WALK ME DOWN THE AISLE

* Chapter Eight *

I don't know, maybe what happened to Scott and me just hit me strongly. I can't even forget the stupid thing I did with him, I thought to myself, my voice felt strained as I struggled to find the right words. David looked at me intently, concern etched on his face. He set down his coffee cup, his eyes searching mine for answers. "Do you have a problem? Tell me. Because I noticed you were not okay since you came back," he probed gently.

Drawing a deep breath, I glanced around, checking if anyone might overhear our conversation. "Can I tell you a secret, bud?" I asked, cautiously lowering my voice. "Of course, what's the point of being your best friend for almost six years if you can't count on me? I'm not like Alice," David assured me, a slight smirk playing on his lips, trying to alleviate the seriousness of the situation.

"Okay, um... Do you remember Scott?" I hesitated, well aware that he knew exactly who I was referring to.

His brows furrowed as he tried to recall. "Who's Scott? The Scott you used as inspiration in your novel about your ex, or the Scott you say is your new imaginary boyfriend now?" David quipped, a touch of confusion evident in his voice.

"Ugh! They're both the same Scott," I sighed, growing frustrated. "I'm just saying, we met at Don and Vanessa's wedding, and something happened to us."
 
As the words left my lips, I felt the weight of the memorresurfacees, flooding me with a mix of emotions. It was as if I could still feel Scott's touch, hear his laughter, smell his musky scent, and experience the electric connection we shared. The incident had left a profound result, making it impossible for me to move on or forget my foolish actions.

"What?" David exclaimed, his eyes widening in shock. I couldn't believe David's reaction. It's not every day that you see your guy friend react so dramatically as if there's something more going on between us than just being best friends. But that's all we are—best friends. No matter what anyone else might think or speculate, our friendship is strong, even if I can't help finding him cute with his oddly satisfying Welsh accent.

We've been an incredible team in writing and filmmaking for the past six years, and I trust that he knows me well enough to keep a secret. "Lower your voice!" I cautioned him, my voice tinged with urgency. "Wait, hold on a second," David whispered, trying to mirror my tone of voice. "Are you and that Scott in a relationship? When did this even happen?"

My embarrassment bubbled to the surface as I blurted out the truth. "We only met once, at the wedding. I was completely drunk, and when I woke up in the morning, I found both of us naked next to each other. It was a shock, even for me."

David's disbelief was obvious as he asked me further. "Wait, are you serious? Is this Scott, or are you just imagining things?"

"I don't think you understand," I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes at David.
He acted like he knew everything like he was my older brother or something for a second.

"Well, obviously there are consequences when you flirt with someone like him, bud," David replied, his tone filled with concern.
I shrugged nonchalantly, not bothered by his warning. "Oh, like what? Of course, I know all about the consequences. But what happened, happened," I responded dismissively.

David leaned in closer, his voice low and serious. "The only thing you can do now is avoid him if you ever meet again. And don't say a word to Alice or even our boss about it," he warned, his eyes fixed on mine.
I made a promise to David right then and there. I would keep my mouth shut and not breathe a word of what had happened to anyone, not even my other best friend, Alice. For the next few weeks, I worked hard to divert my attention away from Scott and the events that had unfolded between us.

But it was a tough decision to include him in the story I was writing, but I couldn't ignore his impact on my life. Scott wasn't even the main character in this story; it was merely the anonymous guy who had helped me find my way back to my room that fateful night when I was drunk. With every passing day, the memory of that stranger, or Mr. Stranger, as I had nicknamed him, faded away.

Yet Scott's existence lingered, his impact on my seemingly outlandish heart was too strong to forget.