Page 57 of Anything for You
But seriously, our girl is going to be the most beautiful girl at the wedding.
Chapter Twenty
Jeremy
“Why are you booking the Presidential Suite at the Fairmont for the night of my wedding?”
I whip around in my office chair at Ben’s voice, slamming my laptop closed. Ben and Jordan stand shoulder-to-shoulder behind me, twin smirks on their faces.
Shit.
I am, in fact, booking a suite at the Fairmont. It’s the only thing I’ve accomplished in the six hours I’ve been sitting in my office at the Foundation, other than mentally slapping myself every time I turn to my computer to Google the name Brian Simpson. I couldn’t bring myself to do a single thing on my to-do list. Everything bores me to tears, and I can’t stop thinking about that damn email that’s probably a prank or some guy trying to get a payday from the former NHL player. But also, maybe it’s not, and I have a brother out there somewhere and I still have no idea what the fuck I’m supposed to do with that.
“No reason.”
“Tell it to someone who believes you,” Jordan says, as he flops down on my office couch.
“Are you booking it for Hallie and me? That’s nice of you, man, but…”
I cut him off with a baleful look. “As if. Book your own hotel room.”
He sits down next to Jordan, spreading his arms across the back of the couch and crossing his legs at the ankles. “Not necessary. We want to go home after the wedding.”
“Seriously? You don’t want to have hot hotel sex on your wedding night?” asks Jordan. “Hotel sex is awesome.”
Deflect, deflect, deflect.
No need for everyone to know you’re booking a hotel room to spend the night with Emma. No need at all.
Ben shrugs. “We’re going to the Amalfi Coast for a week. We can have plenty of hotel sex. After our wedding we want to go home. Home sex is good too.”
Never have I ever met two bigger homebodies than Hallie and Ben. It makes me wonder what it would be like to love your home so much you rarely want to be anywhere else, even the night you get married. I’ve never had a home I wanted to be in that badly.
Even the one I live in now.
“So, if the Presidential Suite isn’t for me, who’s it for?”
“Who’s booking the Presidential Suite?” Asher saunters in, flopping down next to Ben, shoving Ben’s arm off the back of the couch.
“No one,” I mumble, wishing fervently for a sinkhole to open up and swallow my entire building and take me with it.
“Jeremy,” Jordan and Ben say together.
Asher looks positively gleeful. “You’ve been getting in her way, haven’t you? Man, when I’m right, I am so totally right.”
“Getting in whose way?” Ben asks.
“Emma’s.”
“Fucking Christ, Asher,” I mutter.
“Hooooly shit.” Jordan lets out a low whistle. “Is it finally happening? Are you shooting your shot? After all these years?”
I choose my words very carefully. “I’ve been…working on it.”
“Uh, a hotel suite seems like a little more than just working on it,” Jordan says with an appraising look.
Fuck, why do I have smart friends? The hotel is kind of a wild hair, and I don’t know if she’ll even like what I’m planning. I was kind of hoping to ask her before I tell these idiots, but I guess we’re doing this.
