Page 93 of Truth or Tequila (Grand Slam 1)

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The four-hour drive to Chicago felt like it took four days, but now that I’m pulling up to the hotel, I wish that it had taken a little longer. I’ve been trying to figure out what to say to Sophie, but I haven’t come up with anything great yet.

“Hey,” the valet says, squinting his eyes, “you look just like Seb Miller.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.” I crawl out of the car and hand him the keys. “I’m not a big sports fan. He plays football, right?”

“Baseball,” he laughs. “He’s the catcher in Miami.”

“Cool. Well, at least he has a nice place to play.”

He hands me the valet stub. “Are you sure you’re not him?”

I grab the pen out of his shirt pocket and autograph the stub.

“Keep the car close, okay?” I say, handing him a hundred.

“Nice.” He nods his head and smiles. “I’m a Cubs’ fan. Why do you always have to beat up on us so much?”

“There’s something about Wrigley, brother.” I chuck him on the shoulder. “Keep it close. I might be out of here in a few minutes.”

“You got it, Seb.”

I try to keep my head low as I walk through the lobby to the concierge.

“Hey. I’m looking for a wedding. First name of the bride is Maisie.”

He looks up and smiles. “Yes, the Clarkson/Monroe wedding. Grand Ballroom. It’s marked on the elevator.”

As I get off the elevator, I walk into the ballroom just in time to see Maisie—in the fluffiest wedding dress I’ve ever seen—yelling at a group of people. She’s pointing a bunch of flowers at them. I walk a little bit further into the room and see Sophie in the group. She’s wearing a pink, silky long dress that’s clinging to every glorious curve of her body. Her hair’s flowing down her back in a mass of curls. She looks so beautiful that I almost can’t breathe.

“Sophie!” Maisie yells, pointing the flowers at her. “Quit being a coward! This is meant for you, and only you.”

Sophie grabs some young girls and pulls them in front of her. It looks like she’s using them as human shields.

“You can’t make me do anything! Your bridal card expired the minute you said, ‘I do.’ Remember?” Sophie says, ducking down behind the kids.

Maisie turns around briefly—her back to the group—but then whips around and throws the flowers right at Sophie. Sophie puts her hands over her head. I jump forward and catch the flowers just before they hit her.

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