Page 13 of Three Pucking Wedding Dates

The bartender comes back with our drinks, and I eye my glass almost warily. When’s the last time I drank whiskey? Probably not since I was in high school, and I hadn’t had plans of changing that tonight.

Reid gently elbows me, encouraging me, and I pick up the glass and mentally prepare myself for a second before throwing it to the back of my throat, relishing the burn and setting the glass back down hard on the table, shaking my head and scrunching up my nose from the horrid taste.

Reid quickly follows suit, but doesn’t have the same reaction as me. I wonder how often he drinks whiskey. “You took that like a champ.”

“I don’t know how I drank so much in high school.”

“Ah, yes. You used to be so much fun back then.”

“And I’m not now?”

“How would I know?”

It’s a reminder that we haven’t spent too much time together over the years. The bartender comes back. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Uh, just water for me, please,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. The one glass is enough for me.

Reid raises an eyebrow at my request, a teasing grin playing on his lips. “Come on, Oakley. Live a little. One more drink?”

I hesitate, biting my lip. “I agreed to one, Reid. Besides, I’m kind of a lightweight.”

“Since when?” He frowns.

“Since I stopped having all that fun in high school.”

“Hey,” he says, his tone softening. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you. I’m not like some of these guys.” He nods toward a group of men in the corner, their laughter boisterous and predatory.

“Fine,” I relent, sighing. “Just one more drink, and then you take me to the house.”

“Perfect,” Reid replies with a wink, then turns to the bartender. “Two whiskey sours, please.”

As the bartender walks away to prepare our drinks, I can’t help but feel a twinge of anxiety. Alcohol has never been my friend, and the thought of losing control—even a little—sends shivers down my spine.

The bartender comes back with our whiskey sours. I don’t drink this one nearly as fast, attempting to sip on it. The tart taste of lemon and warmth of whiskey dance on my tongue, the alcohol already spreading a pleasant buzz through my veins.

“Alright, Oakley,” Reid says, swirling the ice in his glass. “I have to ask. Did you even love the guy?”

“Who? Dan?”

“Who else?”

I hesitate, the question stirring up a maelstrom of emotions within me. The truth is painful, but perhaps it’s time to face it head-on. “No,” I confess, my voice barely more than a whisper.“I wasn’t in love with him. I thought I was, but looking back…it was more of an infatuation, I guess.”

“Then, why were you with him?”

I shrug. “It was easy, I guess, something I could count on. I never expected him to cheat,” I admit, my eyes downcast as the memories of betrayal resurface. “I thought he cared about me. That we had something special. But I was wrong.”

“Settling isn’t special. There’s more to life than being with someone because it’s easy. Honestly, don’t you think you deserve more than that?” Reid reaches across the bar to place a hand over mine.

The warmth of Reid’s hand on mine sends a shiver down my spine, and I can’t help but feel a flicker of something more than just gratitude for his support. He holds my gaze, the intensity in his green eyes almost making me forget the bustling bar around us.

“And in your opinion, what kind of person do I deserve?”

“Someone who is truly passionate about you. Someone who wants to explore every inch of your mind and body, who craves your touch like it’s their lifeline,” he describes, his voice low and captivating.

As Reid speaks, I find myself leaning closer, drawn in by the magnetic pull between us. His words paint a vivid picture in my mind, one that seems both tantalizing and dangerously alluring. I swallow hard, feeling a sudden surge of boldness.

“Are you that someone, Reid?” I tease playfully, raising an eyebrow as I challenge him. My heart races in anticipation of hisresponse, and I wonder if this is really just a game or if there’s a hint of truth behind my question.

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