Page 74 of Say Yes to the Hot Mess

I can hear his laugh rumbling in his chest, and I smile.

“So are you,” he admits. He pauses, then says, “I like your lips. I like the way your lips twitch when you’re trying not to laugh. And I like when you smile.”

“I like it when you laugh,” I say quietly. “It’s like getting to see something hidden and private.”

“I like the way you always want to learn new things,” he says. “The way you want to become more independent.”

“I like that you’re willing to take the time to teach me things I don’t know.”

“I like the way you look at the world like it’s one big opportunity.” His voice is quiet on this one, and much more serious. “I like that a lot.”

“I like the way you try to make my baby laugh.”

“And I like seeing how much you love Archer.”

And on and on we go, filling the space with all the things we like about each other, speaking our truths quickly, rapidly, as though we might run out of time—and though neither of us vocalize it, I know it’s because we both know this is the last chance we’ll get to be so open and honest. So we talk until the very end, until the music is cut off and the bouquet toss is announced.

I step away from Dex, feeling slightly disoriented, as though we were living in our own little world, and now reality is hitting hard.

Which, I suppose, wewere, and it is.

Dex rubs the back of his neck, and we stand there awkwardly for a second until I thrust my hand out into the space between us.

“Fake boyfriend,” I say quietly.

Some of the tension leaves his face. “Fake girlfriend,” he says, giving me a little smile. Then he gives a little nod at the group of women and girls gathering on the other side of the dance floor. “Go on. A bouquet awaits you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble, but I’m trying not to smile. I just make my way to the crowd, positioning myself in the very back. I fully do not care about catching the bouquet. Instead I look around, searching until my eyes find Dex. He gives me a thumbs up, and I roll my eyes, my lips twitching.

All things told, Dex and I were officially dating for roughly twenty-two minutes. And now that those minutes are gone, I want them back.

How crazy. How absolutely crazy. But it’s true.

When the bride tosses the bouquet—after more fanfare than necessary—I step back, trying to get out of the way. Because I saw this movie once where the bouquet nailed some poor girl right in the face, andnope, that is not going to be me. No black eyes or bloody noses for this girl.

But the flowers seem to move in slow motion, a big bunch of red and pink and leafy greenery. The bouquet comes closer, and I panic, shimmying out of the way.

But the next thing I know, someone’s elbow is being shoved into my gut. I stumble sideways, sideways, trying to regain my footing—

Only to regain my footing right into rickety old Grandma Cynthia. With a yelp from me and a loud “oomph” out of Cynthia, we go down into one tangled heap.

Somewhere, vaguely, I hear acrack.

Eighteen

Dex

A broken wrist.That’s what Maya gets from falling on top of Grandma Cynthia, her hand wedging itself at an odd angle between Grandma and the floor and then taking all of their weight.

Grandma Cynthia gets a broken hip.

It’s not a good night for anyone.

“Ow,” Maya whimpers as she stumbles into our hotel room, stubbing her toe as her feet elude her.

“Careful, careful,” I say quickly, steadying her. She now has pins in her wrist with a splint and a sling keeping things in place, and she’s still riding the pain medication train. It’s well into the early morning hours, and I would have driven us back home tonight if not for the fact that I need sleep, and she needs to be chaperoned.

“It hurts,” she says now, looking at me with big, watery eyes.

---