastered to his chest in spots, soaked through to his golden skin. "Now, you're all wet, too."
His gaze flicks down to his wide chest and then back to me, darker than they were just a second ago. "Not nearly wet enough," he mutters.
"What?"
"I said it's just a little water," he lies.
"That is not what you said."
"I'm sure it is."
See? This is why he's infuriating! He says one thing and then swears he didn't say it, even though I absolutely heard it. He's been doing it since we met last night.
At first, I thought maybe he was drunk, but then I noticed him nursing the same beer all night, so there went that theory. And then I thought maybe it was some concussion symptom…until I heard him discussing astrophysics with Vanessa's dad, an actual astrophysicist. I don't think he could have held his own in that conversation if his brain were broken. So I've landed on my third and final theory: he's doing it intentionally.