Don't Kiss the Bride

“Hey, Skylar, maybe you’ll get a spanking when you get home,” a female voice says. I turn away from Kyle stumbling toward his car to see a small group of laughing teens hanging out at the gas station doors.

Fuck.

Skylar stares at me, her face ashen with shock and anger.

“What’s wrong with you?” she demands through gritted teeth.

“He was touching you.”

Her blue eyes narrow. “So what?”

My blood boils with jealousy—a feeling I’ve never battled with before. “What do you mean so what?” I shove my hand through my hair and step closer to her, lowering my voice. “What—did you want him to? Were you actually gonna go with him?”

“Are you insane?”

I shrug. “I guess I’m gettin’ there,” I say sarcastically.

“I can take care of myself,” she says, her voice shaking. “I don’t need you going all fucking Hulk on people like an animal.”

“My dad’s a divorce lawyer, in case you need one, Skylar,” one of the other girls yells across the lot. “Just sayin’.”

Oh, shit.

Skylar throws the group a threatening glance, then turns back to me. The shimmer of tears and disappointment in her eyes pulverizes my heart. “Just great.”

Shaking her head, she jumps into the car without looking back at me, and speeds away.

Fuck.

Chapter 30

Jude

My mood is shot to hell. All I wanted to do was bring Skylar with me to go see my aunt and uncle and have a fun night. But instead, I’m pissed off, hungry, and confused.

I haven’t randomly blown up on someone in a long time. But seeing Kyle’s slimy hands on Skylar pushed me right over the edge. He’s a douchebag.

His degrading sexual comments and his blatant flirting with Skylar made me sick. She’s sweet and attractive, but she’s only eighteen years old. Guys our age shouldn’t be trying to pick up chicks still in high school. It’s sick.

But aren’t I worse?

I’ve kissed her. Touched her.

My dick is rock hard just thinking about the night we stopped holding back and let things go further.

It should’ve felt wrong, but it didn’t. When we’re together, she’s not eighteen, and I’m not thirty-four. We’re just two people who get along great, make each other laugh, take care of each other, and have insane chemistry. It’s not about sex—I can get that anywhere. It’s a magnetic pull to get closer. Emotionally. Physically. Every time I’m with her I get this feeling of indescribable contentment that I can’t even wrap my head around.

I don’t know how all this snuck up on me.

I’ve never felt like this with other women. There’s always been a disconnect with them—a wall that blocked any kind of real intimacy or happiness. And I was totally fine with that. In fact, I preferred it. It made things easy.

I wish that wall would sprout up between me and Skylar. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with all this torment. Because even though age is just a number and all that bullshit, I can’t just blow off the fact that she’s eighteen. She’s still in high school.

Too young to be tangling in my world of love ’em and leave ’em.

Now I know how the dog feels when I don’t come home on time. I’ve been pacing the floor, staring out the front window, listening for the front door to open.

Skylar hasn’t come home. She never stays out after eight, and now the clock is creeping toward midnight.

I don’t want to be that guy, but here I am, being that guy.

Earlier, she peeled out of the gas station in anger, and now I’m worried something happened to her.

Or who knows—maybe she decided to take Kyle up on his offer.

Unlikely, but still possible.

Gus meows in Skylar’s bedroom until I fill her dish, and it makes me wonder if Skylar had dinner tonight.

Finally, I give in and send her a text:

Me: Hey you. Where are you?

Skylar: Been hangin’ at Hampton Beach with friends.

A selfie of her and Megan comes through that they must have taken earlier, sitting on the beach together with the sunset blazing orange and pink in the background.

Me: It’s after midnight and it’s a school night. Come home.

Did I really just type that? Someone kill me now please.

Skylar: WTF. You’re not my father, Jude. Go to bed.

Me: Last time I checked I was your husband. I want your ass home in an hour or I’m gonna come get you.

I’m not gonna play the stare-at-the-door-all-night game with Cassie.

Skylar: Chill out. I’ll be home soon.

Soon turns out to be two a.m.

From upstairs, I hear the front door opening and closing. Then, her feet thumping on the stairs. I’m just climbing out of my bed and pulling on my sweats to go check on her when she shows up in my doorway—all legs in tiny cutoff denim shorts.

“What’s wrong with you today?” she demands.

“Why don’t we start by you telling me what’s been wrong with you?”