One Last Shot (Pub Fiction #3)

by Gillian Jones

  Looking ahead to the beautifully decorated arbour covered with greenery and pink roses serving as the altar, my eyes land on Ryker. Holy cup of hotness, does he look good all cleaned up. He’s standing tall in his black tux, white vest and tie along with a matching white pocket square. His hair is styled perfectly, he looks perfect. The best thing about his appearance in this moment, however, is the huge shit-eating grin splaying across his lips as he impatiently shifts from foot to foot, lifting up on the balls of his feet like a little kid, trying his hardest to see past us. I can’t hide my smile at the sight of this man chomping at the bit to see his girl. I really couldn’t have picked a better man for my best friend.

  I’m barely at the halfway mark when I hear Ryker’s voice boom over the music: “I’d really be okay if you all wanted to walk a bit faster. I’m losing my mind here.”

  And with that, any tension I felt is gone. God, he loves her. It seems we all feel his pain, so to help end his suffering, we add a little extra giddy-up to our steps. I see Braun rushing ahead to meet a slow-moving Emmerson, who is dropping her petals one-by-one, taking her job as flower girl extremely seriously. Braunwyn helps her toss the last of her petals and speeds up the procession further when she guides her little girl to sit with Levi and Ryker’s mom, Pat, before making her way to the bride’s side in front of the altar.

  Of course, the Eddison boys can never just be seen and not heard. Best man Levi’s low rumble to Braun—about her looking “smokin’”—doesn’t go as unheard as I think he’d intended.

  After a few laughs, everyone falls silent, and we’re all finally in position.

  I love weddings, especially watching the groom’s reaction to seeing the bride for the first time. I always keep my eyes to the front. I think it’s the best, getting to see the bride through his eyes, seeing his face taking her in for the first time. It’s an intimate moment, one I can’t help interloping on.

  The music switches and “First Day of My Life” by Bright Eyes begins to play, signalling that Kat’s about to make her way from the greenhouse. I turn to ensure I get a good look at Ryker as everyone else looks down the path looking for the bride.

  Preparing to watch Ryker, I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up in anticipation, but I never get the chance to see the look on his face because as soon as he sees his bride, Ryker bounds past us all, bolting his way up the aisle to his Kat.

  Following this blatant display of Ryker being Ryker, my eyes happen to find Matty and I can’t look away. Grade A, mouth-watering—the English language has momentarily escaped me—sexy-as-fuck Matt. In. A. Fucking. Tux. Holy hell, is he gorgeous. His hair is shorter on the top than the last time I saw him, and the scruff is gone. In its place, he’s sporting a smooth look, one that I long to rub my face against to test its softness, its “how much do I like this look” factor. The black tux fits him like a second skin, pulling in all the right places, his steel blue tie hugging his toned neck, a neck I want to wrap my arms around while I thank him properly for the note. My eyes are locked on that neck, his Adam’s apple jumping hard, images of licking the shaved skin play in my mind as I continue to take him in as a complete package. The tux is a thing of perfection, really, offering subtle hints at the muscular physique that hides under its layers—layers I can see scattered over my bedroom floor. Jesus, I need to get a grip…or a Wetnap! He tilts his head and I catch a sexy grin gracing his face, and I realize I’ve literally been standing in the middle of Ryker and Kat’s wedding eye-fucking the shit out of Matt while not three feet away, Kat and Ryker are standing in front of the officiant ready to exchange their vows. Gah, I am the worst friend ever! I scoot over to Kat, giving her the ring, and taking her bouquet in return.

  Glancing back at Matt, I give him my best “why didn’t you tell me to stop staring?” look. I see his eyes shine bright with mischief as he mouths, “I feel so violated. Eyes front, beautiful.” He winks and turns his attention back in the direction of Ryker and Kat. Jerk.

  “Everything okay?” Braun whispers quietly beside me.

  “Yeah, great. Thanks.”

  “So you know, my ovaries are thumping from the way he’s been watching you.”

  “Who?” I try to pretend I have no idea what she’s talking about.

  “You know exactly who I mean. The one still stealing glances.”

  “Shhh.” I ignore her, focusing back to the altar.

  I guess our silent exchange wasn’t as discreet as I thought.

  I won’t look over.

  Kat is saying: “In sickness and in health…”

  I will not look over.

  “You’re my other half…” I hear her say, and I smile.

  And, dammit…I sneak a look over.

  Braunwyn’s right, Matt is openly studying me, and the heat behind his eyes is exhilarating. I glare at him. “Stop,” I mouth, trying my best to be subtle, while I listen faintly to the Justice of the Peace give a lighthearted speech about cherishing, and so on.

  “No. You’re stunning,” he mouths back (causing Levi to give him a wayward glance), before turning to listen to Kat.

  “Ryker, you’re my Honeybutter and I can’t wait to spend my life with you. I will love you always, even when you drive me crazy with that over-the-top you-ness that I’ve come to love too darn much to imagine my life without…” She continues on, and once again I find my eyes seeking Matt, wondering what he’s thinking in this intimate moment between Kat and Ryker.

  Matt’s stare remains heady when bouncing between me and our friends, his eyes changing colour the longer he keeps me in focus, a colour I recognize—that darker shade, the one that lets me know he wants me as much as I want him. It’s a look that causes a storm of want to churn in my stomach, my nipples to tighten against my dress, and a familiar wetness in my panties.

  Diverting my eyes back to Kat and Ryker, I try to focus on the bride and groom—I need to focus on the bride and groom—or else I’ll be a moaning, begging pool of girlie wantonness pooling at the altar, the altar of Matt Bishop.

  Unfortunately, Ryker’s words to Kat threaten to leave me a blubbering mess instead of the melting mass of desire I was becoming under my Matt trance. Unable to decide which is worse, I stand like the rest of the witnesses now, and watch with bated breath, my heart swelling as Ryker shows the congregation just how much of a swooning bastard he is when it comes to his Kat.

  “Hot girl,” Ryker says, taking a deep breath, and I reach for the Kleenex Brooke’s just handed each of us. “From the moment you walked into Pub Fiction, I knew I was done for. I’m a tough guy, but you made my skin prickle when those jade eyes of yours collided with mine. You literally scared the sh—heck out of me.” He shrugs his shoulders before stepping in closer, placing his hands on her hips. “You instantly became everything I didn’t know I needed. I vow to shop with you when you feel you have nothing to wear, I promise to eat ice cream with you when you’re moody or when our babies make you snacky, but most of all, I promise to love you more with every passing day. Now give me those lips. I’ve waited too damn long, woman.”

  And just like that, I’m a hot mess again. Tears stream down my face. Tears at the sweet words from Ryker to my best friend, tears of joy in the moment, and maybe a few tears for myself—because maybe, just maybe, I’m wrong. Maybe I do want this, even if my parents won’t be here to see it. I know deep down they’d be so pissed at me for my ludicrousness about love, marriage, and that silly mantra I impose on myself. Maybe I can allow myself to feel this kind of happy? The happiness that comes from that soul-tingling, tummy-fluttering, pulse-pounding, all-consuming feeling of love. The kind I ran from.

  Shoving that thought into the recesses of my mind, I turn again to the groom’s side, looking past Ryker who’s kissing the shit out of his now-wife, to find Matt. Matty’s eyes meet mine, concern lacing his features as he begins to make his way over to walk me back up the aisle now that the service has ended.

  Standing in front of me in the lush open garden a
rea, Matt reaches out and catches my final tear.

  “Thanks for the note, Matty. You really are a romantic, bridge-busting, troll-scaring man, aren’t you?” I blurt, not even sure I know what the hell that’s supposed to mean.

  He tugs me hard into his chest, holding me tight, giving me exactly what I didn’t realize I needed. “Trolls? God, I’ve missed your kind of crazy, Claire. You okay, baby?” he kisses my forehead before tucking me into his side, continuing to comfort me.

  “I will be, eventually, I think,” I say.

  I rest my head on his shoulder as he guides us over to the patio where cocktails will be served while the bride and groom have their pictures taken.

  Chapter 20

  Claire

  “I’m cutting in.”

  Matt’s gritty voice coming from directly behind me affects me like it always does. It’s a clipped demand, one that causes butterflies—no, the whole damn zoo—to spring to life in my belly. I can feel the annoyance in his breath as it hits the back of my neck.

  It’s been an amazing wedding, but one where Matt and I have been playing a game of cat and mouse since we left the ceremony. I’d scurried away after Matt and I had a drink, having freaked myself out with my show of emotion. Other than during the speeches and the bridal party dance, mousy me has been able to avoid direct contact. Until now, it seems.

  “Hey, Jude. Scram. I got this,” Matt admonishes.

  “I knew it,” Jude shakes his head, “I fucking knew you tripped on purpose. Accident my ass, I saw the way you were looking at her all day. Shit.”

  “Yeah. Got the message now? Or you need another reminder?” Matt asks, his tone serious, eyes narrowing with challenge.

  “Easy, man. No harm done.” Thankfully, Jude doesn’t push it. “It was just a dance. Claire’s all yours, if that’s okay with her. I guess I should have listened to Justin,” Jude says, before walking away.

  “Fucking right. You’re mine,” Matt says, pulling me into his tight embrace, his attitude pissing me off to the point where I can’t help reminding him that he doesn’t need to be a dick for no reason. It’s not like Jude, or any other guy, stands a chance anyway. But still…

  “Oh, hi, Matty,” I say. “Sorry, did you want to cut in? Sure, no problem, I’d love to dance with you, thanks for asking. Let me just thank Jude…Jude, thank you so much for the dance,” I say to the empty air in my most annoyed tone. “You know, Matty, that’s how normal people cut in on a dance. You are such a buffoon sometimes, you know that?”

  “I don’t care. He had you long enough,” Matt deadpans, leaving no room for argument. I step back from his hold, planning to argue, but I’m stunned, finally getting a good close look at him.

  Lord have mercy, he looks good. Like kick-to-the-crotch good. Like I’ve literally gone and blown my ovaries good. And he smells even better, like fresh linen mixed with hints of bergamot and cedarwood despite it being a million hours o’clock on this fairytale-of-a-wedding day. His light hair is disheveled from his hand probably running through it all day, his tie is gone, tux jacket nowhere to be found, sleeves rolled up displaying his perfectly veined forearms, the top buttons of his shirt undone hinting at the sexiness I know is hidden underneath.

  “You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, voice stern, pulling me flush to him again.

  Totally. “No, I’ve been here. We danced, we did our speech together. I think we’ve seen plenty of each other.”

  He looks unimpressed with my snarky reply. “Why do you keep trying to dodge me? You gotta know I’m not giving up. I asked you for one thing tonight. I’ve been giving you space, so you owe me. One dance. You and me. Not some forced dance, either,” he grunts frustratedly.

  “Do you not see this as a forced dance?” I ask smugly, gesturing to our entwined hands as he moves us around the dance floor.

  “Nah, you wanted me to come dance with you. You just needed a reminder is all.” He grabs my waist, pulling me close again, giving me that clenchingly sexy smile of his; the one that’s always made me lose my panties in defeat. “You’re radiant, by the way.” He moves his hand to the small of my back, holding me tightly as we sway to Shania Twain’s “You’re Still the One.”

  As we dance, I relax a little, letting Matt take the lead. Soon his fingers find their way under my chin, gently tilting my head up. My eyes crash with his, and he begins rubbing his thumb along my bottom lip.

  “I can’t keep my eyes off you. I keep imagining what’s under this sexy dress you got on. I want to scoop you up and take you out of here so I can find out. Tell me I can do that, Claire,” he says, resting his cheek against mine, any semblance of space between our bodies eliminated, my heart pounding in my chest at his words. I want nothing more than to tell him yes. But I don’t want to allow myself to keep getting caught up in him, despite how hard it seems to swim against the current that is Matt. “You like that idea, don’t you, baby? I know you do. The way your breath hitches and the fact that I can feel your legs weakening only confirms it.” He rubs his hand along my bum, gripping my cheeks while continuing to sway us in time to the music.

  “Matt, shh! And people will see you. Hands off,” I scold. Well, I try to. My voice is a mere croak, he’s got me so riled with desire, in spite of my better judgement.

  “Fuck if I care, let ’em look. Know what else I’ve been thinking about?”

  “What?” I manage to get out a small moan, as I feel his erection resting between us.

  “I want to run my tongue up that sexy slit, kissing a trail up to the sweet spot I know it’ll lead to. My Sugarshack. All night I’ve been watching you every time you bend over, hoping to catch a glimpse of what I know lies beneath the material that I’m so fucking jealous of right now. I want to be what’s covering your body, Claire. I want to fuck you again so badly I ache.”

  With that, he kisses me, a kiss rendering me speechless that I feel all the way to my toes, a kiss that is passion, need, and want all mixed together in a package that’s begging me to put both of us out of this misery, but…

  “Matt, no. This needs to stop.” I pull away, feeling the loss of his lips immediately. “We need—I need— space right now. I can’t have space to figure things out if you keep hounding me, making me forget what I need.”

  Chuckling at my apparent lack of conviction, Matt cups my face. Leaning in, he begins speaking softly in my ear: “I know you want space, and we’re supposed to be taking that space, and I’m trying. I hate fucking space by the way. Seeing as I like you so much though, I’m willing to give you the space you want. But know the only space I can think about is the space you take up…” he pauses, running his hand down the front of his face now, as if annoyed, “…space in my mind, the space I want you to take up in my life, in my home, and finally, the space of a huge fucking void. A void I’ve felt since you’ve been gone. Space and time might belong on the same continuum, but you’re running out of both with me, Claire. I’ll let you have your space until I decide I’ve given you enough time. And then I’ll be back to invade your space until I take you over like you’ve taken over me.” He lets out a harsh sigh.

  Tears sting the back of my eyes at his words. I want to cave, I do. I want to tell him he’s right, that we don’t need space, and that I’m better with him than without, but I can’t. I’m just not ready. I still need time to sort myself out, to make sure my decisions are my own. Which I know is kind of bullshit, because I’m the first person to believe that time changes nothing.

  Hearing him go on, I shake myself from my thoughts and listen again.

  “I’ll do it. I’ll give you the time you think you want, but I’m not sure how long I can do it. For you, Claire, I will. But know this: we so absofuckinglutely will be an us again, and not the stupid ‘friends’ version either, ’cause we both know that’s a bunch of bullshit right there. You need to get over your shit and fast.”

  And with that, he kisses my nose before leaving me stunned and wet, standing alone in the middle of the dance flo
or.

  Chapter 21

  Claire

  After Matt left the dance floor I was hurt, hurt and pissed. Doesn’t he realize I’m conflicted? No jerk, ’cause you haven’t talked to him about shit.

  The idea of sitting down with Matt to have a long overdue conversation is what I’ve been avoiding most. I know he’ll call me out on my crap, he’ll reason with me, use his philosophical bullshit on me, and he’ll be right. Fuck this, I’m not thinking about this tonight, this isn’t the place or the time.

  Scanning the reception, I find my girls at the bar, shots in hand. Relief floods my system as I make my way over. I so need a drink.

  “Claire Bear!” An excited Kat shuffles toward me, enveloping me in a tight embrace. “You all right? I saw you and Matty dancing.”

  “Yeah, I will be. I just need to sort my stuff out. I think I might have been wrong about him and my stupid rules. He’s a big ass. A big make-me-want-to-give-in, bridge-troll-scaring-ass,” I pout.

  “Aw, no he’s not, sweetie. He’s a big ass who adores you and is fighting for my stubborn bestie to realize she needs him, too. If you want my stellar always-right opinion, I think it’s getting about time to lower the drawbridge to Fort Knox and let Matty in.”

  “Oh, sweet bananas in a hammock, you too?” I question, using an infamous Kat line. “We need to stop this talk right now. It’s your wedding. I don’t want to talk about him or us or the lack of us anymore. He just went off on me on the dance floor so I honestly don’t need you on Team Matty. Besides, I could use a shot…or a few hundred.”

  “Done. No more talking about it…for now at least,” she chides. “But know this. You’ve got two weeks to sort your shit out. When I get back from Bora Bora, it will be talked about. Feelings will be discussed. A plan will be hatched and you will love me all the more for it. Got it?”