Page 47 of One Bride for Three Single Dads

Which is a whole work day. Or in this case, night, because we leave at almost 10 p.m.

I am never gonna make it.

But I can’t let that show! Harrison and Ambrose would never let me hear the end of it. They will accuse me of being afraid of flying. I’m not afraid of flying… I’m afraid ofcrashing. Everybody should be afraid of crashing. Crashing sounds terrible.

And I don’t know if you know this, but most of the distance between the United States and Ireland? That’s ocean. Deep, cold, filled-with-monsters ocean.

Gross.

It’s not that I don’t like the water. I love water. I love fishing and boating and waterskiing. But I am from Tennessee. We do that stuff in lakes and rivers. If you are really feeling like a Puritan, you do it in a mountain lake or mountain river, and get the kind of clear, pollution-free water that you can only get in the mountains. Twenty-five feet of visibility, straight down.

You can’t tell me the ocean does that.

I have seen the television shows and documentaries about the stuff that lives in there. Not even like squids and whales, but weird shit that lives way far down, where they used to think nothing even survived.

They went down there, and guess what, it’s just full of shit. Fish that don’t even look like fish. Things that they call “worms” that are actually taller than a house a lot of the time. Crazy-ass crabs and shit.

I don’t know.

All I am saying is that sounds pretty crazy to me. I don’t want to be in it.

“Do you want to get high?” Jolene whispers in my ear, leaning over from her side of the limousine back seat.

My body instantly tenses up and goes warm, the way it always does when she touches me. But, what?

“Sweetie, what?” I whisper back, careful not to let the kids hear me.

She drags her fingertips down my arm, giving me goosebumps. The little tease. She knows I won’t do anything with Cole sitting right there. She is just trying to get me worked up.

“You seem a little nervous,” she continues, her voice sultry and low.

“I am not nervous,” I reply.

Harrison and Ambrose both smirk at me. If the kids weren’t here, I would say something. But I can’t say anything. And they know that.

“It could relax you,” she suggests.

“I’m fine.”

“Well, here,” she insists, pressing a small, plastic-wrapped parcel into the palm of my hand. “Save it for later, in case you change your mind.”

She pulls away, batting her eyelashes at me. She’s wearing a lightweight blue shirt over a T-shirt, with yoga pants underneath and light blue tennis shoes. Layers. That is probably smart for the long trip.

But the thing is, everything that she wears is sexy. I can see her nipples underneath her shirt. Her yoga pants ride up around her crotch when she moves, so that I can see both lips, even kind of make out the little tuft of bunny fluff down there.

How long is this airplane ride? This is insane.

When she turns away, I sneak a look at my hand. There is a single gummy bear in there. Wrapped in plastic. A red one, my favorite.

So, what, I eat this and then I get busted at the airport? I go to prison instead of Ireland? Is that the plan?

Harrison leans forward. “Nobody’s going to bust you,” he smiles.

“I didn’t say anything,” I retort.

“Guys, please,” Jolene cautions us.

Harrison points a finger at me. “You don’t have to say anything. It’s written all over your face.”

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