Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 120838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 604(@200wpm)___ 483(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 604(@200wpm)___ 483(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
We weren’t doing the garter. It was Rix who put his foot down about that. Not that I pushed it. But he was having none of it anyway. So that wasn’t going to happen.
After the toss, I’d wind things down, hand out tips, and…
Done.
So really, I could relax and sip champagne.
It was good now.
On this thought, Gal collapsed on the chair beside me.
I was taken aback. Gal didn’t seek me out very much. Say, never. She put up with me when I was in town, and she had to spend time with me because I was spending time with Alex.
Other than that…no.
“Think our girl had a good day,” she said, taking a pull from the bottle of beer in her hand (one could say there were no airs and graces with Gal, one could also say I admired it).
“I hope so,” I replied.
She tore her eyes off Alex, who was laughing with Nora and Mika, to look at me.
“No, our girl had a good day. All thanks to you.”
That was such a shock, I swallowed hard.
“Don’t think she missed it,” Gal went on.
“I…she didn’t miss what?”
“That huge-ass binder,” Gal said. “The fact you knocked yourself out so me and Katie could concentrate on Alex. Us showing up for hair and makeup still hungover, which was stupid, but you made that all right too. I don’t think she knows about the grass snafu, but she overheard the cake was late being delivered, and she didn’t blink an eye because she knew you’d sort it.” She held her beer my way. “You’re a good kid, Blake.”
My belly gave an astonished, happy flutter.
I held my half-empty champagne flute her way and whispered, “Thanks, Gal.”
We clinked. We drank. She looked back at the party.
And then she said, “Me and Katie, we’ve been bitches to you. It wasn’t our place, but Alex is our girl. You guys didn’t really—”
“I get it,” I said swiftly, the belly flutter long gone. Now my chest was feeling tight at the reminder I hadn’t been the best big sister for oh, not long. Only thirty years.
They had every right to be wary of me.
Hell, I was wary of me one hundred percent of the time. Terrified I’d backslide to that place. That place that was leading me to be a grown woman the same class as Helena Coddington-Sharp.
The scariest place in the world.
She turned back to me. “Maybe you get it. It still wasn’t cool.” She shook her head. “Girl, the way you went all out to make this day all it could be for Alex?”
She said no more.
She simply twisted to me, pulled me in her arms and gave me a tight, sit-down hug.
I didn’t think a girlfriend had ever hugged me, sitting down or otherwise.
Not in my life.
I didn’t even know Gal was a girlfriend.
Until right then.
Shit!
I was going to cry again.
I held on, just as tightly, and kept holding on for a bit even after she started to pull away. But I finally let her go.
“Sorry, I’m a little tipsy,” I muttered.
“Yeah?” she asked on a grin. “Well, good. You deserve it. Before you go back to New York, give us a bell. We’ll take you out and get you proper shitfaced.”
I let out a startled laugh.
Even though no way I was getting “proper shitfaced,” I thought that would be fun.
Just as long as we didn’t go to a honkytonk (or maybe I should let my hair down and just go with it—so they might never wear designer at honkytonks, c’est la vie).
She glanced sideways and said, “Incoming hot guy.”
I turned to where she was looking and saw Dair headed our way.
My heart started beating faster.
Damn it!
Why was stuff like that happening?
“His accent is so thick, I only understand half of what he says,” Gal told me as she moved to get up. She stopped so she could shoot me a wink. “But I feel all of it.”
Another startled laugh erupted from me, but this one sounded more like (good Lord!) a giggle.
“Toodle-loo,” she bid, giving me a finger wave and strolling away, aiming a big smile at Dair as she passed him.
He handed me a fresh glass of champagne (of course!) before he threw himself down in the chair beside me, not hesitating to stretch one long arm along the back of my seat, slouch down, straighten his long legs and cross them at the ankles.
“So Sasha went to get your money bag and I gave the tip sheet from your binder to Duncan. He’s going to deal with the tipping at the end of the night,” he announced, before socking back some of his own beer.
I turned on him. “You did what?”
“Dinnae worry. I didnae tear the sheet out of your precious book. I unclipped it. Ye can put it back and keep it for posterity when Duncan is done.”