Page 93 of Something Borrowed

Emotions whirl inside my chest like a tornado, all my protection and preconceived notions blowing away like Dorothy’s house, leaving me with one solid, immutable fact in my head.

I love and need Stan, and I don’t want him to marry Bennett.

I want him to be mine because, somehow, I’m his, and that will never change.

It’s the single most terrifying thing I’ve ever felt because Stan just gave his forever to another man.

“Shit,” I whisper. “Shit,” I repeat for good measure.

“Raff, have you had too much sun? You’re not making sense, and your forehead was hot when I touched it.” Stan’s brows arch and his face is full of concern.

I step back again. Apparently, my body thinks I need distance from these fucking feelings he’s inflicted on me. Maybe if I walk away, the feeling will go.

“I’m fine,” I whisper.

“Oh, Mister Kendrick, wait,” Kostas calls.

“Perfectly fine,” I say again loudly. “Completely and utterly tickety-boo.”

“Mister Kendrick, you’re too close to?—”

“Raff,” Stan says. “You’re moving away from me. Are you okay?”

“I’m so fine I can’t even tell you,” I say brightly.

Then I take another step back and fall off the fucking mountain.

Chapter

Twelve

Stan

“Are you sure you’re okay?”I ask for the fiftieth time, putting my hand on Raff’s forehead.

He pushes at my hand. “It isn’t my forehead that’s broken. It’s my sense of dignity.”

I try not to laugh, but a snort escapes me. “Sorry, sorry,” I say as he huffs indignantly. “I’m not laughing, honestly.”

“Then what was that sound, Stanley?”

“It was a commiserating noise so you don’t feel so alone in your embarrassment.”

“Oh really? And were you with me when I fell off a mountain?”

“No, but I think it was actually more of a hill.”

“And were you with me when my archenemy Chris had to carry me?” he says loudly.

“No. I did walk behind, though. And if it’s any consolation to you, he said he wished he could have thrown you off the side.”

“And were you with me when he shook his manly hair, straightened his manly shoulders, and took most of my weight in his arms?”

I bite my lip. “Not that I remember,” I say meekly.

“I didn’t think so. He never even broke a fucking sweat, Stan.”

I feel around for the damp towel, and he huffs and shoves it into my hand.

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