“Okay, see you at three,” I tell him in an overly jovial tone, giving him a hug and clapping him on the back. “It’s all going to go fine. Pull your head out of your ass and stop stressing.”
“You have the rings, right?” he asks me.
I nod and pat my wallet in my back pocket, where I stowed them yesterday after he gave them to me for safekeeping. “Tucked away safely, bro. Chill out and go have a drink or something.”
I tell my brothers bye and saunter out of the restaurant, tossing our waitress a little wink and enjoying how her cheeks flush in response.
I know I’m a flirt. I love women—I love smelling them, tasting them, touching them, and I can’t get enough of it. And why should I? I’m only twenty-three, I’m single, and I’m part owner of Outlaws. Life is pretty damn good, right?
Too good to want things to change when they’re finally going the way they’re supposed to.
In the lobby, I grab my wallet and flip it open, just to confirm the rings are still there. My chest gives a hard kick as I only see a few bills, nothing more.
I know I distinctly tucked them in here, where they’d be safe. I reach into my back pockets and then my front pockets just in case, but they’re empty. Fuck. Fuck.
No, everything is fine. I probably just lost them in the room. After all, I did pull out a condom last night from my wallet, so maybe the rings fell out.
My anxiety loses its edge, and I head to my room. I’m sure they’re on the floor or something.
I search the floor.
I search the bed, taking off the sheets and shaking them loose.
I search the bathroom. My bags. My pants from yesterday. Even the bedside table. Nothing.
God, I’m in deep, deep shit. I sit on the edge of the bed and groan, cupping my head in my hands. What the fuck am I going to do now? I’m still slightly hung over, and doing this much thinking sucks.
Okay, I can figure this out.
I hear voices walking by my door and suddenly remember Brooklyn rapping on my door last night. If anyone can help me figure out what to do, it’ll be her.
She has that ‘get shit done’ vibe that’s good in a pinch. And god knows I’m in a pinch now…
Did she go to do the spa day with everyone else? If so, I’m fucked.
Maybe I’ll luck out and she’ll be in her room.
I walk there and knock on the door. After a moment, it opens, and Brooklyn’s standing there in a dark blue springy dress with her hair pulled away from her face. Her makeup is light, but her eyes shine and her lips are slick and pink and I feel this sudden urge to kiss her mouth.
She frowns at me. “What are you doing here?”
Oh. Right. Rings. I tear my attention away from her mouth and back up to her eyes. Give her a half smile. “So, I think I messed up big time and I need some help. I…” I force my smile wider. “I might have lost the wedding rings.”
Her eyebrows fly up in shock as she gasps, then that pleasant and bland mask falls back on her face. “And why am I not surprised by this?” The judgmental undertone in her voice digs at me. I don’t want to care what this uptight girl thinks of me. And I don’t, because it doesn’t matter. I’m comfortable in my own skin.
“You can stand there and tell me what an ass I am, or you can help me fix this and be the hero of the wedding,” I tell her smoothly. “But we have to figure it out now, because the ceremony is in an hour and a half.”
“Nothing like a ticking time bomb to kick off a major life event,” she says. I can see the disdain for me clear in her face; this girl doesn’t like me. At all.
She doesn’t like me, but I didn’t just imagine her reaction to me last night—her fevered blush as she saw my jeans almost falling down my hips. She doesn’t like me, but she wants me.
Brooklyn sighs and turns around to grab her purse, closing the door behind her as she comes into the hall. From the glimpse I saw, her room is pristine, the bed made. Shocker.
“So walk me through everything you can remember about what you did with the rings,” she says, all business now.
I explain it to the best of my ability.
When I mention waking up and the rings being gone, Brooklyn’s eyebrow arches.
“What?” I say, feeling annoyed already, and she hasn’t even really told me what she thinks yet.
“The girl you were with last night obviously took the rings.”
“Who Patty—Patsy? She wouldn’t do that,” I say.
Brooklyn laughs in disbelief. “You don’t even know her name, but you’re so sure of her moral fiber? Okay, then.”
Shit. She has a point.
I vaguely remember getting the girl’s number and putting it into my cell. I pull out my phone and find her name in my contacts list—Patty. I knew it was Patty.