Page 50 of The Best Man Wins

“You don’t do a very good job of taking care of yourself. Case in point.”

I sigh. “It’s not that I…purposefully don’t take care of myself.”

“What is it, then?”

I think. The nighttime air feels heavy and quiet, like I can say anything here and it’ll never leave this barn. “I get a new project and I get…excited. And passionate. And…”

“You fall in love.”

“Yes. I fall in love.” I distract myself by writing shapes into his chest. “I love Cora. And I love Ray. I want them to have something special at the end of all this.”

Braxton lapses into a silence at that. It’s not an uncomfortable silence. It’s a thick, navy blue, nighttime silence, and it envelops us.

“We should go inside,” he says.

But the thought of leaving his warmth seems unbearable. “One more minute,” I whisper as I feel my eyes start to drop.

“Okay.”

Before I know it, I fall asleep to the steady rhythm of his breaths.

23

Susie

I squint against the shaft of light. It flickers off my eyelashes, peeking through the rust-colored maple trees outside. I groan and roll over, away from the light. My brain has been thickly marinating in alcohol all night, and I need a couple more seconds to sleep it off.

I roll onto Braxton’s strong, sturdy chest. He’s still asleep, his breaths rising and falling deeply. He’s warm too, body heat radiating like a furnace, and I snuggle tightly against it.

At some point last night, he managed to get me back into my clothes and carried me back into the house, into his room. We’re still on top of the covers, both fully clothed. Well. Mostly. I managed to kick off one sock in the middle of the night, and the sleeve of my shirt is twisted around my arm. Apparently, I was fighting beasts in my sleep. Braxton, on the other hand, sleeps like a corpse. I don’t think he’s moved once all night, his legs still straight out in front of him, one arm around me, the other on his stomach.

I feel like poking the statue. I slip my hand up his shirt and trace my fingertips over the muscles carved into his stomach. Still nothing. I press a kiss to his neck, underneath his jaw. “Braxton,” I murmur softly.

Again, nothing. I nibble his ear and tug his earlobe between my teeth. “Braaaaax,” I coo.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t even open his eyes, but this time, I get an audible response. “What?”

Grumpy. Did I think he would be any other kind of morning person? I stroke my hand over his chest. “Guess what day it is?”

“Friday.”

“Accurate. But not what I’m going for.” I rest my cheek against his chest. “It’s the day of the rehearsal brunch. Which means I have exactly twenty-four hours to pull off a full-fledged wedding. You know. No big deal.”

Braxton shifts his arm around me so he can look at his Rolex. “Twenty-five hours.”

“Oh, goodie.” I tickle my fingers over his chest. “What should we do with the extra hour?”

I feel his abdomen clench just slightly at my touch. “Stop,” he says.

“What?” I ask, feigning innocence as I bat my eyes up at him.

He growls and rolls over on top of me, his fingers locking my offending hand above my head. As he does, I feel his stiffness strain through his pants and press against my leg.

“Oh.” I flicker my eyes down and then back to his face. “That.”

“Shouldn’t you be hungover?”

“You’re right.” I slip my free hand through his thick curls and tug his hair. “I could use a little hair of the dog.”

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