“Yes. You don’t need a night with the guys. You need downtime. I don’t want you getting to our wedding burnt out and grumpy.” She dug through her purse, pulling out her phone. “I have an old friend who runs a private spa and resort. You could take some time away from all the wedding stuff, get off of the local media’s radar for a while.”
“You’re being serious right now? This isn’t one of those tests for the husband-to-be, is it?” The suggestion sounded like angels singing, but he’d learned Macy was into those little tests—setting up seemingly innocuous situations that held biting traps beneath the surface, ones that asked, How much do you really love me? How far will you go for me? He knew she didn’t do it with malice. It was her version of insurance. She’d grown up with parents who had made a mess of their marriage, and Macy wanted her relationship with him to be a sure thing.
He was trying to be her sure thing. But he’d stepped in those traps too many times along the way not to be wary.
She waved her hand. “No, nothing like that. I can take care of the last-minute wedding stuff. You know I love it. And”—her tone went wistful—“it could be kind of romantic to spend some time away from each other as the big day gets closer. You know . . . build up the anticipation.”
“Right. Anticipation.”
For the wedding night. She didn’t have to say it. The honeymoon loomed for the both of them—the true test of whether they were going to have chemistry in the bedroom as well as they did out of it. God, he hoped they did. He’d lived the last two years celibate. She’d lived the last twenty-three. That’d be a long time for her to wait to end up disappointed.
The crushing pressure he’d felt moments earlier, that trapped feeling, eased up a notch. “Sweetheart, I’d hate to be away from you, but I can’t say that a break doesn’t sound about perfect.”
She beamed. “Who’s the best fiancée ever?”
He smiled, a genuine one this time. “So, where is this place?”
His mind conjured images of some seaside resort in Mexico, or maybe the Bahamas . . .
“Dallas.”
The bottom fell out of his peaceful thoughts, crashed into a fiery mess beneath him.
She looked down at her phone, already scrolling through her numbers. “It’ll work out great. You’ll only be a few hours from Houston if I need you. And you can finally take care of your best man issue.”
“What?”
She looked up, narrowed her eyes. “Don’t give me the lost look. I ran into one of your old frat brothers a few weeks ago at an event, and I was telling him you hadn’t picked a best man yet. He seemed surprised, told me how close you were with your old roommate Devon Crowe in college and was shocked that y’all hadn’t kept in touch. I can’t believe you’ve never mentioned him.”
Hunter swallowed hard. That was because he made a point not to talk about Devon. Or think about Devon. Or . . . anything about Devon.
“Did you know he lives in Dallas now?” Macy added.
Dev was in Dallas? That close? Hunter tugged at his collar. “Really?”
She smiled. “Yep, I Googled him for you.”
“What? Why?”
She waved a hand. “Look, I get that you probably lost touch after the accident when you moved back to Houston to finish school or whatever, but you know how many friends I’ve reconnected with when I reached out to invite people to the engagement party? Old friends are the best friends and when you meet up again, it’s like no time has passed. I’m sure it’d be the same for you. You’ve got to have someone besides one of my brothers you want standing next to you at the wedding. One of your old college buddies would be perfect.”
His palm went damp against the gearshift. Old college buddy.
That wasn’t exactly how he’d label things with Devon. Complete and total college fuckups maybe.
“Mace . . .”
She put her fingers to his lips as she raised the phone to her ear. “Thank me later. Just bring me back a well-rested groom and a best man, so we can finish planning the wedding of our dreams.”
He closed his eyes, dread prickling his skin.
Dread and something else altogether . . .
Which told him he needed to stay far, far away from Dallas.
But when Macy got on the phone to set up things with her friend, he didn’t say a damn word. And when she hung up and declared everything set, he kept his mouth shut. And when they drove home, he did nothing but pack his bag.
He was so fucking screwed.