To get back to Emma.
His plane was delayed. Then delayed again.
And when he got back to his apartment at midnight that evening, it was cold and lonely.
Alex dropped his keys on the table by the door, ditched his computer bag and his suitcase, and then, before he knew what he was doing, leaned against his front door and slid down until he was sitting, elbows propped on his knees, back against the door, realizing that in the span of a week he’d gone from blissfully happy to fucking miserable.
Alex pinched the bridge of his nose and instructed himself to think. He was the most rational person he knew, save Mitchell. He could figure this out. He could write out an action plan, and come up with a nice speech, and—
Fuck it.
He didn’t have a clue. Not a goddamn clue.
Shifting, he pulled his cell out of his back pocket and started a group message.
He might not know what the hell to do…but he had something that a lot of dudes didn’t: a set of guy friends who’d been in his shoes. Good men who’d landed great women but had taken a seriously fucked-up path to get there.
Granted, none of them had left their woman at the altar.
But Mitchell had pursued Julie because of a bet. Jake had spent three months trying to publicly best Grace in a battle of the sexes. And Sam…well, Alex didn’t know what the hell had gone on between him and Riley except for the fact that it had taken Sam a decade to get his girl.
Maybe he and Emma weren’t so hopeless after all.
Unbidden, the image of her in a poufy white dress, watching the door of the church, waiting for him, popped into his mind.
He dropped his head to his knees and groaned.
Yeah. He was definitely going to need some help.
A minute later, he’d sent an SOS message to the guys, then hauled himself off his ass and into the kitchen for a glass of water and a late-night dinner.
He assumed that nobody would get back to him until the next day, but to his surprise, his phone beeped just as he was pouring his eggs into a skillet to scramble.
It was from Sam. Dude. We’ve seen worse. Sort of. Not really. But we’ll fix it. Drinks tomorrow? We can meet at the distillery. Riley has girls’ night with her sisters, so no witnesses.
Jake’s message came through shortly after. Do NOT show up at work tomorrow. If we’re going to pull this off, we have to control the First Post-Fight Sighting. Don’t let her see you. PS, Grace and I stopped by the office this morning. You now only have one condom left in that box in your office. I owe you.
By the time Alex was grinding pepper onto his eggs, Mitchell had responded as well. Did none of them sleep? Cassidy. Can’t help you. Unless you love her. Do you love her?
Alex frowned, and was starting to reply when a second message from Mitchell came through.
Sorry. Julie stole my phone. I’m there. Tomorrow @ROON? 7pm?
Alex’s eggs grew cold as he contemplated his response to the group, wondering how much to share.
In the end, he decided less was more. After all, all three of them lived with Emma’s best friends.
7 tomorrow. Bring your A game. And for the love of God, keep your women out of this.
Mitchell responded first. I changed my passcode. Julie’s pissed, but…I’ve got you covered.
Jake’s response came through next. Honestly? Our A game might include Cole and Mathis. They have moves the rest of us haven’t even thought of. Thoughts?
Alex shoveled a bite of eggs into his mouth, grimacing at the grossness of their cold, gummy texture.
Did he want to let Cole Sharpe and Lincoln Mathis into the inner workings of his personal life? To Jake’s point…their reputations with women were legendary, but they were his employees, for God’s sake.
Then he flashed to Emma again, wide-eyed and waiting for him.
His thumbs flew across the screen as he responded to the group. Fuck it. Bring Cole and Lincoln.
He’d probably regret it later. But if they could help him get Emma back, it was worth the risk.
Chapter 29
With the exception of holidays, anniversaries, and gynecologist appointments, Thursday nights were girls’ nights.
Sometimes they stayed in with salad and wine, other times they went out for sushi and martinis, and other times they’d get dressed to the nines for champagne and flirting.
But tonight, just a week after the Worst Thanksgiving Ever, every single one of the girls had cancelled on Emma.
Julie’s mother-in-law had come into town to coo over her wedding china. Fine.
Grace had a head cold and was so stuffed up that Emma’s name had come out as Ebba when she’d called to cancel.
And Riley…Riley had a sex date. Which, given Riley’s sexual history…Emma was going to give her this one. The girl had earned it.
Still, she could have used the company. She’d gotten home from North Carolina on Saturday; the trip was somehow worse than she’d anticipated. And that was saying something.