Don't Kiss the Bride

Chapter 43

Jude

“Maybe I should stay home,” Skylar says when she meets me in the foyer. “It feels weird spending a holiday with your family when you and I aren’t exactly in the best place.”

“I promised Aunt Suzy we’d both be there. I think we can put on some fake smiles for one day.”

“I guess you’re right,” she says, grabbing the bird cage off the floor. “Fake smiles should be a breeze compared to a fake marriage.”

Ignoring her comment, I usher her out the front door and lock it behind us.

“Why exactly are we giving your aunt a parakeet? They say pets should never be given as a gift. Do you know how many pets end up in shelters less than three months after Christmas?” she asks when we’re in my truck and on our way to Aunt Suzy and Uncle Al’s. She holds the birdcage, wrapped with a big red bow, on her lap.

I glance at the small blue-and-white bird and turn the heat up a little. I don’t want to show up with a dead gift. “It’s what she wanted. A parakeet and an air fryer. Trust me, she’s not going to get rid of either.”

“He’s cute. I’ve never seen one up close before.”

“Birds are messy.”

“So are people.” She pokes her finger into the cage, and the bird eyes her warily. “Will it talk?”

“Maybe.” I didn’t read Birds 101; I just bought the one that had the most feathers. “I think they mostly make noise and shit.”

“Lucky… don’t be a grump.”

“I’m not being a grump—just stating facts.”

We’ve been giving each other the cold shoulder since our talk, and it’s awkward as hell. I miss her.

I used to think that the feeling-so-connected thing that people talked about was pure Hallmark-card bullshit.

Until I met Skylar.

Until I had sex with Skylar.

Until I fell in love with her.

I’ve tried like hell not to think about it, but it’s impossible to forget how she felt under my touch, how she tasted on my tongue, how her nails dug into my flesh. How she whispered my name when she came all over my cock.

How she knew I needed her.

It all could’ve been perfect.

“What are we giving Uncle Al for Christmas?” she asks, pulling me from memory lane.

“We’re not giving him a gift. Every year he says he’s got everything he wants, so I only give gifts to Aunt Suzy.”

“Have you always spent Christmas with them?”

“Yup. Since I was a kid. They used to dress up as Santa and Mrs. Claus when I was little. They’d come downstairs with a big red sack full of gifts for me and Erin.”

“That’s so sweet. If I ever have kids, I’d love to do something cool like that for them. Keep the innocence and magic alive for as long as possible.”

“I thought you said you didn’t want kids?”

The bird sways back and forth on his perch in tune with Lady by Little River Band playing on the radio. Skylar watches him, lost in thought.

“I don’t,” she says. “But every now and then I think maybe, someday, with the right guy I might want to.”

I’ve always been dead set against having kids until Skylar just went and planted an image in my head of us prancing around the living room dressed up as Santa and his wife for kids we don’t even have.

But I don’t want to think about that.

“Guess what,” I say, flashing her a side-eye, hoping to keep the mood light as traffic slows to a near halt.

“What?” she asks, more interested in the bird than she is with hearing what I might say.

“I never got to tell you who I spent the night with that night I didn’t come home.”

Her face twists into a disgusted frown. “Seriously, Jude, why would I want to know that?”

Shit.

“No, it’s not what you think. It was a guy.”

“Wow.” Her head moves back and forth and the bird mimics her. “It’s like you want me to throw this bird cage at you.”

“Skylar! What the fuck. I wasn’t with a guy.”

“It’s totally okay if you were. I’m not going to judge you. If a man can be the one to finally make you happy and get you out of your head, I’m all for it.”

“Will you stop? I’m trying to tell you I hung out with Asher Valentine at Uncle Al’s bar.”

She turns to look at me so fast I’m surprised she didn’t give herself whiplash.

“Say what?” she says.

I snort out a laugh. “Yeah, I thought that’d get your attention.”

“You expect me to believe you hung out with Asher Valentine, lead singer of one of my favorite bands—ever?”

“Yup.”

“Get out,” she says.

Her disbelief makes me grin. “It’s true.”

“How? He just wandered into your uncle’s bar for a drink?” she asks skeptically.

“Not exactly. He was standing in an alley by the convenience store, and when I came out, I saw some guy coming up behind him with a bat. He was going to mug him.”