Page 94 of The Bridges I've Burned

He just grinned. “Dressing room, huh?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Nice.”

“So, are you gonna tell me what she told you? Or am I gonna have to bribe it out of you?”

“You’re asking me to breach my wife’s confidence?”

Someone said hi to Macon as they headed to the exit, and he gave a friendly nod.

“She’s not your wife yet. Also, uh, yeah,” I said plainly, “spill the tea.”

“Jesus, you are a West Coaster now, aren’t you?”

I just laughed as we moved forward in line.

Finally, he let out a sigh. “Fine, but only because you’re my brother and also ’cause I don’t want you to mess this up. But I want the biggest fucking latte they make and at least three doughnuts. It would have been six, but Marin spared me the gory dressing room details. Thank fuck.”

“Done. Although, if that’s what we’re basing it on, I think you owe me a few doughnuts after having to hear Billy’s lawn furniture story. Seriously, I might never be able to go to a cookout again.”

He snorted. “Probably shouldn’t sit anywhere in our house then.”

Dude, gross.

“Also, we applied for the marriage license, and I bought the ring, so she’s my damn wife.”

His logic was flawed, but I didn’t think anyone could argue when he had that dopey smile on his face.

We got to the counter, and I found myself face-to-face with none other than the Manic Fanatic teen from the engagement party. Her eyes latched on to me, grazing over the leather bomber I’d specifically worn to cover my tattoos in public. Her face scrunched in confusion. Finally, Macon got her attention, and I let out a sigh of relief. Hendrix had been keeping up the ruse on my social media that I was in LA, so when we finished ordering and the girl moved on to the next customer without bothering to look up, I knew it must be working.

We found a table near the back and settled in while we waited for our order to be ready. Macon leaned back in his chair, his overgrown haircut such a contrast to the military buzz cut I remembered him with. I’d thought that would be the last time I saw him.

I was glad it wasn’t.

“So, you got a fetish for women in wedding dresses?” he teased as his arms folded casually across his chest. He was dressed down this morning in tan shorts and a dark blue shirt that sported the logo for Billy’s restaurant.

I wonder if they have those in black…

I shook my head and shrugged. “I blame Billy Idol, honestly.”

My brother chuckled. I thought about the way her eyes had come alive when I asked her what color wedding dress she’d choose.

“I just wanted her to have a bit of fun. I get the feeling that she doesn’t have a lot of it.”

He looked pensive. “She works a lot,” he stated.

“So do I. So do you,” I answered. “Are you saying she works a lot and you don’t think she enjoys it?”

He didn’t answer.

“Does she date?” I moved on, hating the question before I even finished asking it.

“I feel like these are things you should be asking her.” He gave me a pointed stare.

This is not three doughnuts’ worth of tea.

“Okay, fair,” I relented.

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