Page 8

“Oh, that sounds great. Thank you! I appreciate your help.” The kind woman over the phone who helped me order some wedding cupcakes hangs up, and I check off one more thing from my to-do list. We leave in two weeks, and Hannah has been talking non-stop about her ‘week of romance’.

.. I hope she’s not too disappointed when she realizes six other people will be in attendance that week.

My inner control freak is raging at all the things that aren’t done yet.

Years of trying to control my circumstances, of trying to control what happens in my life, trying to keep what happened ten years ago from happening again, I kind of developed self-inflicted OCD.

Everything has its place, everything goes in order, and I do nothing that isn’t on the list.

I’m lost in the endless Pinterest suggestions over games and decor when there’s a knock on my door.

I take two steps before the voice on the other side has me stopping to let out a soft laugh.

“Abby! I need to talk to you! I found the greatest thing since sliced bread! Open up!” It’s followed by frantic knocking.

I swing the door open with a huge smile on my face.

This guy reminds me of my brother, Collin.

Class clown, always making others laugh, but has issues that could drag you to the darkest corners of the earth if you’d let them .

“Monroe, what in the world?” His arms are full of, well, I don’t exactly know.

He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet like he’s a five-year-old on Christmas morning or doing the potty dance; either could work at this moment in time.

His dirty blonde hair is pulled into a man bun on the top of his head, eyes twinkling with mischief. I cannot wait to hear this.

I open the door further so he can come in. “What is all this?” I ask as he drops the bags on the couch.

He turns quickly to face me, “Okay, okay. Get this...” His pause for dramatic effect has me releasing a heavy, completely fake, exasperated sigh.

“Spit it out. I don’t have all day.” I do, but he doesn’t need to know that I’m lame and do nothing on Saturdays when Hannah has events to hold and businessmen to smooge. He takes something out of one of the bags, and I lose my mind. “Is that Chewbacca?”

“NO! You don’t understand...” He pulls a flyer out of his bag of tricks and shoves it in my face.

“They have a Sasquatch expedition!” His face is completely serious, and I taste blood from how hard I’m biting into my lip to keep from laughing.

“ABBY! Come on... Sasquatches! This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.” My laugh comes out like confetti from a cannon.

“Monroe...” I can’t breathe, I'm laughing so hard. My stomach is in stitches when I finally straighten myself enough to look at him. His nose is scrunched up, his bottom lip jutted into a pout, and he has the roundest eyes I’ve ever seen.

I freaking love him. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Let me hear this plan of yours.”

He huffs before picking up more things from his bag.

“As I was saying before you so rudely deflated my tires.” I snort, and his eyes cut to mine as I slap a hand over my mouth.

“There’s a sasq uatch expedition. I want someone to dress up as said sasquatch and scare the crap out of everyone else.

” The gears in my head start turning as I take in what he’s saying.

A smile slowly spreads across my face as an even greater idea pops into my mind.

“I know that look,” he says as he drops his sasquatch items and steeples his fingers in front of his face. “Give it to me, Knight.”

“What if we made the entire week into prank week?” His smile grows. Ah, yes. This is a plan I can get behind. Let’s file this under games and Monroe excursions; then it’s on the list.

“I think I’m in love.” He says as we both laugh, channeling our inner Dr. Evil. Sucks to suck my friends, it’s about to get real.

“There are a few stores that carry the decorations we need. Whatever we don’t get in the first store, we can look for at the other places. Does that sound like a plan?” All I’m met with is a grunt. Why I expected anything else, I don’t know. But any actual words would be preferable right now.

We get out of the car at the first store, and I barely have my door shut before his voice travels over my skin like sandpaper.

“List?” Tate says as his eyebrow raises.

Mary and Joseph, this is going to put me in an early grave.

It’s your best friend’s bachelorette party.

You can deal with this stonewall for a few hours. The things I do for that woman.

“Are you going to be insufferable the entire time, or should I expect some semblance of civility?” He says nothing; he just stares me dead in the eyes like I’m the problem.

For pity freaking sake. I shove the list into his chest, meeting his steely gaze, pushing off just enough to let him know I’m not happy about this situation either.

As we walk into the store, my mind runs through every place I could hide his body after I run it over later.

I can feel his attention on me every few minutes, and I hate that I notice.

“Would you like to split this up? You get what Greyson needs, and I’ll get what he wants for Han?

” He nods and turns to walk to one side of the store.

Huffing, I blow a piece of fallen hair off my face.

This is not how I imagined spending my day off.

I hoped to do the rest of this by myself, but nope.

God has a sense of humor, and suddenly, someone wants to help.

Walking through aisles and aisles of decorations ranging from baby showers to the typical genitalia-inspired supplies, I look down at my list. Item one—a bride sash.

Item two is a pink cowboy hat. Item three, pink heart sunglasses.

Item four is an ungodly amount of balloons and streamers.

Item five is mini cowboy boots. Greyson had a pair of actual boots custom-made for her.

They’re white and have “Mrs. Wilder” stitched into the heels.

It’s actually adorable how much thought he put into this.

I put the last of the items in my basket, then walked through the penis-inspired aisle.

To make this trip more entertaining for me, I grab a pack of unsuspecting curly straws, and pairs of glasses that are, in fact, heart-shaped but have “I love peens” written down the sides.

I make sure to have a general idea of where Grumpy Gills is so he doesn’t foil my plans.

The prankster part of my brain kicks in as I see the realistic snakes.

Yup, Tatum is going to have his very own prank category.

Hours later, we’re sitting at a local sandwich shop, going over the remaining to-do items. I don’t know what I did in my past life to deserve this kind of cruel and unusual punishment, but we still need to make a few more stops today, so here we are.

“I ordered you grilled cheese.” He says, before I can get a word out, a plate is set in front of me equipped with a grilled cheese, an extra pickle on the side, and chips. I’m rarely speechless, but leave it to Tatum Wilder to make that happen.

I blink at the plate, momentarily caught off guard. I don’t get caught off guard. “How do you even know I like grilled cheese?” I ask skeptically.

“I pay attention, Tink.” The shrug that follows is so maddeningly nonchalant that it takes my brain a few seconds to catch up. He pays attention? To me? And wait, did he just give me a nickname?

“Tink? Care to elaborate?” I lean forward slightly.

“Short, blonde, sassy as hell.” His shoulders pull up in a half-shrug. “Basically Tinkerbell.” He picks up a chip off his plate and pops it in his mouth, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

We eat in silence, which is fine by me, but the longer it stretches, the more I start to stew. It’s not just the nickname; it’s how he said it. Like he knows me. Like I’m not an enigma wrapped in sarcasm, self-sufficiency, and a heavy dose of trauma .

Eventually, I can’t take it anymore. “Look,” I sigh, leaning my forearms on the table. “We’re going to be spending some time together, considering you’re the Best Man and I’m the Maid of Honor. We might as well be civil with each other.”

“I agree,” he says all too quickly, as if he’s not giving much thought to it. His eyes are on his food, not me, so I take a moment to really look at him.

Big mistake on my part.

His jet-black hair is closely shaved on the sides, longer and slightly tousled on top.

His ocean-blue eyes stand out against his tanned skin.

Unlike his brother, he has freckles dotting his nose and cheeks.

His lips are full, and he’s dressed in typical Tatum attire–all black.

His shirt stretches over broad shoulders and clings to a chest I’m trying hard not to notice.

But his arms? Lord Almighty! His forearms alone could make him a healthy living if his soccer career doesn’t pan out. The sleeves are practically strangling his biceps, and for the life of me, I can’t stop staring. Why does he have to look like that? Why does it bother me so much that he–

“Please continue,” his deep voice jolts me out of my thoughts. “I enjoy getting ogled like a piece of meat.”

My eyes quickly snap to his, a smug, knowing smirk on his face. He licks his lips, slow and deliberate. His thumb follows, wiping a crumb from the side of his mouth like he has all the time in the world. My body flushes hot from anger, definitely anger.

What a colossal asshole . I push to my feet without saying another word. I can’t be here anymore. I need distance. I need air. I need–

“Abby, wait. ”

But I don’t, I’m halfway to the door when his laugh catches me off guard. It’s low and rumbly and bounces around in my chest in a way that has no business making my heart trip over itself like this.

His hand closes gently around my wrist, his touch warm and comforting, two things I would never use to describe him. I spin toward him, ready to unleash, but the motion brings me face-first into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, the words whispered into my hair. “But listen, it’s okay; I’d stare at me, too.”

My body betrays me. My heart stutters, breath catching, and the skin where his hand still rests is nice and tingly.

I should pull away, but I don’t move. I’m caught in the unexpected closeness and how freaking nice it feels to be pressed against him.

But then his words register, and I snap out of it.

“Your apology doesn’t mean shit when your actions don’t back it up, Sunshine.” My voice cracks, and I hope he doesn’t call me out on it.

“Sunshine?” He tilts his head to the side, smirk dripping with arrogance. “Care to elaborate?” He. Did. Not.

“ UGH !” I barely restrain myself from decking him in the face. “I’d rather drag my naked ass across a cactus.”

He blinks slowly as he leans closer to me. “You’re no walk in the park, either. But the way you challenge me is strangely attractive.”

“Gah, I hate you!” I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that last part. “How about you make this easier on both of us and let me do this alone?” The growl in my voice surprises even me, but I can’t stop .

My skin feels like it’s on fire, I can feel my pulse in my temples, and tears are threatening to spill at any second. But I’ll be damned if I let him see them. I don’t cry, especially not in front of people.

“I don’t particularly like spending time with Terrifying Pixies,” he says, shrugging like I asked him his favorite color.

“But hate is a strong word, don’t you think?

” His eyes trace my face before the corner of his mouth twitches.

“I'd say more like annoyed by your existence, impossible to ignore, borderline infuriating, but not worth the energy it would require to actually hate you. But this is important to me too, Greyson doesn’t ask me for much.”

I yank my arm from his grip and storm back toward the table. My butt hits the seat at the same time an exasperated sigh meets my ears, making my irritation flare all over again.

“Abby,” he says softly. My head pops up as my eyes meet his. I quickly realize there’s no teasing, no aggravation. Just Tatum—raw and unguarded.

“I’m sorry,” he continues. I watch as he peels back a layer of himself that he doesn’t let anyone see. “I don’t mean to make this hard for you. I just don’t, people in general.”

“Really?” I cock my head to the side as I study him. “I couldn’t tell past your vibrant personality.” Wiping my hands on my napkin, I put it on my empty plate.

“Look, I get it. I’m a lot.” I force the words out. “But this means a lot to Greyson, and Hannah means a lot to me. So, I’d like to put our differences aside and get through this. We can go back to ignoring each other's existence after this trip is over.”

He doesn’t say anything at first; he just stares like what I said is the most outlandish thing under the sun.

Whatever, I tried. I push m y chair back, ready to throw my trash away, but before I can even stand, he’s already grabbed it.

When he returns to the table, his hands are shoved in his front pockets, looking every bit the GQ soccer star he is.

“Well,” he says as he arches his perfectly manicured eyebrows in my direction, “Where to, Tink?”

I glare at him. “We need to go pick up the printed bingo cards. And bear spray.”

I pull out my phone, putting the address into Maps to avoid looking at him any longer. I hear him shuffle his feet and glance up just in time to see him watching me with that all-knowing look, like he knows I’m one minor inconvenience away from snapping.

“Well, let’s go then,” he says with a jerk of his chin toward the door.

I stare at his back as he walks away, but he somehow knows I’m not moving and throws a wink at me over his shoulder.

I wonder if Greyson would be mad if I pushed him out of the car on the highway somewhere.