“You charmed me from the first meeting, and you’ve never stopped. You’re it for me. You get me like no one else does. I couldn’t ask for someone more perfect for me. I love you. I will always love you. And you’re mine as much as I’m yours.”
We exchanged rings, and my hands shook, but Monroe clasped them in his until they stopped. I wanted to kiss him and leaned forward, waiting for the final words from Adam.
“By the power vested in me by the Internet and the state of New York, I now pronounce you husbands once and flor-al!”
THE ENDTurning Wood by Ofelia Gr?nd
Mason Dager slowly spun the misty whiskey tumbler between fingertips grown cold from the prolonged contact. The beautiful, egg-shaped glass didn’t look well balanced. He was almost afraid to let it go. When he forced himself to release the glass, it sat perfectly still on the bar disk.
The ice cubes were nearly all melted, but he had yet to take a sip.
“Not to your liking?” The bartender, a blue-haired woman with tattoos struggling to climb her neck despite her attempt to hide them under a scarf. It was a black and gray sugar skull scarf. He frowned. She was probably not trying to hide them at all. Glancing at her face, he noticed a mark underneath her bottom lip.
“Not allowed to wear piercings while working?” Mason almost chuckled. He was amazed that a posh winter resort, River Cove—such a lame name—allowed a blue-haired woman to tend the bar.
Her eyes, a lighter shade than the hair, crinkled at the corners. “I can do whatever I want to…after hours.” She winked.
“Mhm.” He went back to stare at the amber liquid in his glass.
“You want me to put it on your room?” She nodded at the whiskey when he looked up.
“Ah…erm…yeah, that would be good.” He put the glass to his lips and took a sip. Nice. Though how he would pay for it when checking out, he didn’t know.
His phone buzzed in his pocket for the hundredth time. He didn’t look at it, didn’t need to. He’d checked it the first twenty times, but now he didn’t have the energy anymore.
Every time Joel’s name came up on the screen, a part of him died. How had it come to this?
He downed the whiskey and asked for another, and another…and another. The bartender went from looking curiously at him to frowning.
His life was over, his money gone, his car—Joel had sold his car. He rubbed his forehead. It was his own fault. He’d signed everything over to Joel, believing him when he’d said he could get a cheaper car insurance. The insurance part wasn’t a lie. Mason was twenty-four, Joel thirty-three, so he did get a cheaper insurance. But signing over the apartment and getting a joint bank account instead of the one he used to have…He was so fucking stupid.
How would he get out of this? He had bills to pay and food wasn’t free either.
The only reason he’d come here at all was that it was already paid for and breakfast, lunch, and dinner were included in the price. It was going on a holiday over Christmas or starve. There was no way in hell he’d tell his mom what had happened, not now. New Year’s Eve was the highlight of her year. She put so much time and effort into making the party as perfect as could be. He would not ruin it. If he could walk around smiling at friends and family, pretending everything was fine, he would.
He raised the glass to his lips only to find it empty. “Could I have another?” He smiled at the woman. She was getting a little fuzzy around the edges. Mason blinked to clear his vision. Normally he didn’t drink.
“Are you gonna keep it up till I cut you off?” The woman grabbed the bottle, looked around, and refilled his glass. She was pretty in an odd way, like a drawn superhero or something. She raised an eyebrow as he studied her.
“I like your hair.”
She snorted. “Sure you do. Most men mingling around here in their fancy suits and constantly buzzing phones love my hair.” She put the bottle down and wiped the counter.
“Yeah?” He believed the opposite. Why Joel had booked them a week here, he didn’t know. Mason wore a suit, he’d even put on a tie before coming down to the bar, but he was pretty sure his entire ensemble cost less than what most of the men in the room paid for a pair of socks. And maybe he was being prejudiced, but he didn’t think they appreciated tattoos, blue hair, and piercings. But then again, Mason knew nothing about what people thought. He’d believed Joel loved him, had believed all his pretty lies, and now he didn’t dare trust anything anymore.