Page 18

TAKING THE PLUNGE

Dean

I’ve been living in San Francisco for a few months now, have visited the city more times than I can count, and I’m still not used to the ridiculous weather.

It’s late spring, the sun is shining high in the sky without even a whisper of cloud cover.

I can feel the heat on my face and I know that when I wake up tomorrow, the freckles on my nose are going to be much more prominent from all this direct sunlight.

There’s a light breeze, but it’s not enough to even ruffle my hair.

If I were to take a snapshot and post a picture online, people would think they were looking at a beautiful, warm and sunny day .

And yet, I’m fucking freezing. Luke tried to explain to me the whacked out weather system once, spewing some scientific shit about cold air from the ocean meeting the warmer air inland and causing microclimates, but I have my own theory.

I think that this city is actually a figment of my imagination and one day I’m going to wake up and realize that I was actually just dreaming about the weird, rainbow-colored, half-sunny, half-foggy polar vortex that is San Francisco, because there’s no way that this place is actually real.

The dream theory is especially convenient because it would also explain why I’m standing here in front of City Hall in a suit and tie in the afternoon, waiting for my good friend to show up so that we can get married.

Luke and I have an appointment with a judge in half an hour, but I showed up an hour early.

I had too much nervous energy after I slipped out of the house this morning, wanting to uphold the tradition of not seeing the bride—or groom, as it were—before the wedding.

Kira and Warren took the kids for a sleepover last night, which allowed me to sneak out for a nice, long run and to grab breakfast alone without any guilt, since I wasn’t going to be leaving Luke alone with them.

I pull my phone out of my pocket to check the time, and my text thread with Luke is still on the screen.

Dean

I’m out for the morning. Enjoy your last few hours as a single man. See you at the altar, hubby.

Luke

*thumbs up emoji*

I sigh, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck.

I’ve been unsuccessfully trying not to let it bum me out that all I got was an emoji thumbs up as a response—I mean, is it too much to ask for the person I’m committing myself to to show a little enthusiasm at our impending nuptials?

There are way worse people that Luke could have to tie his life to, even if I’m not his first choice.

I think back to last week when we sat at the kitchen table and discussed the rules.

Maybe it was just me, but I thought I felt something.

A spark, a crackle, a zing of something familiar but new to our dynamic.

When Luke brought up the possibility of going without sex during our marriage, I was pissed.

Not because I want to fuck my way around town or anything like that.

I can appreciate a good one-or-two-night stand when the opportunity presents itself, but I have long since put my slutting-around days behind me.

I could go eighteen years without hooking up with someone random, no problem.

What pissed me off was the implication that I’d never get a chance to touch Luke. That thought had me ready to flip a table, and that’s just not fucking good.

I’ve always been able to compartmentalize the crush I had on Luke when we first met and the feelings I have for him as a friend. Never the two shall meet, for the sake of our friendship. And I rarely slip up.

There was one time years ago when the Crushers played the Redwoods in Knoxville and I took Luke up to my dads’ house on McKenna Mountain in my hometown of Fox Hole, Tennessee to celebrate his win.

We drank too many of Pops’ lethal Cosmopolitans, and I found myself wondering what the cranberry and vodka flavor might taste like on Luke’s lips.

I shut that shit down quickly, though. Shoved it into a box and pretended to never think about it again.

Until the night of the rules. Since then, most of my thoughts have had something to do with Luke’s lips, his tongue, his hands, and all the things he could do to me with them.

I shake my head, trying to rid myself of those thoughts.

I can’t think about those kinds of things right now.

Not when I’m about to walk into this building and platonically marry my bro-husband.

I turn to head up the steps, and nearly piss myself as I bump into something hard and round and ricochet backwards.

“?Calmate! Bro, what are you trying to do, shimmy the baby out of me?” My sister asks, rubbing a hand over the pink chiffon dress draping over her belly.

When she was pregnant with my niece, Cami, she barely showed until the very end.

With this kid? My sister is like a weeble-wobble, all baby and top heavy even though she’s got a few months to go.

“That fucking belly of yours is lethal. I’ve run into linebackers with less power. What the hell are you doing here Keeks?”

“We’re here for the wedding!” she says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“The…how did you know about…” I trail off. I honestly have no idea how Kira knew to show up here today. When I walked the kids over to her place last night, I asked if she could keep them until this afternoon under the guise of wanting to deep clean the house without littles running around.

Luke and I decided to keep the whole charade to ourselves until the papers were signed and filed and it was too late for my family or our friends to try to talk us out of it. I’ve kept my mouth shut, and I doubt Luke was the one to spill the beans.

“Dean, I’m your sister. I know everything.

Also you called to make the appointment for this courthouse ceremony in your backyard the other night, and my kitchen window was open.

I heard everything. Pretty fucking rude of you not to invite us.

” Kira hits me in the chest with a knuckle punch, and I wince.

I’d never admit this to her, but even though I’m the pro-football player, my sister is ten times stronger than me.

She probably should be, given that she’s the owner of an international fitness conglomerate and her job is literally to exercise all day.

My baby sister could totally kick my ass if she wanted to.

“Kira, if you’re here, where the hell are the girls? And who is us?”

“?Mirá vos! So handsome in your suit. Jay, Keith, look at our boy. How handsome is he?” Tía Camila struts to my side, her butter-yellow maxi dress swishing with each step.

In her high-as-hell white heels, she barely grazes my shoulders, but she still manages to make me feel like a small boy when she pinches my cheek.

“So handsome that he forgot to invite us to his wedding,” IronDad says. He and Pops stroll up hand in hand, looking snazzy as hell in their nearly- matching gray suits and their ties that perfectly complement the yellow of Camila’s dress.

“That doesn’t make sense, honey,” Pops says.

“Us is also us!” A deep, male voice booms behind me, and I turn to see one of my sister’s best friends, Georgie, and her husband James.

“Okay, I’m so lost,” I say, turning my exasperated and completely confused attention back to my sister. “What is going on here? When did our parents fly in? Why are your friends here? And where are the kids?”

“You know I don’t go anywhere without at least one of my girls,” she shrugs. “And I think James’s dick is surgically implanted inside of Georgie’s vagina, so that’s why he’s here.”

“We weren’t invited?” Georgie asks, looking at my sister with daggers in her eyes.

“Of course you were invited. I invited you, duh,” Kira rolls her eyes.

“I knew the grooms didn’t invite us, but I don’t care. I love weddings!” James says, greeting my dads and Camila with hugs and handshakes.

“Don’t the two of you think that’s a little rude? Clearly Dean and Luke don’t want us here,” Georgie says, crossing her arms over her chest and giving Kira and James that scary “just wait until we get into the car” mom look.

“Maybe, sweet girl. But I also think it’s been rude for Luke to ignore all of my calls and emails. Fuck around and find out. Besides, I’m the team owner, I go to all the weddings. Luke might be retired, but he’s still a Redwood.”

I pinch my brow, wondering how the hell I got into this situation and how I’m going to explain the impromptu bridal party to Luke when he arrives. And then my stomach sinks when I realize that Kira never answered the most important question.

“Kira,” I say, grabbing my sister by her shoulders. “Where. Are. My. Children?”

My children…holy shit.

That feels…big. And right. And so fucking good to say out loud.

“Alright, Bridezilla, take a chill pill. Your children are at my house with my husband. I needed a break from Ren, and he needed a dose of reality. I think he’s developed some sort of breeding kink in his old age.

He’s already talking about putting another baby in me, and I haven’t even finished growing the last cream pie he left in me,” she gestures to her stomach, and I fight a gag.

“I’m hoping a few hours with four kids might have him considering the vasectomy I’ve been trying to bully him in to. ”

Jesus fucking Christ. I close my eyes, rubbing at my temples to ease some of the ache building there.

Camila barks out a laugh while Pops and IronDad stick their fingers in their ears and start to hum a song out of tune. And I do not blame them one bit.

There is never, ever a good time to have to hear about my sister’s sex life with her husband, but especially not on my damn wedding day.

“Uh, Dean, what are the odds that James Adler showed up on our wedding day to kill me?” Luke whispers in my ear, scaring the piss out of me. I nearly jump out of my pants as I turn towards him.