Page 58 of Wild Hit
No. Yes. Sorta?
I really want to see Dad’s face when I tell him I’m married and to whom, and then see Henry’s ego be yeeted into outer space forever.
But me? A wife? Oh my word.
Oh. My. Word.
“Ha ha, yes. Ha,” I respond, clearly at my wit’s end.
We file out of the club the same way we did, in pairs with our respective partners except for Lucky. It’s a shame that I don’t have another girl friend nearby for them to keep each other company, but my literal only other girl friend is a hotshot executive atSPORTYand lives up in Connecticut. She’s visiting in the fall, and I couldn’t in good conscience pull her away from her busy schedule for these absurd shenanigans.
Inevitably, this means that now I sit at the back of the limo alone with Miguel. He’s texting again, just like he did all through the drive to the club.
I nudge him gently and ask, “Is that Marty?” His daughter is by far the best part of this bargain, and she was really pissedthat she couldn’t come to the wedding and had to stay home with Consuelo.
Miguel flinches a little as if I just asked the most surprising thing in the world. “No. It’s my cousin.”
Since when does he have a cousin? Or is that code for something else?
I don’t actually know the guy, and this is the moment when that strikes me. We haven’t talked much about our families beyond the immediate ones, or about our hopes and dreams, or about any boundaries during this arrangement.
Swallowing hard, I broach the more immediate one. “Miguel, can I ask you yet another favor?”
He’s been watching my face all this time, and he remains calm and collected. “Of course.” Nothing but sincerity behind his eyes, like he’s cool if I ask him to steal a cruise boat together.
“Can we fake the kiss after the vows?” I grab at the hem of my dress. “I just think that should be kept for a real wedding with honest feelings, you know? I’m not, er, I don’t want to mock something that is so important for other people.”
He blinks exactly three times before opening his mouth. “Of course,” he parrots again. “That’s fine. We won’t do anything you don’t want to.”
“Thank you.”
He turns his attention back on texting his cousin. I try to fixate on the view outside the window. Lights of all colors streak by as we drive to the chapel. My stomach jumps, my whole body tingles, yet I feel exhausted already. Like an hour and change of dancing with the man next to me was the biggest test of endurance I’ve ever survived.
Well, I think as I peek at him from the corner of my eye, what can I expect from an elite athlete at the top of the pecking order? Even his fingers have muscles, for goodness’s sake.
It’s a good thing that I don’t have to keep up with him for real, huh?
I turn back to the window so none of these hawk-eyes can catch the embarrassed cringe in my face.
I really need to put him back in thepersoncategory rather than in themanone. Just the same way I view Logan, Lucky, and Cade, and the rest of the team.
Too soon, the limo pulls into a gigantic parking lot and keeps going and going. One of my knees starts to bounce. Miguel finally puts his phone away. Lucky’s giving some kind of speech that I can’t focus on. The limo keeps rolling. I try to swallow but there’s no saliva left, and I can practically hear the rush of my blood across my body. Why is the Cowboy getting up from his seat? Oh shit, the limo finally stopped. My heart trips on itself and I gasp.
Quietly, Miguel offers me his arm and for reasons I can’t quite describe with my lizard brain, the gesture opens up my lungs again. I hold onto his steel-like arm and step off the vehicle with way more confidence than I really feel.
“Breathing is a good idea,” Miguel whispers in a way I can only describe as kind. His eyes are molten chocolate and the corners of his lips are tipped upward.
I nod rapidly and force myself to take one deep breath after the next, until my head’s no longer swimming and my eyes can focus.
Our friends walk in front of us into a reception area. It’s large enough to play a full basketball game, with elegant chairs packed with couples and their witnesses. What surprises me the most isn’t the screen with numbers like this is the DMV, but the fact that most people look pretty sober. I guess I did right by not drowning my sorrows with a bottle.
Instead of joining the people who are clearly waiting their turn, someone intercepts Lucky at the front of the group and after exchanging a quick word, they guide us to keep going.
“What’s happening?” I ask Miguel.
“We’re a couple of minutes late, so it’s our turn already,” he explains, and all I can do is let out a tiny mewl. His other hand comes on top of mine, large, hot, and calloused. Very man, mucho macho.
We keep to what would otherwise seem like a grim silence. But in my case I’m just freaking out, and maybe Miguel is too. I guarantee he didn’t have getting married in his bingo card when he moved to Orlando, or that Elvis was gonna be the officiant.
