Chapter 8

The morning sun had barely started to burn off the sunrise haze as I made my way over the Bourne Bridge. I'd gotten an obscenely early start because it was Fourth of July weekend, which meant traffic on the Cape was bound to be awful. Also, if I played my cards right, I'd have time to scope out the venue for the destination wedding I'd be helping to photograph and find some unique photo locations before the festivities began.

And, yes, okay, if I was being perfectly honest, I'd gotten on the road so early because I'd spent most of the night overthinking my accidental phone conversation with Oscar, which had made sleep spotty at best.

I'd woken up the next morning hungover and horrified. I'd quickly shot him a text, even though I assumed he'd be sleeping himself.

Hugh

I'm so, so sorry for interrupting your work day and breaking our… thing.

He responded right away.

Oscar

Don't be sorry. It was nice to hear your voice. I'm sorry about Louis.

Before I'd been able to respond, I'd heard something crash to the floor and ran to see what had happened. Hungover Rafa had happened, and I'd spent the rest of the morning trying to get both of us recovered enough to attend to our work responsibilities.

By the time I'd checked my phone again, late that night, Oscar had sent me a screenshot to an article about the upcoming season of Love Island, along with a message saying, "Just know that if you insist on us buddy-watching this, Frank's going to move out."

I'd snorted and sent him back a link to a Pinterest page I'd come across that had several links to indulgent, over-the-top habitats for pet hedgehogs.

Hugh

Or consider a small bribe. After all, you can't let these losers out-habitat you. Frank deserves better.

And just like that, we were back on solid ground.

I'd forced myself to download a dating app again and set up a date for the following week, after I returned from the Cape, because Oscar was right. I couldn't let Louis keep me from pursuing my happy ever after. Then, I'd thrown myself into finishing up the Patrick wedding edits so I could focus on preparing for the job ahead of me.

But this drive had given me unexpected quiet time, and I couldn't help but examine my feelings for the man whose text messages had become a bright thread weaving through my days.

The fact that I'd called him—called him—while drunk was not a good sign. It meant I'd slipped another inch or two closer to the love precipice. And then, on top of all that, having Oscar joke about me taking him to Abby's wedding festivities, letting myself think even for a second that I could spend an evening by his side for the first time in a year… Yeah, it was safe to say I'd lost a lot of the "healthy boundaries" I'd managed to cobble together where Oscar was concerned. I was now clinging to friendship mountain by my fingernails, dangling over the chasm, trying hard to hoist myself up so I didn't fall. Because if I did fall for Oscar…

God.

I was pretty sure Oscar would be able to sense me falling in love with him, the way some dogs could sense an impending earthquake. He'd feel guilty and obligated—because for all that Oscar tried to pretend he was jaded and worldly, he cared deeply for his friends—and he'd probably do something self-sacrificing and heroic, like abandoning our text-friendship so I could get over him and find my HEA…

And he might have a point.

It was already hard to date when I compared every potential romantic prospect to the man blowing up my phone. Charles didn't get my humor like Oscar, Will didn't understand my ambition and drive like Oscar, Louis thought Shonda Rhimes was overrated—which, in retrospect, should have been a huge red flag. But how much worse would it be to date other people if I was actually, factually in love with Oscar?

It didn't bear thinking about. Which was why I absolutely would not fall. I was willing to do nearly anything to ensure it didn't happen… except try to step away from Oscar again, like I had last November. Frankly, I didn't know if I could anymore. Not even to save myself.

It was a damn good thing that both of us would probably be too preoccupied to text much this weekend. From the few details my friend Brant had given me when he'd asked me to be his backup photographer, this wedding would be packed with people and activities that would keep me away from my phone. Oscar would no doubt be busy hooking up with some handsome guest at whatever wedding he was attending, if only so he didn't have to hear any more talk about that silly After-Oscar legend.

Which was good.

Really. The man deserved to have a little fun.

And I was not going to stew over it. At all.

When my phone rang and I saw Abby's name on the display, I immediately answered.

"Hey!" I said a little desperately. "How are you? Do you have summer school classes today? Tell me everything. Literally everything."

"Well, hello." Abby sounded amused. "And here I was worried I might wake you. You're sounding awfully chipper for, uh… 6:47 a.m."

"I've been on the road for a few hours, on my way to shoot a wedding. Remember my friend Brant, who lives out on the Cape? This wedding's kind of a family thing for him, and he wants a backup photographer so he can relax and mingle without worrying that he'll miss any important shots."

"Smart," she said. "God, that's something else I need to add to my wedding to-do list—finding you an assistant photographer so you can enjoy yourself. There's just so much stuff to think about with this. Now I understand why people elope."

"You've been imagining your wedding since you were five, Abby. You're not eloping," I said firmly. "You're going to have the most perfectly perfect day to celebrate your perfect love. Okay?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "Yeah, I know, but?—"

"When it comes to the photographer, I've got you covered. I'm sure Brant would be happy to reciprocate the favor to assist me at your wedding. And if you need help with other stuff, Rafa can?—"

"Not Rafa." I could practically hear her eyes roll. "I love the man, but he's got way too many opinions, and he already texts me about them daily." Abby hesitated. "Speaking of things I heard from Rafa…"

I knew where this was going. I sighed. "Yes, Louis and I broke up because he's a giant asshole who used me for clients. I'm sorry I didn't tell you?—"

"Why didn't you?" she demanded.

"Because it only happened like seventy-two hours ago and I've been busy? Because I didn't want to worry you? And because?—"

"Listen, my friend Annette from work has an older brother who lives in the Village and works at a fashion design house?—"

"Because I don't want you setting me up on dates, trying to mend my broken heart," I finished. "My pride is battered all to hell, and I'm… disappointed, I guess, but my heart's not broken, Abs. I promise."

"But I thought you really liked Louis." She sounded genuinely confused. "You kept telling me things were ‘very promising.'"

"They were." I thought back on all the things we'd done together, the lovely restaurants he'd chosen, the romantic flowers he'd sent, the vacation he'd talked about. "I mean, they should have been? I don't know. But Oscar says it's a good thing all this happened because Louis showed me who he really was before things got too serious, and I agree?—"

"Oscar," Abby repeated, sounding far too interested. "Cute Oscar from the hospital? Oscar who knows bacon is your love language? You told Oscar about Louis? Isn't that interesting?"

"N-no. Why would it be? We're friends." I adjusted the blower on the air-conditioning because the car was suddenly stiflingly hot. New England weather was so fickle. "And he was in Macau on business, which meant he was awake when everyone here was sleeping, and I was a little bit drunk, so I called him, and he answered, and we talked for a couple of hours?—"

"Hours?" she squealed.

"Don't," I said. The word came out sharp and angry, and I took a deep breath to calm myself. "Just… don't. Please. The last thing I need is you trying to matchmake me and Oscar when I spent the entire hour before you called reminding myself why falling for him would be the worst mistake ever. He doesn't believe in long-term romantic love. He doesn't believe in happily ever afters. He is never going to be the guy who stands up in front of all our family and says, ‘You're it for me, Hugh, for the rest of our lives, so let's buy a perfect little house with a perfect little white picket fence and raise a bunch of adorable hedgehogs together?—'"

"Hedgehogs?"

"Irrelevant," I said shortly. "The point is, he's never going to be the guy I need. It would be like Jared all over again, except worse. And I won't do that to myself. I won't do that to Oscar. Too many people expect things from him—his money, or his influence, or his speech at their wedding—no matter what he wants or needs, and I'm not going to be yet another person who asks him for something he doesn't want to give. So no more about this, okay? I'm not falling in love with Oscar. I won't."

Abby was silent for so long I had to check my phone screen to make sure the call hadn't dropped. And in that silence, I heard every doubt she wouldn't voice. Every doubt I refused to acknowledge.

"So about Annette's brother," she finally said, voice gently teasing and a bit too sympathetic. "Is that a maybe? Because he's kind of a silver fox."

A little bubble of laughter—more like a sob, if you wanted to be technical, but I didn't— escaped me. "Annette is seventy-five. I'm guessing her older brother is on the tarnished side of silver. But thanks anyway." Fortunately, traffic was getting too congested for me to focus on the call any longer. "I've gotta go, Abs. I'm almost at the resort, and I'm going to see if I can check in early and have a look around the place before the guests start arriving."

"Okay. I'll shut up now. Call me later."

After we disconnected, I blew out a breath. I knew her interest in my love life was out of a genuine desire to see me settled and happy. I wanted that too.

But it wasn't going to be with Oscar.

Thankfully, I saw a sign for the exit to McBride, Massachusetts, before my thoughts could circle around again, and I followed the car navigation through a charming little town toward a motel perched on a spit of land stretching into Gannet Bay.

I was secretly looking forward to this trip. Not only was work a welcome distraction, but being a secondary photographer took all the pressure off and gave me space to be more creative in the pictures I took. It would also give me a chance to film more content for my Real Life HEAs account. Abby had more free time to help with video editing during the summer months, and she'd already worked her way through most of my backlog. If I could find more couples to film, she could help me stockpile content and get ahead.

The helpful voice navigation let me know that my destination was just ahead on the right, but when I tried to turn into the parking lot of the Sea Sprite Inn, I found it blocked by a barricade flanked by two scowling security guards. As I scrambled for my photo ID, I realized I'd neglected to ask Brant some important questions… like whose wedding this was.

When the security guys waved me through, I parked outside the motel, which had a cool, retro vibe. It was cute and clearly well maintained, with a fresh coat of blue paint and crisp white shutters, but it wasn't the kind of wedding venue I'd imagine required high security.

The minute I walked into the lobby, however, I understood the Sea Sprite's appeal. Massive windows lined the entire back wall of the lobby, giving a view of a neatly manicured lawn stretching to the edge of a bluff. The ocean beyond was already dotted with pretty, white sailboats taking an early morning cruise. In fact, the entire view for 180 degrees was nothing but water as far as the eye could see. It was breathtaking.

I instinctively grabbed my camera out of my bag and began capturing photos of the scene, partly to figure out the best angles for wedding shots and partly because I wanted to send one to Oscar later. My wedding venue is way cooler than your wedding venue.

Someone cleared their throat, and I glanced up to find the woman behind the front desk watching me with a small smile.

"You must be the photographer who's helping Brant this weekend. Hugh, right? I'm Ana Lucia. Welcome to the Sea Sprite. I've got your room key ready, and help yourself to some coffee and a chocolate croissant." She pointed to a pastry box on the far end of the desk. "They're baked especially for our guests by a local ba— Sawyer, get your hands out of the box! Pastries are for guests only."

I turned to find a couple I recognized from the wedding last year where Oscar and I had met. I'd caught a photo of Sawyer and James dancing at the reception, so fully focused on one another they might have been the only two people in the room. And for many reasons, every facet of that evening had been imprinted in my brain.

Stop thinking of Oscar. Not now, and especially not like that.

Sawyer sighed. "‘Fall in love with a lawyer and run an inn,' they said. ‘It'll be fun,' they said," he mock grumbled. "If I'd been thinking logically, I'd have checked the fine print to make sure croissants were included."

James's lips twitched, and he tugged Sawyer closer. "Sometimes love's not logical, babe. But I promise, at our wedding, you can have all the croissants."

Sawyer's eyes lit up, and he turned to me eagerly. "You heard that, right? You witnessed this? You…" He tilted his head. "Wait, do I know you?"

Anna Lucia explained, "This is Hugh, the photographer who's helping Brant shoot Roman and Scotty's wedding this weekend."

"Oh, right," Sawyer said, snapping his fingers. "You did Wells and Connor's too. We used one of your pics for our holiday card last year."

Roman and Scotty? I froze for an instant, remembering the other guests I'd photographed at Wells and Connor's wedding, and I thought I finally understood the need for added security. "When you say Roman and Scotty, do you mean…?"

Before I could finish my sentence, the lobby door opened… and a horse casually strolled in, like it had all the time in the world. Like someone had manifested it for me.

I blinked, then quickly snapped a few pictures. Oscar would not believe this unless I gave him photographic evidence.

"Just passing through!" a male voice called. A youngish man appeared in the doorway, grunting, "Move your ass, Nugget," as he pushed against the horse.

The horse took a lazy step to the side.

Ana Lucia blocked the way with her palms out. "Scotty, what did I tell you about horses in the lobby?"

He shot her a hopeful grin. "That it was totally fine because it's our wedding weekend and anything goes?"

Ana Lucia raised an eyebrow. "Does that sound like something I'd say?"

His shoulders fell. "No. It's just that I promised Nugget a walk on the beach, and this is the easiest way to get down there, so I figured?—"

Ana Lucia cut him off. "No. No horses in the lobby. Nugget, shoo."

The lobby door opened again, and a familiar, deep male voice called out, "Honey, Ana Lucia will set your ass on fire if she catches you sneaking Nugget through the lobby again… Oh." Roman Burke stepped out from behind the horse and gave Ana Lucia the charming smile that had captivated millions of moviegoers. "Well. This is awkward."

I sucked in a deep breath. I'd met Roman Burke briefly at Wells and Connor's wedding, but being the photographer at his wedding… that was something else entirely. A professional coup. And inevitably, I found myself wanting to tell Oscar?—

"Again?" Ana Lucia said scathingly, and it took a second for me to realize she was repeating what Roman had said instead of judging my thoughts.

Roman's smile went megawatt. "Sorry, Ana Lucia. We'll get out of your way. Get a move on, girl." He slapped the horse on the rear and only seemed to realize after the horse had begun moving that there was nowhere for her to exit. "Shoot. Could someone open the back door?" he yelled.

I tucked my camera under my arm and scrambled toward the far side of the lobby, opening the door just in time for the horse to trot out onto the large patio. She stopped abruptly at a flower bed on the edge of the bluff and sniffed a few flowers before plucking one with her lips and chewing it delicately.

"Thanks," Roman called, lifting a hand to me in greeting. "Easy-peasy."

Scotty snorted. "You can charm anyone. It's like a dastardly superpower. Thanks for handling the dragon lady for me."

"Anything for you, baby." He leaned in to sneak a kiss.

James and I exchanged a look, and I had to bite my lip to hold back a smile. Roman's eyes went a little glassy, and Scotty's back foot came off the ground a little.

I grabbed my camera to capture the moment.

"I love you," Roman whispered softly. "So much I'm thinking about maybe marrying you tomorrow…"

"Hmm," Scotty breathed. "Solid plan."

It took Ana Lucia a few tries to pull my attention back to the reception desk, where she patiently checked me in and gave me the key to my room.

After that, the day seemed to fly by. I was grateful for every moment of the picturesque setting and engaging wedding party to help keep my mind far too occupied to feel the bone-deep envy that would normally consume me when witnessing such a happy couple celebrating their lifelong commitment.

Someday, it'll be your turn, I told myself. I refused to succumb to any negative thoughts or to dwell on my conversation with Abby. Just believe.

If only it was as easy as mind over matter.

* * *

Photographingthe rehearsal dinner was effortless—the scenery was beautiful, the temperature perfect, the breeze soft, and the golden-hour light falling just right. It didn't hurt that the guests were incredibly photogenic or that the grooms were clearly in love. Every shot I took was magic, and I was in my happy place. In fact, the only hitch was that several guests, including some of the wedding party, had been seriously delayed due to traffic.

As dinner ended and the sun started to set, the party moved from the grassy lawn down to the beach, where a bonfire had been set. One of the waiters popped champagne, and everyone took a glass. I waited for the toasts to begin, but instead, everyone gathered to watch as the sun sank into the ocean.

I approached Brant and his wife, Karlie, who held their sleeping baby in a wrap. "What's going on?" I whispered.

Brant grinned. "Sea Sprite tradition. Make a wish, and if you see the green flash on the horizon when the sun sets, it means your wish will come true."

"Does it work?" I asked dubiously. Hell, at this point, I'd try anything for my happy ever after, even wishing on a green flash.

"It did for me." He laid his hand on Karlie's shoulder. She looked over at him and smiled, reaching her hand up to cover his.

Well. Okay, then. If Oscar could joke about manifesting me a horse in our last text convo and manage to deliver me one—literally—so soon after, why couldn't I wish on the sunset? I knew exactly what I wanted to wish for.

Please, let me find the right guy. Let him appear right now…

As the sun dipped lower, I allowed myself to not just want it but to imagine it. Someone standing behind me, his arms wrapped tight around my chest, and his lips next to my ear. But when that imaginary someone whispered my name, he sounded way too much like Oscar.

I remembered then why I never let myself indulge in thoughts like this. Because it hurt to want something so badly when you knew you could never have it.

Like I always did when my feelings felt too big to contain, I picked up my camera. I ignored the setting sun and instead turned my back to the ocean, snapping photos of the guests as they gazed at the horizon, the last of the sun bright in their eyes. I ignored the green flash and instead focused on capturing the wonder on the faces of the partygoers when they saw it. The true love that filled the air around the happy couples who looked at their partners and knew their own wishes had already come true.

That was my job, after all.

I was so focused on taking pictures that I didn't hear the motorboat approaching until I noticed one of the guests point toward the water. I swung my lens around to find a speedboat roaring out of the distance, the engine growing louder as it drew near. Once it reached the shallows, the motor cut off, and the driver allowed the resulting momentum to finish guiding them to shore.

I glanced up the beach to where security was stationed, wondering if perhaps the paparazzi had gotten word about the wedding weekend and were trying to crash it. But they looked unconcerned.

"The best man," Brant snorted beside me. "Always loves to make an entrance."

Just then, a familiar silhouette appeared on the bow, wearing loose linen pants rolled up to his calves and a white button-down shirt. I sucked in an unsteady breath, my heart hammering in my chest.

He waved at the crowd gathering on the beach and flashed a wide grin. "Sorry I'm late! Had a meeting I couldn't miss, and the traffic was terrible."

Roman cupped his hands around his mouth. "Show-off!"

Oscar laughed. He looked so beautiful and perfect in that moment, with his tanned skin and wind-tousled hair, the riot of colors from the sunset lighting the sky behind him. He was warm and vital and alive, right in front of me for the first time in months, but it felt like I was caught in a dream.

It was harder than it should have been to focus on lining up my shot, getting the lighting just right, and capturing the moment. Oscar's eyes were alight with amusement, his smile wide and genuine, and for once, I didn't want to simply observe him through the viewfinder. I wanted to be by his side.

The boat neared the edge of the surf, and Oscar crouched, ready to jump down to the beach. I shifted, trying to get a better angle for my photo. The movement must have snagged his attention because he glanced my way.

He started to look away but then did a double take. His eyes met mine and held. A frown of confusion furrowed his forehead, and his lips parted slightly.

A wave hit the side of the boat, causing it to roll. The sudden movement surprised Oscar, and he teetered for a moment on the edge of the bow before pitching overboard.

He landed in the shallow water with a very inelegant and ungraceful splash.

I shoved my camera at Brant and lunged toward the ocean. I was the closest, so I reached him first, but Oscar had already dragged himself upright, sputtering seawater. I grabbed his arms to steady him. "Are you okay?"

He was drenched, rivulets of water cutting across his sculpted cheekbones. "You're… here," he said simply.

I couldn't find any words to reply.

For a small sliver of time, the world froze around us. My stomach flipped as memories from the night we spent together churned through my head. The way I'd tried to memorize the warm scent of him. How I'd trailed my lips down the center of his sleeping back before silently telling him goodbye and slipping out of the hotel room.

And here he was again, a mere breath away. Close enough to pull him toward me, to touch my mouth to his, to feel him against me?—

The moment was broken by Roman as he splashed toward us. "Nice of you to show up, Oscar," he called, laughter in his voice. "Only you'd make an entrance like that."

Oscar's eyes lingered on mine a beat longer. His expression was unguarded yet impossible to read. Was he overjoyed to see me? Terrified that we were inadvertently breaking the rules when we'd already slipped so much this week? Too overwhelmed by desire to care? Or was it just me who felt like he'd stepped onto an unexpected emotional roller coaster?

Roman said something else, and Oscar blinked, shaking his head slightly as though coming awake after a long sleep. He planted a smile on his face and turned to the groom. "I couldn't let a little traffic get in the way! Who'd give the best man speech if I weren't here?"

"You're the best man," I said numbly.

It wasn't a question but a statement of fact. Because as the shock of seeing Oscar again receded slightly, I realized that I'd known Oscar was going to be Roman's best man—hadn't he told me so that night at the bar when we'd drunk champagne and I'd let myself believe a single night with Oscar could possibly be enough?—and I'd known, as of this morning, that this was Roman and Scotty's wedding. But somehow, through cognitive dissonance or distraction or willful ignorance, I'd failed to put these fragments of information together and arrive at the truth…

That after months of being oh-so careful, Oscar and I were in the same place at the same time again. For an entire weekend.

Roman planted a hand on Oscar's shoulder and smiled at me. "He sure is. You wouldn't believe the number of times this man has saved my ass over the years." He looked back and forth between us. "I take it you two know each other?"

Oscar and I exchanged a glance, and I thought about the way I'd jerked him off in his hotel room as I ground my cock against his ass. I coughed, clearing my throat. "You could say that."

"Ahhhh." Roman laughed. "I shouldn't be surprised. Oscar knows everyone. Just be careful, he's a heartbreaker."

Oscar's smile tightened. "I wouldn't say that. After all, your heart recovered just fine. Now, where's that groom of yours? I need to congratulate him."

They started toward the beach and were quickly swallowed by the crowd of wedding guests waiting to say hello. I watched them for a moment, unable to look away from the way Oscar's wet shirt clung to his shoulders. I barely even noticed that my own clothes were sopping wet.

"You okay?"

Brant stood next to me, holding out my camera. I'd forgotten I'd shoved it at him. "Oh, yeah. Fine." Even I could hear how unconvincing my voice was.

"Why don't you call it a night?" Brant offered. "You had a long drive today, and now that Karlie and the baby have gone in for the night, I've got it covered."

I was torn, wanting both to escape the beach and put distance between me and Oscar but conversely wanting to stay as close to him as possible.

I glanced once more at Oscar. As I watched, he threw his head back and laughed, and I stared, transfixed. I could practically feel my own features softening as I vicariously soaked in his happiness… which was a pretty fucking ineffective way to show Oscar how cool I was with being just friends.

Hell, I was having a really hard time convincing myself.

The smart, rational choice would be to escape while I could.

"Are you sure?" I asked Brant.

He waved a hand. "Of course. You're drenched. Go dry off and get some sleep. Knowing these guys, tomorrow is going to be a very long day and an even longer night."

"Okay, thanks," I told Brant. "See you in the morning."

I retreated to my room, forcing myself at every step to keep my eyes forward and not look back. Once inside, I leaned against the door, letting out a strangled breath.

Tomorrow, things would be better, I told myself. I'd be well rested. I'd be prepared.

The shock of seeing Oscar so soon after talking to him was making me weak, obviously, and that was why my mind couldn't stop replaying our one night together, conjuring the phantom feeling of his muscles beneath my fingers, the smell of his expensive cologne mingling with clean sweat, the sound of his smooth, deep voice in my ears. Tomorrow, I would?—

I groaned. I was a terrible liar.

Tomorrow would not be better. I couldn't make it through the entire weekend without wanting him when I could barely make it through an hour today. If I was in proximity to Oscar for any length of time, I'd probably throw myself at him like he was a punch bowl and I was a thirsty, thirsty man. I'd end up begging him for sex, and?—

Wait. Wait. Hadn't Oscar said he'd planned to hook up with someone this weekend? He'd manifested me an actual horse instead of a dating horse, but he'd been pretty clear about his own secondary goal at this wedding. So why not me? Why not make our one-night thing become a… a two-night thing?

I paced around the room, trying to think this through. The room air was stiff and still, unlike the fresh night air I'd left behind.

Ninety-seven percent of my brain knew my idea was one of the worst ideas in human history, right up there with the Titanic architect saying, "Pah! Who needs lifeboats?" But god, it was amazing what a person could talk themselves into when they wanted a thing as badly as I wanted Oscar Overton?—

Sexually, of course.

Not… not romantically.

Because I still would not, could not, do that.

But I was capable of a no-strings hookup with him, wasn't I? After all, I'd done it before.

When I completed a third full circuit of the small room, I collapsed against the door again and banged my head against it lightly. This mental back-and-forth was exhausting. I either needed to talk to him or go to bed.

After a moment of hesitation, I flung open the door, ready to march back out and offer myself up like a very willing human sacrifice, but when I saw a figure standing across from me in the darkness, I sucked in a breath in alarm.

The figure raised its head. Oscar.

He wore the same clothes as before, the fabric still damp and clinging to his chest and arms. His hair was in disarray, and shadows darkened his face.

He jerked back, his eyes going wide with something akin to surprise and panic. I was sure my expression mirrored his. My pulse kicked into overdrive, my lungs suddenly growing tight, making it difficult to breathe.

"H-hey. What are you doing here?"

I might have been embarrassed by my stammering, except that Oscar—Oscar who always seemed to know what he was doing—looked as nervous and uncertain as I felt.

He ducked his head, then raised his gaze to mine. "Trying to make myself walk away… Trying to figure out how to convince you to let me in."

"Oh." If I'd thought breathing had been difficult before, I'd been wrong. Because looking at those eyes, at that face, at this man I knew better than some of the men I'd dated for months, I knew all the mental gymnastics I'd done a moment ago to justify what I wanted were meaningless; there was no choice to be made. If Oscar wanted me, I was his.

"Just ask," I whispered.

Heat flared in his expression, but he stayed where he was: just across the threshold, within reach but still somehow distant. "Nothing's changed though. I'm never going to be your happy ever after…"

I knew that—knew it—but hearing the words still hurt more than it should have.

Without giving myself time to think about what that meant, I reached for Oscar, curling a finger into the vee of his shirt and dragging him inside. "I found the hottest guy at the wedding."

He frowned. "What?"

"That's what my friend Oscar told me to do. He said if I wanted to get over the asshole I'd been dating, I needed to find the hottest guy at the wedding…"

"Oh." His expression cleared, and his lips twitched. "I assume you mean Roman? He might still be outside?—"

I kicked the door closed with my foot and pushed Oscar back against it none too gently, covering his mouth with my hand.

"…give him a seductive smile…" I leered at him, grinning crazily.

He laughed. "So seductive," he mumbled, the words warm against my palm.

"…lure him back to my hotel room…"

Oscar's eyes tracked over my head, scanning the room. He lifted one eyebrow.

"…and ride him all weekend," I whispered.

We stared at each other for a long moment, and I felt a flutter of panic. What if this wasn't what he wanted? What if he was wiser than I was and saw all the ways this could go horribly?—

Oscar lunged. His mouth found mine, and the tension that had been crackling around us ignited. Momentum carried us into the room.

"Fuck," Oscar groaned against me, the sound muffled by my tongue tangling with his. I yanked at his shirt, prying it open so I could run my hands across his bare chest.

His skin pebbled with goose bumps, and he shivered against me. "You're cold," I said between kisses.

He skated his teeth down my neck. "No."

"You're still wet," I pointed out.

"So are you. But that's an easy fix." He grabbed the remains of his shirt, shucking it off before reaching for mine. His fingers skimmed across my abdomen, up my ribs as he undressed me.

Our clothes hit the floor in a sodden mess, but I didn't care, and neither did Oscar. We stumbled, knees banging, fingers grabbing, tongues tangling. I fisted my hand into his damp hair, needing him closer.

My back hit the wall by the bathroom door. Oscar pressed a hand to my chest, holding me in place as he dropped to his knees. My cock stood rigid between us, already throbbing.

He took it in his hand and ran the tip down his cheek, groaning, "You have no idea how many times I've thought about this cock." He had just enough of a five-o'clock shadow to scrape across my sensitive crown. I clenched my ass, thrusting into his touch.

My hands felt too empty. It wasn't enough to bury them in his hair. I needed more of him. I needed his ass. I needed his cock and mouth… but as I stared down at him, I belatedly noticed the slight shivers that shook his shoulders and the goose bumps that appeared on his arms. The poor man was frozen.

I hauled him to his feet, and together, we stumbled into the bathroom. I wanted to warm him up, get him out of the frigid draft of the air-conditioning… shove him under the hot spray of the shower, and devour him in a cloud of steam.

I fumbled for the knobs on the shower faucet. Within seconds, we were together under the spray, our bodies slick as we rubbed against each other.

The bathroom filled with steam and the sound of our panting and moaning. "Like that. Fuck yes." I moaned as Oscar ground his cock against mine. He reached for my ass, fingers digging against my flesh.

In the year since we'd last fucked, I'd fantasized about Oscar too many times to count. I'd jacked myself off to daydreams of him eating my ass and fucking my face. There was so much I wanted to do to him. With him. So much I wanted him to do to me.

But here, now, I didn't have the patience for any of that. There wasn't time for finesse or fantasies. No time to worry or overthink or even process my emotions. My need for him was too overwhelming. Too primal.

I shut off my brain and let myself feel.

I shoved my fingers in Oscar's mouth, and he groaned. He grabbed my cock with soapy fingers, pressing it against his and stroking us both together. His breathing was rough and ragged, his movements raw.

I took my saliva-slicked fingers and reached around to slide them between his cheeks. He lifted a leg, wrapping it around my waist, giving me easier access. I found his hole, pressed a finger inside. I didn't wait, didn't give him time to adjust before adding a second, then a third.

He cried out in pleasure and maybe a little bit of pain, dropping his head to my shoulder and digging his teeth into the muscle there. His grip around our cocks tightened, and his movements grew more needy. I fucked him with my fingers as he jerked us frantically together.

"I'm going to come," he panted.

I curled my fingers inside him, finding the right spot and stroking it. That sent him over the edge. His hips thrust wildly, and his cries echoed around the tiled bathroom. He came in hot, liquid spurts that drenched my own cock.

The satisfaction of seeing him undone was all it took to tip me over the edge. I pumped myself in his fist, his release making his grip slick. My orgasm ripped through me, overwhelming every sense and thought except for Oscar.

Spent, we leaned against each other, keeping one another from slipping to the shower floor. He turned his head, nuzzling against my neck. His lips brushed over my pulse, and as my chest squeezed at the tenderness of the gesture, I wished there were a way to capture with my camera how beautiful and right this moment was so that I could keep it forever.

Because I'd been lying when I thought I could have this night with no repercussions…

And I was very much afraid I'd been lying to myself all along, when I thought there was a chance I could be friends with Oscar and not fall.

It turned out I was damned good at lying.