Page 2 of Til Divorce Do Us Start

I sink back into my chair, doing my best to ignore the eyes Iknowkeep flicking my way. Again and again. The weight of his gaze burns like a spotlight, but I refuse to look up.

There’s not enough tequila in this city to make this bearable—but hell, I’m willing to try.

One hour. Just one hour.

Then we head to the chapel, Trish and Alex will say their vows, sign their certificate, and I’ll never have to seehimagain. I’ve dealt with worse in the boardroom. I can handle this.

Trish finally returns to the table, sliding into the seat beside me and leaning in, her voice low and coaxing. “Come on, smile, eat something! Why are Alex and I the only ones talking?”

Because your best man is a walking trigger, I want to say.

But instead, I reach for a breadstick and force a smile that feels like cardboard.

My eyes finally flick to Colin.

Of course, he’s making a point of not looking at me. Typical. So mature.

God, if he wasn’t so...objectivelyattractive.

I hate him—fully, passionately, eternally—but maybe if he didn’t look like that, I wouldn’t have quite so much fuel for the fire. Five years older, only six inches taller, but somehow he looks massive next to me. Like he takes up more air, more space, moreeverything.

Those deep blue eyes of his—stormy, unreadable—are filled with secrets I wish I didn’t still want to unravel. His darkblonde hair is short and just tousled enough to look effortless. Silky, too. Not that I’d know that from experience or anything—

Except I do.

Because I grabbed it. Fisted it. Used it to guide him while he—

No. Not going there. It was a mistake. Ahorrible, whiskey-fueled one-night stand that should’ve stayed buried. No matter how rugged or intense or annoyinglyhothe looks now—especially with that grumpy expression—I am done with it. Totally.

I snort quietly, and that’s when he finally looks up. Our eyes meet.

He lifts a brow, cool and unreadable. Of course he does. But he will not fool me this time.

“Jeans aren’t exactly wedding attire,” I mutter, downing another drink. God, I wish I were a lightweight like Trish—one shot and she’s giggling through the night, while I need a small army of cocktails just to take the edge off.

Colin arches an eyebrow, his eyes flicking to my dress for a split second before looking away again. That tiny glance shouldn’t affect me, but it does, crawling over my skin like static. I know I’m nitpicking… slightly. But someone has to make sure this wedding goes smoothly, and I’ve appointed myself Chief of Perfection. Besides, conversations with Colin tend to drop dead the second they start, so I shift focus—ordering more drinks, cracking jokes, trying to lift the mood, anything to keep us all light and laughing.

Still, every time I sense him looking at me—or catch him stroking that annoyingly perfect stubble—I feel my mind betray me. That night flashes back like a slow burn: his voice, lowand rough, curling around me like smoke; his hands, large and possessive, claiming every inch of me; every hushed praise and filthy promise murmured against my skin. It had been the hottest, most overwhelming night of my life. And then… nothing. Just the cold shock of waking up alone, his side of the bed already empty.

I sip again, harder this time. One night, and he vanished like it never happened. LikeInever happened. But no matter how good he looked—or how good hewas—I’m not going back there.

“Another! Now frowning today, Noelle!” Trish orders, pushing a mixed drink into my hand. “Drink!”

I swallow my decade old memory of my best and worst night with Colin. Enough tequila will burn it all away and that’s the goal. I balance with food to avoid being sloppy drunk, but artfully avoid talking to Colin at all. Until my liquid courage makes me bold.

“Aren’t you going to drink?” I ask, eyeing the untouched shot in front of him.

Colin lifts an eyebrow. “One of us has to make sure we make it to the chapel in one piece.”

“Oh, so youcan’thold your liquor. Got it,” I say sweetly, then snatch his shot and toss it back without hesitation.

“I didn’t realize you were so eager to end up tipsy and ridiculous ... again,” he sneers.

I narrow my eyes, feeling the tequila burn its way down. It’ll hit me later, no doubt, but Colin has always had that effect—equal parts irritating and intoxicating. “I was sober enough to remembereverything.And ten years changes a lot.”

“Not your drink of choice, apparently,” he mutters. “I remember you saying—”

“Oh, you remember?” I cut in, voice sharp. “Must be a quiet life if you’ve got time to cling to a decade-old one-night stand.”

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