“Shane?” Amelia asks. “What are you doing?”
My hand tightens on hers as I take us to the terrace. There seems to be a dark corner out of sight from the ballroom. I don’t know if it’s truly private, but it must be better than being in front of every wedding guest who just watched me drag Amelia away like a caveman. “What were you doing in there?”
Amelia looks at me like I’m crazy, which I might be. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“In there.” I point back toward the reception. “Who were you with?”
“Anthony?”
“Who is he?”
“Why do you care?”
“Humor me.”
Amelia lets out a frustrated groan. “Anthony is a Fury coach. We met before the ceremony. He’s nice. And polite. And funny. And I thought, you know, because I’m a grown woman, I could dance with a man without being tarred and feathered for it.”
“That was dancing?” I say with a bite. “I didn’t realize you needed to be that close to dance. Who knew?”
Amelia’s eyes are beginning to bulge out of her head. And, because I know her so well, I realize she’s five seconds away from ripping me a new asshole. Fine. I’ll take it. As long as it means she’s away from Coach Grab Ass.
“You’re fucking unbelievable!” She starts pacing back and forth, throwing her hands in the air. “Why do you care? Why can’t you let me live my life? Are you my keeper tonight? Is that why you’ve been staring at me all day? If so, I apologize; I didn’t know I needed to ask permission to dance with a man who I find nice and attractive.”
“Nice? Attractive? Really, Amelia? Don’t act like you’re interested in this guy. You barely know him.”
“Are you kidding me?” she screams. “I can’t with you. This is always how it is.”
“How what is?”
“This! You. Me. The rest of the idiots we call friends. Ever since my divorce—which was seven years ago, by the way—whenever I show interest in someone, one of you idiots gets involved and ruins it. Either I get the third degree, or worse, they do. Or you run them off. The others have cooled off over the years, but you? You seem to have made it your personal mission to make sure I die alone.”
I take a few slow breaths as I do my best to push down the words that are threatening to come out. “I’m just trying to protect you.”
“Protect me? From what? Dating? The outside world? What is it, Shane? Tell me.” She takes a few deep breaths to calm down, but it doesn’t lower the sound of her voice. “I know you’ve saved me before. And I’ll always be grateful for that. But what are you saving me from now? I’d love to know. Because all I see here is a man, who claims to be my best friend, treating me like I’m a dumb woman who can’t make her own choices.”
I don’t say anything. I can’t. She’s right. I do all those things. I’m doing them right now. But I can’t tell her why I do them, so I don’t say anything.
“Of course, the trademark Shane Cunningham silence,” she says, her voice growing louder. “Well, since you have nothing to say, let me tell you this: I’m a divorced, single mom of two exhausting teenagers. I rarely get nights to truly let my hair down. And you know what? I did. I was having fun. I didn’t feel guilty for living a little. I was having a lovely evening with a lovely man until you pounded your chest and dragged me away because apparently, fun isn’t allowed where you’re concerned.”
“You can have fun.”
This makes her laugh, though I doubt she’s finding it very funny. “You really don’t get it, do you? You’re supposed to be my best friend. You know everything I’ve been through. Everything we’ve been through. So why? Why can’t you let me have this? Why do you insist on being my unofficial bodyguard? Why for one night can’t you let me be a single woman who wants to have a good time at a wedding and not worry about work, or my kids, or—”
She doesn’t see it coming. She didn’t see it coming seventeen years ago, either.
I just grab her and kiss her. I kiss the hell out of her. I kiss her the way I’ve wanted to kiss her for years.
And in that moment, I know that now everything is about to change…
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