Page 67 of The Best Man Wins

“You’re not so bad yourself,” I add.

His eyes flicker over to me. “Better or worse than Ace?”

“Ace who?” I ask, batting my eyes.

There’s that look I was hoping for. Braxton looks like he’s trying so hard to bite back a smile, but somehow always loses the battle around me. “Good answer,” he praises me with a kiss.

“As much as I’d love to stay here…and do that all day…”

“I know.” Braxton plucks his glasses off the floor. “Let’s get going.”

31

Susie

On our way to the Holiday Inn, I pull down the passenger-side mirror. I run my fingers through my hair, fix my lipstick, and try to make myself look a little less like I’ve been rolling around in the back seat with Braxton.

Braxton, on the other hand, leaves himself as is. He’s lucky—he always looks ready to take on the world. He could pull out of me, zip up his pants, and go straight into a business meeting and no one would be any the wiser. The thought makes my thighs clench a little tighter. Focus, Susie.

We drive up to the hotel minutes later. Braxton leaves his blazer balled up under the seat, and we head inside. We take the elevator up to Thom and Marlee’s room. I follow the maze of numbers until we get to theirs, and I knock on the door.

It’s only a moment before the door swings open. Thom stands on the other side of it, and immediately, his eyes graze us. His lips press into a frown.

“You two have clearly been having crazy rabbit sex without us,” Thom announces. “How uncouth.”

“We’re not…what?” I fumble.

“Your boyfriend has your lipstick on his neck.”

Braxton’s hand flies to his throat as though he’s been bit, and he rubs the offending smudge off.

“Can we come in?” I ask delicately. Thom is perched like a hawk and clearly in a mood.

“If this is a coup…” Thom starts.

“No. No coup.” I lift my palms to show him I mean no harm. “I’m not here to take over. You’re right. I thought I could handle this and…I can’t.” I shrug. “I’m just here to help.”

Thom watches me skeptically, but then the hardness around his eyes softens and the crease leaves his forehead. “Bollocks. It takes big balls to come crawling back,” he admits. “All right, come on in. Welcome to the front lines.”

Whatever can be said about Thom, he is organized. There is no madness here, only method—unless, of course, a wall full of Post-it notes, magazine cutouts, and invoices looks like madness.

Okay. It does look a little mad in here. But my heart lifts. “It feels like coming home,” I sigh as I take in the wall and slip my cardigan off my shoulders.

Thom is pleased, I can tell, even though he’d never admit it. “Yes, well. We don’t play here.”

“Hi!” Marlee says and waves. She’s sitting cross-legged on the furthest of the twin beds with her laptop in front of her, Bluetooth in one ear. She offers a bag of hotel pretzels. “Want some?”

“No, thank you,” I say. Braxton perches on the edge of the bed beside her, however, and does take a pretzel. “What’s the damage?”

“Marlee is on flower duty. Meanwhile, I’ve been going back and forth with the antique store trying to get the wedding altar up and ready.” Thom sits down at a desk, piled up with folders. His large laptop sits on the desk, and he starts clicking through to a spreadsheet. “Otherwise, we’re going to have to have them stand under an IKEA room divider.”

“Okay.” I push a stray piece of hair behind my ear, out of my face, so I can focus. “I’ll call Mike. I’m sure I can get him to work something out. Can you pull up his number?”

He hovers his finger over a line on the screen. “Here you are.”

I flip out my phone and get to work. We dive into it, headfirst. Thom has everything organized on spreadsheets and lists, every job color-coded: green for done, yellow for needs to be done, red for should have been done yesterday. He delegates jobs between Marlee and me, but by the end of the night we’re flowing smoothly back and forth. Calling, emailing, organizing. Pulling all the final threads together to make tomorrow possible. Braxton mostly stays out of it and makes sure we’re all eating. At one point, he leaves and comes back with containers of Chinese food, which he doles out between the four of us and refuses to take money for.

Thom’s extensive wall of wedding to-dos covers the window, so I lose all track of time. I don’t even realize how much time has passed until I look at the clock on the computer screen. It’s 3:06 a.m.

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