Save the Date (Wild Wedding Series Book 3)

by Ann Marie Walker

  “Oh yeah, man, sorry. My bad.” The poor guy was so flustered, Rebecca worried he might impale himself on one of the darts. Once he’d finally assembled a handful of each, one group blue and the other orange, he held them up flags out. “Bears colors even,” he said with a crooked grin.

  “Thanks, man,” Brody said. Rebecca couldn’t help but wonder if all “dudes” called each other “man.” It certainly wasn’t a term she’d ever heard her brother use. Conor maybe, but not Cole.

  “Not backing out, are you?” Brody asked, pulling her from her random stream of thoughts.

  Rebecca tilted her chin up. “Not at all.” She held his stare as he handed her the three orange darts.

  The corner of his mouth quirked up, and he shook his head. “You’re a pistol, aren’t you?”

  She frowned.

  “I’m only playing,” he said. “But you gotta admit this is a little nuts. You’ve made a wager that involves precision throwing with a quarterback who—and not to toot my own horn—is a two-time Super Bowl MVP.”

  “I’m aware.” She flashed him an indulgent smile. “Was hard to miss that little tidbit on the highlight reel.”

  He had the decency to look at least a tiny bit embarrassed. Progress, she thought.

  “If I were you,” she said. “I’d worry less about the competition and more about your game.”

  He laughed out loud. It was a deep, warm sound that, much to her surprise, brought a smile to her own face. “Now you sound like my high school coach.”

  “Well, take his advice and toss one, will ya? I want to wrap this up so you can buy me a cotton candy trophy.”

  “That confident, huh?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Just toss one.”

  “Coach Johnson wasn’t the only one who taught me life lessons. Daddy always said—” he gestured toward the game with a wave of his hand “—ladies first.”

  At least he was a polite Neanderthal, she’d give him that.

  Rebecca planted her feet and raised her arm.

  “Hold up,” Brody said just as she’d been about to let go. “What’s regulation?” he asked the attendant.

  The guy was watching Brody so intently that it took a few seconds for the words to even register. “Huh?”

  “Is there a place we have to stand?”

  “Oh, yeah. My bad.” The young man laughed at himself. “Again.”

  “No worries, man,” Brody said. “Just want to make sure there’s nothing to contest with the commissioner.”

  The two guys laughed at Brody’s joke, the attendant a little harder than warranted in her opinion.

  “There’s a piece of tape on the ground,” he said.

  Rebecca looked down but saw nothing.

  “It’s behind ya, darlin’,” Brody said in a drawl that was so sweet and sexy, it made her forget all about the fact that she should have given him hell for calling her “darlin’” in the first place. And then he was behind her, one arm snaking around her waist as he lifted her off the ground. She opened her mouth to protest, but before she had the chance, he’d set her back down with her toes squarely behind the strip of silver duct tape.

  “There you go.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I swear, if you smack me on the ass, you’ll be picking these darts out of yours.”

  Brody laughed again. It was the same deep sound from before, and although she would never admit it, Rebecca found herself wanting to hear it again and again. “Good to know,” he said. “But don’t worry. I save that for my teammates.”

  Once again, Rebecca positioned her feet, taking care to make sure she was behind the tape. She raised her right arm then released the dart in a smooth motion, breaking out into a wide grin when it landed squarely on a red balloon.

  “Well done.” A playful gleam lit Brody’s eyes as he swapped places with her. “I might need to get some pointers from you before the season starts.”

  She knew he was teasing but decided to go along. “Well, I don’t know about tossing a football,” she said. “But with darts, it’s all in the fingers.”

  He raised his arm, but his eyes were trained on her hands. Rebecca followed his darkening gaze only to discover she’d been absentmindedly sliding one of the remaining darts between the pad of her thumb and her fingertips. What was so interesting about that? But then she tried thinking like a dude and…

  Crap, it looked like she was giving the damn thing a hand job.

  Maybe he hadn’t noticed. She looked up to see his eyes flare ever so slightly. Yeah, he’d noticed all right. Then again, maybe she could use it to her advantage. And why shouldn’t she? After all, it really was his own fault for letting his mind go to the gutter in the first place.

  She waited for him to refocus his attention on the board. “It really comes down to how you grasp the shaft,” she said as he began to throw.

  The dart slipped from his hand, clattering haphazardly to the ground. Behind her, the attendant chuckled.

  Brody turned to face her. “You did that on purpose,” he said. His words might have been an accusation, but the smile on his face told her he was enjoying every minute of his embarrassing crash and burn.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. It was a lame attempt at professing her innocence. One that was in direct contrast to the flush she felt creeping over her face.

  “Sure you don’t,” he said, still grinning from ear to ear.

  Rebecca started toward the tape. “My turn.”

  Brody’s head fell back on a robust laugh. “Oh no, you don’t,” he said. “That was clearly a false start caused by a neutral zone infraction.”

  She had no idea what any of that meant, but she was fairly sure it boiled down to Brody getting his dart back, something she wasn’t about to let go down without a fight. She put her hand on her hip. “Says who?”

  “Says…” Brody looked around for inspiration. He found it when his gaze fell on the attendant. “Says him.”

  “Me?” the guy croaked.

  “Yes,” Brody said. “Don’t you agree there should be a flag on that play?”

  “No fair,” Rebecca began to protest, but Brody silenced her with a look that very clearly reminded her that she’d played dirty, and while he’d thoroughly enjoyed it, he wasn’t going to let it cost him the bet. “Fine,” she said. “You can have a do-over.”

  “A do-over?” The amusement in his voice was impossible to miss.

  She waved her hand through the air. “Or whatever you call it.”

  Brody smiled as he moved back into position. “Now, behave this time.”

  “I won’t say a word. Promise. And I’ll even move back here,” she added, taking two steps backward so as to ensure she wasn’t even in his peripheral vision.

  Brody stood there for what felt like an eternity, but he still hadn’t released the dart.

  “Isn’t there some sort of clock that runs out when you don’t toss the ball? I mean dart.”

  From behind him, she saw his shoulders shake on a chuckle.

  He glanced back at her. “Wasn’t there some sort of promise to be quiet?”

  Rebecca mimed closing a zipper across her lips.

  Satisfied, Brody turned back toward the wall of balloons, once again taking his own sweet time analyzing the rows of balloons. The delay, while dragging out the time between her and her cotton candy, afforded her a nice opportunity to enjoy the view. She didn’t make a habit of checking out a guy’s ass, but she had to admit it would be hard to find anything that could beat the sight of Brody Dixon’s ass in a snug pair of jeans. Except maybe Brody Dixon in leather. Or naked…with her heels digging into his flexing muscles as he—

  The pop of a balloon pulled her from her depraved thoughts, and she snapped her head up to find him grinning at her like the cat who was about to eat the canary.

  “Like what you see?” he asked.

  Judging by the heat she felt rush across her face, her once-pink cheeks were no doubt now a crimson red. And
why wouldn’t they be? One minute she was judging him for letting his mind wander to the gutter, and the next she was splashing around in it with him.

  To her relief, Brody let it slide. “Your turn,” was all he said. But he knew she’d been checking him out and that was bad enough.

  Rebecca held her head high as she sashayed past him to the mark on the pavement. But once again, Brody stopped her as she was about to toss the dart.

  “Not so fast,” he said.

  She looked at him, confused.

  “You haven’t taken into account the penalty.”

  “The what?”

  “The penalty for your defensive infraction,” he said as though it should make perfect sense. “Five yards.”

  Rebecca’s mouth dropped open, and her eyes shot to the attendant, who was trying his best to hide his smile, but failing miserably. Yeah, he wasn’t going to be any help. So much for an impartial referee.

  “Given the circumstances, I think we can call it five feet.”

  “Thanks,” she said. Not that he had much choice. Five yards would have put her into the next booth.

  Brody came up behind her again. Only this time, instead of lifting her off her feet like she was a disobedient toddler, he placed his hands on her hips, urging her back until she was flush again him. He dropped his lips to her ear. “Here,” he murmured. “Let me help.” The sensation of his warm breath against her skin sent a shiver racing down her spine. And then he was moving her backward, slowly and without breaking contact, and all at once she knew she wasn’t the only one affected by their penalty dance.

  The hard ridge of his arousal pushed into her from behind, and Rebecca felt a rush of warmth between her legs. Dear Lord, was he really reducing her to a puddle in the middle of a carnival with merely a bump and a grind? Scratch that, it wasn’t even a grind. Not that she didn’t want one. Hell, it was all she could do to keep from pushing back against him, or worse, turning around in search of friction’s sweet relief. But they were in public, not to mention in the midst of a heated competition, something Brody hadn’t forgotten either.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” he said before stepping away.

  She suspected he’d pulled her a bit farther than five feet, but afraid that if she spoke her voice would betray just how affected she was by their brief yet intimate contact, she decided to let it go. Instead, she raised the next dart in the air without taking the time to correct her stance. She drew her hand back, inadvertently shifting her weight to one foot and dropping her shoulder in the process. The orange dart arched upward, completely missing the balloon as it landed so weakly that it barely managed to cling to the white board.

  Brody sucked a sharp breath between his teeth. “Ouch, that’s a tough loss.”

  “Game’s not over yet,” she reminded him.

  He chuckled. “Might as well be.”

  Smug bastard. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

  “Your balance seemed a bit off,” he said as he swapped places with her. “Maybe try relaxing your legs a bit next time.”

  She smirked at him. “Thanks,” she said, knowing full well that relaxing her stance wasn’t the problem. Hell, her legs had been so relaxed, they were practically jelly, and it had nothing to do with darts.

  This time, Brody made quick work of popping one of the blue balloons. “The score is now two to one, in case you were wondering.”

  “I can count.”

  “You’re not going to be a sore loser, are you?” he asked as they once again swapped positions.

  She ignored his questions and instead turned her attention to the green balloon at the top of the board. The one that was half the size of the others. The one that was the hardest to hit. The one that any carnival goer knew was reserved for the largest toy on the prize wall.

  The one that was her last chance to win.

  Rebecca took a deep breath and let the dart fly. It soared straight into the tiny green balloon, popping it with a direct hit. She was equal parts shocked and thrilled and had to fight the urge to break into a happy dance. As it was, she clapped her hands together and bounced on her toes. “Yes!” she shouted a little too loudly.

  Brody sauntered over for his last throw. “Don’t know why you’re so excited,” he said as he took his place. “That only ties us up. And I still have my last toss.”

  Now it was Rebecca’s turn to smile smugly at her opponent. “Oh no,” she said, enjoying the moment far more than any sane woman should. “That little green one counts for double.”

  Brody’s face fell. “Says who?” he asked, echoing her earlier protest.

  “Says anyone who has ever tried to win the jumbo prize.”

  “She’s right,” the attendant said. Rebecca wasn’t sure if he’d switched allegiance and was now on her side or if he’d finally decided to be impartial after all. Either way, it was just the advantage she needed. “It’s sort of like a Hail Mary pass,” he added.

  Even Rebecca knew what that expression meant and pairing the information with the look on Brody’s face was too much. A ridiculous giggle bubbled up from somewhere deep inside her. “Aw, don’t look so sad,” she said. “You still have one last toss.”

  “To tie,” he said. “Then what will we do?”

  “Assuming you make it,” she reminded him. “But you have a point. A tie doesn’t really get us anywhere, and then we’ll be trying to find another wager which you’ll probably want triple wishes for, and that will just—”

  “I could put another small one up,” the attendant offered. The guy had clearly recovered from being star struck and now seemed nearly as invested in the results as they were. “I mean, if that’s all right with you, Mr. Dixon?”

  Maybe the stars hadn’t fully cleared after all.

  “Sounds splendid.”

  Splendid? Did he really just use the word splendid? Brody Dixon was proving to be quite the enigma. Every time she thought she had him all figured out, he did or said something unexpected. One thing was certain—the “Brody Special” had definitely gotten a lot more interesting.

  The carnival worker scrambled to put up another small green balloon. When he was done, he stepped back so Brody was clear to take his last toss. But when he released the dart, it sailed high and to the right, arching over the entire display before clattering to the ground somewhere behind the stall.

  This time, she couldn’t hold back. Rebecca bounced and spun and squealed, and she didn’t care one bit who was watching.

  When she finally calmed down, she found Brody watching her with an expression on his face she couldn’t quite place. “You’re not going to be a sore loser, are you?” she teased, mimicking his earlier question. She took the enormous stuffed gorilla from the man and held it out. “Here, you can have this as a consolation prize.”

  Brady laughed. “Thanks.” He signed an autograph for the guy who’d officiated their little game, then tucked the gorilla under his arm. “All right,” he said as they began to make their way back to the limo. “Let me have it. What do I owe you?”

  “Well, the first one you already know.”

  “I’m escorting you to the royal engagement party.”

  She nodded. “It’s not until the end of July, which leaves you plenty of time to save the date. And to teach me.”

  “Teach you what?”

  “How to live.”

  He stopped walking. “Come again?”

  “All my life, I’ve been the rule-following nerd,” Rebecca explained. The word “wallflower” had come to mind, but for some reason “nerd” sounded a little bit better. “I feel like I’ve spent more time observing life than actually living it.” She left out the part about battling a life-threatening disease. Revealing her loser lifestyle was bad enough. But with Brody, she had a clean slate. He was one person who didn’t look at her like she was some fragile, wounded bird. “I want to drive too fast, drink too much, and come home at dawn.”

  Brody chuckled. “Throw in a few heists, and you’ve got yo
urself a Vin Diesel movie.”

  “My point,” she said, ignoring his teasing, “is that something tells me you’ve got the market cornered on living life to its fullest.”

  “So, you want life lessons?”

  She laughed. “From you? Hardly. I want lessons on how to live.”

  Brody’s brow creased. “There’s a difference?”

  She nodded. “You could use a few lessons yourself, which I’m willing to provide at no extra cost.”

  “On what?”

  “Dating.”

  He made a sound that was half chuckle and half snort. “I’ve been dating for years.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “But you haven’t dated well.”

  His mouth dropped open, but then he closed it without saying a word.

  “No offense, but you date like a Neanderthal. And if you go on that show acting like a jock-head asshole, you’re not going to win over anyone.” She reconsidered her answer. “Well, maybe a few of the contestants, but certainly not the viewers.”

  “No offense, but if you’ve been this epic wallflower,” he said, using the word she’d tried so hard to avoid. “What do you know about dating?” Despite the “no offense” disclaimer, his question stung. Still, it was a fair point. One she knew exactly how to address.

  “My job gives me a front row seat to couples who are in love. I work with them through dozens of decisions in all kinds of scenarios, and believe me, I’ve seen everything.”

  “And that makes you an expert on what women want?”

  She nodded. “I have a perfect record with predictions.”

  “Predictions?”

  “On which ones will make it and which won’t. You’d be surprised at how many of the couples I’ve worked with are already divorced. And I predicted each and every one based on how they interacted during the wedding planning.” She stole a peek at him as they walked and could almost see him digesting the information. “Plus,” she added. “I know what I would like.” There was a reason she was still single, and not all of it had to do with her illness or a lack of opportunity. Sometimes it was just easier to stay home than to wade through countless online profiles in the hope of finding a diamond amid the rough.