Page 44 of The Best Man Wins

When I look at Braxton, I wish I hadn’t. His dark eyes look like coal, burning fiercely. “You want me to sleep with her,” he clarifies.

I shrug. “Well…if the inspiration hits.”

He takes a swallow from his glass, reaches into his back pocket, and pulls out his wallet. He drops a twenty on the bar counter and then says to me, “You’re right. This was a mistake. I’ll leave you to your bachelorette party.”

“Brax—”

He doesn’t acknowledge me; he simply gets up off the stool and exits as swiftly as he came.

Crap. I rush out to follow him, squeezing through the crowd to get to the door. Outside, the crisp fall weather is such a distinct contrast to the stifling heat inside that I can nearly taste the sharpness in the air.

On the porch outside, I see Braxton walking determinedly through the gravel parking lot below.

“Braxton!” Braxton has his hands stuffed deep in his black peacoat. For a second, I think he’ll keep walking, but then he stops. When he turns to me, the streetlight illuminates his deep frown.

“Go back inside, Susie.”

“Like hell. You can’t boss me around like one of your minions.”

“Boss you around?” He laughs—a short, cutting bark. “You’re the one who’s been puppeteering this whole farce. I’m not going to be your gigolo.”

“No. Gigolos get paid. I’m asking you to be you.”

Braxton lets out a growl—an actual animal noise. “Do you hear yourself?”

“Come on!” I extend a palm. “Just admit it! You’re a player. You slept with me after talking with me for a couple hours at a bar, you slept with half the bridal party—”

Braxton lifts a finger pointedly. “I didn’t sleep with Cynthia.”

“Oh, wow! So out of the entire sorority, there’s one woman you didn’t sleep with. Two, if you count your sister. Well done.” I drop my arms. “Look, I’m not judging you. I’m really not. I’m just saying maybe don’t yell at me when I call you out on it.”

“So that’s what you think of me,” he says shortly.

“I don’t know what to think of you!” I say, exasperated. “That’s the point. Every time I try to ask you questions about yourself or get to know you, you just shove me away. You’re built like a tank. Inside and out. There’s no getting through your armor.”

Braxton shifts slightly in his spot, as though even the thought of opening up puts him on pins and needles. “You’re not perfect either.”

“No,” I say plainly. “I’m not. I live vicariously through my brides. I orchestrate these beautiful proclamations of love knowing full well that I destroyed my one shot at that.” I shrug. “No one’s perfect. So why not embrace it?”

Braxton tosses up his hands. “I don’t want Mandy!”

“Why not? You don’t think she’s attractive?”

“She’s pretty.” He paces. “That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is it?” Braxton drops down a well of silence. I sigh. “Braxton. Talk to me.”

Braxton makes a face like he’s chewing on thumbtacks. He looks away from me and paces in a small circle, clearly struggling to pull his words together. Finally, he turns to me, drops his shoulders, and confesses, “I like you.”

I have to pause for a moment to process his words. “You like me?”

“Yes. I like you.” He spits out the words like an accusation. “I hate everything, but somehow, someway, I like you. I like your…smile. I like how your hair gets frizzy in the morning. I like how you find the silver lining to everything. You tell when I’m being an ass—which would normally irritate the heck out of me—but when you do it, I listen. And it makes me want to be less…I don’t know.” He’s borderline frenetic, raking his fingers through his hair.

I fill in the blanks helpfully. “Less of an ass?”

He drops his arms and turns to me. Sincerely, he says, “I’ve never felt this way before. Ever.”

His eyes are looking at me expectantly, but all I can do is stare dumbly. Oh. Oh no. These aren’t butterflies—this is a vice around my stomach, twisting and turning. My heart wants to soar, but every time it beats its wings a little faster, I feel caught like a kite, hesitation and doubt reeling me back down to earth.

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