Velma hated trying on clothes, so she was happily delegating the task of finding their bridesmaid gowns to Heather.
“Dean and I had a talk, and I’m still figuring it out.”
“What’d you talk about?” Heather hollered over the top of the dressing room door marked with a glitter-encrusted number four.
Claire’s face went blank. “Kids.”
In Velma’s Dean Dreams she had planned on three kids within the first few years of marriage. That way they could get the diapers done all at once. Those were steps five, six, and seven of the five-year plan. The free spirit in Brek probably didn’t want children and—holy crap, she did not need to be thinking about Brek’s babies.
“Dean doesn’t want kids.” Claire sounded defeated. “He wants to travel. Maybe move to Europe.”
Whoa. Europe was not a house in Aurora.
“Don’t you want kids?” Velma was certain she did.
“I don’t know.” Claire lifted a shoulder and stood still while the sales lady continued with her measurements. “I never thought much about them. I don’t not want them. But it’s Dean, and he’s the most important thing in my life.”
Velma dropped to a white tapestry chair. “I can’t believe Dean doesn’t want kids.”
Really, with a face as handsome as Dean’s, procreation should be mandatory.
Next thing she knew, Claire would be telling her how Dean’s financial portfolio was all high-risk and not diversified.
“We’ll figure it out.” Claire flipped through a veil catalog. “I want to have fun today. I need to shake it off.”
“What do you think?” Heather emerged from the dressing room in a short, tight purple tube dress that only fit women without any curves. In other words, it wouldn’t work on Velma.
“I love it.” Claire perked up at the sight of the dress.
“It’s the best, isn’t it?” Heather’s eyes lit up.
“Totally the one. Velma, this is going to look awesome on you.” Claire was genuinely excited about the dress.
Except, it would look awful on Velma.
“That dress is not going to work with my chest size.” Velma shook her head. Or her tush size.
“Give it a try. I bet it’ll look amazing when you get it on. You don’t give yourself enough credit. You will rock the hell out of this dress,” Heather insisted.
Maybe…Velma could try a hemline that short. It might even be fun.
“We’re all ready for you, Claire.” The sales lady stuck her head out of the dressing room.
“I guess it’s time.” Claire turned to Velma and made an “eeek” sound before she disappeared into the dressing room with the sales lady.
“I have gifts for you and Heather,” Claire said over the rustling of the garment bag in her fitting room. “Can you grab them? They’re the white boxes on the counter.”
Heather picked up the two white boxes from the counter and handed one to Velma.
Velma untied the ribbon from her box and removed the lid. An ache formed in the center of her chest. She recognized the handmade Italian lace that had once covered her grandmother’s entire wedding gown.
But the piece in her hand was not on the dress. It had been sewn into a dainty handkerchief. Velma couldn’t seem to move. She wasn’t breathing. She opened her mouth, but air wouldn’t come.
“You okay?” Heather asked, her expression concerned.
“Yes,” Velma croaked, taking in the devastation that was once her grandmother’s bridal gown. Claire was making changes to the dress. Velma knew this. She’d even encouraged it when Claire couldn’t find a dress she loved.
Everything was changing.
Except Velma.
“Ta-da.” Claire emerged from the dressing area.
Gramma Velma’s dress had a train, poufy sleeves, and yards and yards of handmade Italian lace. The version Claire wore used some of the same lace, but the sleeves had been removed and the fabric cut short so it fell at the knee.
Velma’s heart tumbled to her toes. This dress was beautiful. Totally Claire. But it wasn’t her grandmother’s. Not anymore.
Everything was different. Velma had gone blurry from tears forming on her eyelids.
“Velvet?” Claire’s face fell.
Velma hiccupped and pressed the back of her hand against her lips. “You’re so pretty.”
Claire started to cry, too. “You don’t think I ruined it?”
“I think sometimes an update is in order.” Velma stared as the sales lady tugged at the fabric of what had once been a family heirloom, holding it tight and pinning it in place.
Velma’s world was crumbling like the huge sandcastle they’d built too close to the tide when they were little. The whole thing was lost to a saltwater wave.
She gulped against the gritty feeling of losing the dress her grandmother had worn. Claire loved the changes. This was Claire’s wedding. Velma’s job was to support her, not freak out over a cut-up family heirloom. Her heart rate slowed. She could do this.
“What are you doing later, Velma?” Heather sifted through a rack of bridesmaid dresses. “We were thinking about grabbing dinner.”
Velma hedged. “I have plans tonight.”
Downtown at a matchmaker mixer.
“With Brek?” Heather paused, giving Velma the side-eye with a dash of smirk.
“Brek’s overwhelmed with brides at the moment,” Velma dodged. Actually, he was alone, using his mom’s empty garage to change the oil on his motorcycle.
Claire gave Velma a good once-over, the sales lady still pinning the material into place. “How’s helping him out with planning going?”
Well, given that the last bride had bailed, not so good. “It’s going.”
“And the friends-with-benefits situation you’ve been working on?” Heather plucked a mint from one of the crystal bowls.
“We’re just friends.” She needed to keep repeating that.
“A guy like Brek needs a woman ready for adventure. I think you could be that woman.” Claire grinned wide. “You know it’s going to happen. Ditch the dating spreadsheets. Do like the Prince of Pop and just go crazy.”
“I think you mean ‘Let’s Go Crazy,’” Velma corrected.
“What?” Claire turned so the sales lady could pin the side of her dress.
“That’s the title. Let’s Go Crazy.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Now you sound like Dean.”
“Either way you say it, I think you should do it.” Heather held up a purple chiffon dress. “Yay or nay?”
“I think we should do the one you’re wearing,” Velma replied. Claire loved it. Heather wouldn’t pick something that would make Velma look bad.
Heather beamed. “Really? You’re going to look amazing in it. Brek’s going to be all over you.”
Velma sighed. Maybe doing something crazy wasn’t such a bad idea. And doing Brek would be crazy. Also, probably fun. She could run her tongue along his abs and all those muscles over and over again. And she trusted him.
Besides, if her grandmother’s dress was getting an update, didn’t she deserve one, too?
Velma’s phone buzzed in her purse. She tossed the used paper cup into the bin and pulled out her phone.
Brek.
“Brek?” she asked into the phone.
“Dinner. You want Chinese?”
“Are you at your mom’s?” Velma’s voice cracked. She was going to do this.
“Why? Everything okay?” he asked immediately.
She gulped back the intensity of all the feelings inside her. She switched the phone to her other ear. “Where are you?”
Heather and Claire paused while she spoke. They hadn’t moved since she’d picked up the phone. They just watched her.
“She’s gonna do it,” Heather whispered. “Our baby girl is all grown up.”
“Changing my oil. V, talk to me. What’s going on?” Brek’s tone sharpened.
“I’ll meet you there.” She clicked the phone off, sho
ved her purse onto her shoulder. Claire had driven Heather and Velma to the shop. Velma’s car was still at the apartment, so she’d need a cab.
“Do not put this on your spreadsheet,” Claire said with a wink.
With that, Velma let out a breath she’d been holding for nearly thirty years.
Chapter Thirteen
Brek dried his fingers on the grease rag in his hand. Where the hell was Velma? She wouldn’t pick up her damn phone. He tried again. Nothing.
This time he tried Claire’s number.
“Brek?” A female—not Claire—answered.
“Velma there?” He shoved a hand through his hair.
“Hi, Brek. It’s Heather,” still-not-Claire replied.
“She there?”
“No. I think she’s headed your way.” Shuffling in the background, and he was pretty certain she said, “It’s him” to someone.
He cursed under his breath. “Call me if you see her?”
“Absolutely,” Heather replied.
Another incoming call beeped in his ear. He glanced to the screen. Aspen.
“Yeah,” he said into the phone as he clicked to take Aspen’s call. “You’ve got Brek.”
“Would you explain to me why six of my brides have cancelled for next season?” Panic laced her should’ve-been-staying-calm voice. She wasn’t supposed to be getting status reports, and she sure as hell wasn’t supposed to be getting upset about them. Sophie’s parents had wasted no time bashing Montgomery Events. “The last one cancelled for this season. I only have Claire and Dean’s left.”
“Everything is under control.” He winced as he spoke.
“I don’t believe you.” A note of hysteria tinted the words. “Brek, I needed those weddings.”
Life was so much easier with pill-popping guitar players and their groupies. If he made it out of this mess without having a stroke, he’d forever consider himself a lucky man.
A taxi pulled into the driveway, Velma in the back seat.
“Aspen. Swear to God, I’ll sort this.”
“You swear on your Harley you’ll fix everything?”
“Yeah.” Because if he failed, he’d be selling the thing and everything else he owned to get his sister back on her feet.
He clicked off the phone to head straight toward Velma.
She fumbled with her purse, but he handed the guy a twenty through the window before she even opened her wallet. He snagged the door, opening it wide so she could climb out.
“What’s going on?” He glanced over his shoulder as the yellow taxi backed out of the driveway and turned down the street.
“I’m here to accept your proposal.” She’d gone pale.
“What are you talking about?”
She bit at the side of her lip. “Do you still want to have sex with me?”
Uh. Of course he did. He was a heterosexual male with an abundance of fantasies about her...well, all of her.
This, however, was not a conversation to have in front of his mother’s neighbors.
“Come inside.” He guided her with his palm against the back of her shirt. She was wearing another skirt. This one shorter than her others, midthigh. He stepped behind her into the garage and pressed the black button to close the door.
She drew a quick breath. He helped her sit on the top step heading into the laundry room of the house and then plopped down next to her.
“Well?” she asked. “I mean, if you’ve changed your mind. You don’t have to—”
“I haven’t changed my mind.” He moved his hand to the skin of her thigh and traced his fingertips there.
“Is your mom coming home soon?” She set her purse behind her on the step.
“No, she’s out for the day. Some business thing tonight she’s all wound up about. Won’t see her until she comes up for air when it’s over.” Ma always disappeared before her big functions.
“Okay.” Velma began unbuttoning her shirt.
“Okay?” He couldn’t move his eyes from where her fingers were undoing the buttons.
This was new. He usually made the moves on her…and failed. The last button undone, her shirt fell open. She shrugged it off. His mouth went dry, and he couldn’t pull his gaze from her lacy bra and the rack he’d dreamt about for weeks. The holy grail of breasts presented to him in silk and lace—and it wasn’t even his birthday.
“I think we should set some ground rules, though.” She scooted toward him. He stilled, and thanked fuck his mother had a climate-controlled garage. How far was Velma going to go with this?
When Velma tugged his shirt out of the waistband of his jeans and ran her palm up his abs, he got the idea.
He cleared his throat. “You want to tell me what you’re doing?”
“Setting down the boundaries,” she said against his temple.
His dick responded to boundaries like it had never responded before. “What kind of boundaries?”
“Well…” She scrunched her forehead and gestured to the fly of his jeans. “I guess we should probably be exclusive while we do…this.”
He could be on board with that. “Sounds fair.”
“And I think it’s just friendship and sex. Anything else should be discussed beforehand.”
Maybe it was the blood flow rushing to his zipper, but he had no clue what she was blathering about. “Discussed beforehand?”
“Like sleeping together…without sex. And, you know, if you wanted to take me to a movie or something and hold my hand. We should discuss that first.”
He glanced to her exposed bra. Her hand was not what he wanted to hold at the moment. His salivary glands worked overtime. Pretty soon, he’d be like one of those huge mastiff dogs, dripping slobber all over her. But in a good way.
“No sleeping. Got it.” He focused on her eyes. It was hard. “What, uh, were you thinking? We could go back to the apartment?”
“Can you really have sex on the back of a bike?” She glanced uncertainly to his Harley.
He nodded. “Yes.”
“If I’m going to do something crazy, I should go all in. You want to show me how?” She moved her palm over his pec, brushing his nipple, and fuck it. Yes, he did want to show her the many different ways one could hook up on a motorcycle. She’d been upset, though, and she wasn’t a quick fuck. He couldn’t take advantage.
Scruples really sucked sometimes.
“You’re upset,” he said, moving her fingertips from under his shirt and threading their hands together. He was always ready to go there when it came to Velma. But her abrupt change of heart gave him whiplash.
“You make everything better.” She moved over him, straddling his thighs on the top step, her knees pressed against his hips.
He dug his fingertips into her ass, tugging her closer. His body responded in kind. But where the fuck had this come from? “What’s with the one-eighty?”
She shrugged, but something passed across her face he couldn’t read. “I think it’s time. You want me. I want you. Isn’t that enough?”
He had a dick, so that was enough.
His mouth met hers, and he deepened the kiss to the point she squeaked. His hand slipped along the lace cup of her bra and tugged it down. He finally got a handful of her tit and moaned into her mouth. Her nipple pebbled under his thumb. She gasped and arched her back, basically presenting herself as tribute. Bonus, it also provided opportunity for him to unclasp her bra. One of those handy front clips he appreciated in moments like this.
Not that he’d ever done a chick in his mother’s garage. Ah well, first time for everything.
She pulled the hem of his white tee up. With a bit of help from him, she got it over his head. And there they were, chest to breast, ready to carnally christen his bike.
“Stand up,” he directed her.
Another something he couldn’t quite understand passed over her face when she complied, but he was too far gone to be a gentleman and ask. Unless…fuck.
“I don’t have a condom.” He swore. Maybe he�
��d left one up in his old bedroom from when he was a teenager and thought it was a sign of awesome to keep a store, just in case. Those couldn’t still be any good. Condoms likely had a shelf life.
“You don’t need one.” She covered her breasts with her arm.
“Thirty-two years old and nobody’s baby daddy. Pretty proud of that record.” He stood and moved to her, so she had to drop her arm. A rack like that shouldn’t be covered unless absolutely necessary.
“No, I’m…it’s just…sheesh…” She blushed deeper than he’d ever seen before. “I’m on the pill, okay?”
He raised his eyebrows at her. He was clean, but he’d never made it a habit of not using backup protection. Little Montgomerys running around all over the country weren’t his only concern.
“My periods have always been wonky…” She glanced away. “And now I’m officially mortified.”
“V, when it comes to anything you ever want to tell me about yourself, don’t be ashamed. Sorry your periods are…wonky.” He hugged her close, the lower parts of his anatomy glad to be back in the game. “Don’t need to go into a full sexual history here, but do you make a point of relying on the pill for protection?”
Her soft body went stiff. “Yes. I mean, no. What?”
He could tell the second she realized what he’d asked because her eyes got huge and then…she fuckin’ laughed. “You’re asking if I’m diseased?”
Apparently, that was amusing. She laughed so hard against his chest, he thought she’d pop a kidney or something. “Breckenridge Montgomery is asking if I’ve got an STD?”
He set his jaw. “Not something people usually find amusing. Yes or no question.”
She sobered and glanced up from under her eyelashes. “No. I’m healthy. Other than the period thing. Anything else?”
Nope, that about did it.
“For the record. I’m clean, too.” He leaned his face to hers and gave everything he’d held back before. She didn’t just squeak, she fuckin’ groaned into his throat as his tongue slid along hers. He lifted her so her legs wrapped around his hips and moved to his bike. She stood panting before him. Her skirt lifted easily, and he shoved her cotton panties down to her knees, running his hand up the inside of her thighs on the trek back up. He growled when his fingertips grazed the apex of her thighs and found her drenched sweet spot.
Going Down On One Knee (A Mile High Matched Novel Book 1) Page 13
