Page 42 of Bridesmaid to Bride

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Skye puts up a palm. “Could be someone else’s. Brielle mentioned a grad school boyfriend, so we’ll just have to see.”

“Holy shit.” I blow out a breath. Seriously—what if Zach has a kid? I mean, I really don’t know what Paige would do. I’d like to think she’d stick around and be a great stepmom, but she’s a wild card. I just never know with her.

“Looks like Brielle just snagged the top spot on the suspect scoreboard.” West points to her Post-It.

“In fairness, the other two remaining suspects are you and me, West.”

“True. So, what’s the next move?” West falls back against the plush couch, now scrubbing Balls’ underbelly. I never, ever thought I’d say this before, but I’m kind of getting jealous of that dog. West can give my underbelly a good rub, that’s for sure. Okay, that’s weird, but I know how good West is with his hands.

“You two have to do your bridal party duties, so I’ll trail her.” Skye marks some sort of symbol on her Post-It.

I groan. “I really like her.”

“So do I,” West says, and I shoot him a questioning look. “As a friend,” he adds.

I don’t like that, but I put myself in check because he has a right to like whoever he wants. Moving on, I say, “We have to catch her before she does anything else to mess up the wedding. And hello—we need the truth about whether Zach’s the father of her little girl.”

“Consider it done,” Skye says, and I believe her.

20

Memory Lane

WEST

Eva heads out of Skye’s room with a mile-high list of things to do. I can’t help but stare at her amazing body and the way she moves. I’m trying to play it cool, but after last night, I’m anything but cool.

Holy shit—that was amazing.

Well, until we got caught. And now my mind’s a goddamn pinball machine, thoughts pinging off every mental bumper. I know I’m supposed to be focused on Zach and the wedding saboteur, but I can’t. Eva’s taking up all my mental space, and I need to have a heart-to-heart with Skye because if there’s anyone who can unscrew the lid on this bottled-up mess of emotions, it’s her.

As soon as Eva’s out of earshot, I say, “Can I get your advice?”

“Of course.” Skye sits next to me on the couch, letting Coco jump on her lap before she says, “So. Talk to me, you big bundle of stud muffin.”

“Right,” I croak.

“Sweetie, you should be riding high. But you look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“Just all up in my head.” I tap my fingers on Balls’s back.

“Let’s crack that head open, then.”

“Thanks.” I sink deeper into the cushions. “I’ve got this... thing. It’s gnawing at me.”

“Ah, the infamous ‘thing.’” She moves Coco over and makes room for Dior to jump on her lap too.

“Right.” I run a hand through my hair, now questioning if looking good equates to feeling good. Spoiler: it doesn’t.

“Hit me with it.”

I hesitate, my brain accessing the lost-and-found bin of emotional crap. I pick at a thread on the couch, winding it around my finger. “I have a hard time expressing my feelings.”

“Ah.” Skye scrubs both dogs’ heads at the same time. “Okay, so the first step I take is to go hunting in the murky waters of someone’s past.”

“I see.” I sigh, old embarrassment heating my cheeks. “So you want me to tell you something that damaged me.”

“If something comes to mind.”

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