Wade catches my eye as he stands with a group of men, all of whom hold a glass of liquor. He nods in the slightest way as if acknowledging and answering the question rolling around in my head—has he been watching me this whole time?
I swear that I can feel his gaze following me around the room with every move I make. If we’re together and conversing with someone, he stands close to me. They might be talking about the stock market or acquiring real estate—things I know nothing about. But when I speak, Wade listens as though I’m the resident expert. He has treated me with a marked preciousness that I didn’t expect. That I’m not complaining about. But despite all of the attention and respect he’s shown me, he’s made an infuriating effort to keep just enough of a distance.
My core burns as his gaze sears into mine from across the room. The heat that’s built up in my body from the moment I saw him standing on my front porch might make me melt. I can’t understand Wade Mason. I can’t fathom why he holds himself back when I know—I’m almost positive—that the energy he’s giving is anything but platonic.
And that was fine for a while. Platonic totally worked for me in a past-tense sort of way because right now, seeing him in that bespoke-fit suit and looking at me like that—I’m over platonic.
Fuck. That.
I narrow my gaze at him. The corner of his lip quirks. To hide it, he lifts his glass to his mouth and takes a sip of his drink.
Good-looking bastard.
“What are they doing?” Larissa stands beside me, amusement etched in her voice. “Tell me they’re not.”
I pull my gaze away from Wade and look at his cousin who introduced herself just before Wade’s rant about the cake.
“Who is they and tell you they are not what?” I ask, switching my brain back to the present.
“Them.”
She points at the dance floor just as I hear the first few notes of Ginuwine’s “Pony” being blasted through the otherwise prim and proper event.
Everyone turns toward the commotion on the dance floor. A crowd has gathered around the edge, making space for the three men in custom-fit tuxedos to … dance.
Larissa turns to me. “Aunt Siggy is going to kill them,” she says, laughing. “I can’t believe Boone had the guts to pull this off.”
I look at Holt. Amusement meets mortification is written on his face. He shakes his head and holds up a glass toward the dance floor.
“Who is that with Boone?” I ask, taking in the other two.
“Lincoln Landry and Peck Ward. Lincoln is a family friend, and Peck is Blaire’s cousin, I think.”
I gasp. “Lincoln Landry as in the Lincoln Landry? The baseball player?”
She nods, confused.
“Of course, he’s here,” I mumble, my mind blown.
Lincoln is tall, dark, and lean—definitely an athlete’s body. The third man, the one who must be Peck, has lighter-colored hair and is not quite as tall with a trim and strong I do physical labor physique.
Both are absolutely gorgeous.
The blond one undoes his tie as he gyrates toward the crowd. He takes a woman’s hand and pulls her into the circle with them, much to her embarrassment. A circle of people near them start shouting, “Peck! Peck!” This only encourages him.
Lincoln turns toward us, making eyes at a woman near me. An older, polished lady shakes her finger at him. “Lincoln Landry—behave yourself!” She then turns to the woman he was making faces at. “Your husband is out of control. I didn’t raise him to act like this.” And then, after a long pause, they both laugh.
Not to be outdone, Boone hops onto a chair.
The entire wedding party begins to shout at him—some encouraging his antics and the others slinging various friendly insults and jabs. He begins to unbutton his shirt when Holt comes from out of nowhere. He easily tosses Boone over his shoulder to the delight of everyone watching and spins him in a circle before carrying him away from the dance floor.
“Does this kind of thing always happen at Mason weddings?” I ask with a giggle. “Because, if so, I’m going to need to score more invitations. This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”
Larissa laughs. “I’m going to blame this on the open bar. But, speaking of more invitations to family events …” She winks. “What’s happening with you and Wade? Are you guys dating or just friends?”
Heat colors my cheeks, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Larissa. She smiles at me.
“I’m sorry if I put you on the spot,” she says.
“No.” I hold out a hand and shake my head emphatically. “You didn’t. Not at all. We’re just friends.”
I don’t think about it. I just look up to see Wade looking at me. It’s as if he knows what I’ve just said, and he’s curious about my answer. Can he read lips? I turn my back to him and exhale.