Page 87 of Brewer Family Collection, Part 1

Someone needs to make that happen.

“Okay,” Sutton says as Bobby heads for the bar. “Back to your dreams. Gimme.”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I could give you an answer, but it would be bullshit.”

Her brows knit together. “Do you have any dreams at all?”

“I mean, not really. I know that’s a problem ,” I say, cutting her off. “I need to figure out what I want to do with my life, but I’m not going to figure it out tonight. So let’s talk about fun stuff like your wedding.” I smile. “Did you decide on a date yet?”

Sutton’s face lights up, and she leans against the table.

“Kind of. We’ve decided on either September or October next year.

I have no interest in sweating my way through a Tennessee summer wedding, and the spring is too soon.

Besides, the foliage is beautiful in autumn, and I heard my chances of renting the Knopf Estate for the ceremony are better then. ”

“Well, I have a lot of time on my hands right now. If you need early planning help, I’m your girl.”

“And my maid of honor, I hope.”

I laugh. “You’ll have a big problem on your hands if you even try to give that spot to someone else.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah, of course. Why?” I ask, my stomach twisting as I take in the look on her face.

She rests her elbows on the table and nibbles her bottom lip. “Jeremiah picked his best man.”

“So?”

She exhales a long, semi-shaky breath. “So he picked Ripley.”

No, he did not.

I bite my tongue before I let out a yelp of protest.

“Jeremiah and I decided we will do everything we can to keep the two of you from having to coordinate on anything,” she says earnestly. “But I had to pick you, and he had to pick Ripley. It would feel wrong if either of us chose someone else.”

Internally, I scream. Outwardly, I try to look cool, calm, and collected but probably fail.

My storied past with Ripley Brewer began on my fifth day at Waltham Prep. It was a sweltering Friday evening in the West Gymnasium. The Senior Mixer . The night that Ripley humiliated me in front of our entire class.

It set the stage for every future interaction between us.

I’m not sure why I’m seemingly the only woman in the universe who can see beyond his sexy smirk and remain unfazed by his boy-next-door act.

No one is that perfect. But instead of questioning his golden boy persona, our friends accept it.

They lean into his storytelling abilities, absurd generosity, and how he teared up while showing us pictures of his new nephew, Arlo.

Everyone is so dazzled by him that it’s ridiculous.

Why can’t they see the arrogant, argumentative asshole I see ?

We once argued for nearly an hour over the number of stairs in Jeremiah’s house and had to be separated by our friends.

We hotly debated the existence of pickles at a Fourth of July party.

Blood was almost shed. Our most famous fight, however, was over a sale flyer from a grocery store that neither of us had ever visited.

Does a ten-for-ten sale mean you have to buy ten of the item to get them for a dollar each?

I called the store to prove I was right, but they were closed.

“Is that why you brought me here?” I ask as Bobby returns. “You wanted to liquor me up before you broke the news of Jeremiah’s betrayal?”

“Betrayal?” Bobby asks, eyes wide.

Sutton snorts. “She’s being dramatic.”

I rest my chin in my hand and look up at the dark-eyed man handing Sutton more marinara. “I’m not being dramatic, Bobby. Her fiancé just chose Satan to be his best man in their wedding. Would I be a good friend if I wasn’t concerned?”

“Satan, huh?” Bobby grins.

“Yup. Satan ,” I say, sighing sadly. “Sutton is trying to support her soon-to-be husband, and I respect that. But someone must fight for her.”

“And that’s you?” he asks.

I scoff. “ Yes, that’s me . Ripley will make this whole thing about him. I’ve seen it before—a thousand times, really.”

“When?” Sutton asks, laughing. “Name one.”

“Oh, let’s see,” I say. “What about when we all went to the hockey game and sat in his family’s box?”

“Well, it was his family’s box,” Sutton says slowly.

“Fine. What about when we went to the lake for Jeremiah’s birthday, and he brought a yacht?—”

“It wasn’t a yacht!”

Bobby’s brows shoot to the ceiling. “He has a yacht?”

“No,” Sutton says as I say the opposite.

I roll my eyes. “Trust me, Bobby. He’ll find a way to make it about him. If Ripley isn’t the center of attention … Well, who knows what would happen because it’s never happened.”

Bobby nods warily, a cheeky grin slipping across his face. “I see what you’re saying, but if he has a yacht …”

I gasp, making him laugh.

“I need to go check on my other less entertaining guests now,” he says. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Thank you,” Sutton says, flashing him a soft grin as he dashes away. Then she turns to me. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal, but will this be an issue? You don’t have to like him?—”

“Good, because that’s impossible.”

“Just play nice. I need you to do this for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I say, sipping my martini.

Sutton leans to the side, her smile growing. I start to turn to see what she’s looking at but stop in my tracks.

The hair on the back of my neck stands abruptly on end. Goose bumps ripple across my skin. Whiffs of expensive cologne—cedar and vanilla, if I’m not mistaken—nestle around me, trying to lure me into a false sense of comfort.

I set my jaw and brace myself.

Speak of the devil …

“Hey, Sutton,” Ripley says from behind me.

“Hi,” she says.

A long, heavy pause settles across the table. I hold my breath, refusing to break the ice.

“Hello, Georgia.”

Oof .

His voice is warm—rich, and smooth. My name rolls off his forked tongue as if it’s being caressed. The two syllables are blurred and lazily sexy, and I hate that as much as I don’t want to—he’s only putting on a show for Sutton—I like it.

Bastard.

I affix an aloof look on my face and turn slowly. I’m not fully pivoted in my chair when a pair of ocean-blue eyes snatch my gaze and hold it hostage.

Ripley smirks. “Am I interrupting?”

“No, you aren’t interrupting,” Sutton says, warning me with a lilt to her tone. “We were just chatting.”

“Looks intense,” Ripley says, his gaze still trained on me. “What was it about?”

I narrow my eyes back at him. “The devil.”