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And that shit sucked like a Starfleet exam I have to pass or risk flunking out of the academy.
“Date?” I casually investigate around enjoying the delicious fragrance of the food I can’t consume.
“Stone,” he announces on a defeated shrug. “Trying to get school shit setup sort of took priority over finding someone to come with me.” Calen tosses the crumpled napkin into the nearby garbage. “It’s all good though. He gets good press, and I get a gold star for bringing a celebrity guest.”
“Who’s Stone?” Wes quickly inquires.
“Levi Stone.” Calen meets his stare. “He’s an actor.”
“And super fucking hot,” is less than quietly murmured.
“And you’re super fucking engaged,” the male across from me warmly laughs.
“Yes.” Leaning into his hold is absentmindedly done. “Yes, you are.”
A playful eye roll precedes me announcing, “Since we’re on the subject of shackling-”
“I do not approve of that language.”
“-and pregnancy brain fog comes and goes, I can’t remember if you got my text about the date and venue changes.”
He casually nods and struggles not to twitch a glare at Wes.
Can’t blame him.
Calen wiped away a lot of tears and fed me even more sandwiches.
“Thank you,” unexpectedly leaves the very person that makes him want to glower.
His twitched brow isn’t a surprise. “Excuse me?”
“Thank you,” he repeats without vacillation. “For being there for Bryn, especially when I wasn’t.”
Nodding barely precedes him blunting stating, “She deserves better than you.”
“Dude!”
“I agree.”
My mouth twitches yet isn’t given a chance to let sound escape. “Break her heart again, and I’ll break my board over your head.”
“Bro!”
“Understood.” Wes extends a hand towards him. “Completely.”
“Good.” Their shaking occurs despite my objection. “Now, please take our Little Grrrmaid elsewhere. I wanna eat my weight in Smoked Trout Roulades and not feel like I’m being watched by the judgmental child who got separated from her tour group just in time to disapprovingly watch the shark’s daily feeding.”
One word is attached to his crooked grin. “Descriptive.”
“Accurate.” Calen shifts his stare over to me. “I can no longer fuckin’ chew cinnamon gum at work.”
“Forgive me for not wanting to smell spicy fish ass all day.”
A mirth-filled hand gesture precedes him muttering, “I rest my case, Mega Millions.”
“Billions,” is the only word I manage to get out thanks to Wes leading me back towards the main area for dancing.
Or at least what I hope is dancing.
