Page 2 of The "I Do" Do-Over

Now I feel ready — ready for something different.

Something I’ve been secretly craving.

“Wouldn’t it be funny if we came home from Vegas with a souvenir?” I say, grinning wickedly.

I lean close to Boone. His breath is warm on my face. I don’t pull away.

He tucks one of my pink-dyed curls behind an ear. I shiver at the sensation.

“What kind souvenir?” he asks. “Besides all the memories, of course.”

Is it my imagination, or do I see a heat in his eyes that wasn't there before?

“You know what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?”

“Yeah . . .” he says slowly, forehead creasing.

“Wouldn't it be funny,” I giggle again, “if we came home married? Our parents would die.”

Boone snorts. “Could you imagine? They probably would.”

Our parents have been expecting the two of us to tie the knot practically since middle school. They couldn't understand why such good friends never became more than friends.

I know why.

What we have is too special. Too special to be ruined by a high school romance, an angsty fling that probably wouldn’t have lasted past graduation.

We were smart. We had had each other's backs but also kept our distance. Just in case.

“It'd be hilarious,” I hiccup. “The perfect prank.”

Boone leans closer, tracing the line of my jaw with a single thumb, sending goosebumps down my back. My body grows still, but my heart flutters inside my ribcage.

“What if . . .” he says slowly, searching my face as if it's a map that holds the clue to buried treasure. “What if it wasn't a prank?”

I hardly dare to breathe. “What do you mean?”

“You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Taryn.” His voice vibrates with emotion. “Ever since we were little kids, I've known it — you’re the one for me in every way. What if we seal the deal?”

I feel my eyes grow wide. “Is this a — a joke?” I manage to whisper, terrified that it is — and that it isn’t.

Boone shakes his head. “No joke. I know you feel it too, this connection between us. What if we became each other'sI do?”

I want to throw myself fully into his arms, shouting to anyone that will hear that yes, I will absolutely marry Boone.

But I don’t.

It seems only right that I should at least attempt to talk some sense into Boone. I should protest, to protect the fifteen years of friendship we’ve shared, with who knows how many more years to come.

Even if I don’t want to protest

“Are you serious?” I choke out.

“Damn serious,” he answers. “I played it cool through high school. Now we're twenty-one. We can do whatever we want, Taryn.”

“But—“

He doesn’t let me interrupt.“We’re not the dumb teenagers we used to be. So I feel far more confident that I won’t fuck it up when I say what I’ve wanted to for years.”

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