A Matchless Romance

by Christi Barth

  “When you asked me to attend a wedding, I did some research. I’d never been to a wedding before. Didn’t want to screw up on any traditional activities.” He shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “A lot of what I found wasn’t really applicable, like how in Russia it’s bad luck to get married in May. But I discovered a custom from Sweden, where the male guests kiss the bride. Figured that was doable.”

  “Stand down, Tabitha,” Ivy said. “Drew is right. It is a long-standing custom, still observed to this day.” She paused, then spoke slowly, straight to Drew. “Only in Sweden. In America, not so much.”

  “You might want to make a note of that for the next wedding you attend,” Daphne gasped. She was doubled over, silent tears of laughter streaming down her face.

  Next to her, Mira tried to hide her giggles behind a flailing hand. “There’s no better gift for an obsessive-compulsive wedding planner than acting on a well-researched, obscure tradition. Well done, Drew.”

  They could laugh all they wanted. Neither of them was responsible for the more than six feet of wild card smack dab in the middle of Ivy’s wedding. Ivy, who owned both the romance store and the dating service. Sure, they were friends, but at the end of the day, Ivy had a more official title in the company hierarchy. Her boss’s boss. “I’m so sorry, Ivy.”

  “Don’t be.” The bride flicked her veil behind her shoulders as she looked from Tabitha to Drew and back again. “I invited him. You agreed that bringing him to the wedding would serve as a fact-finding mission. Well, we just learned something vitally important.” Ivy picked up her wide skirts and hurried over to Tabitha. She stood on tiptoe to whisper in her ear. “He’s got serious potential. Trust me. I’m more than okay with that being the last kiss I ever get from anyone besides Ben.”

  Oh my. Tabitha topped off her glass, then pressed its chill to her chest. It was either that or fan herself. Now Drew was not only an world-class athlete, with what sounded like a pretty great job, who had to be covered in muscles…but he also apparently kissed like an expert. She needed to put some distance between the room with the bed in it and Drew and herself. Just to be safe.

  “Ivy, go fix your lipstick. We’ll leave you to have some time alone with your mother.” Getting the other woman out of the suite meant the chance to watch Drew interact with them. Tabitha would be able to pick their brains later for their assessment. “Daphne, Mira, you two should come with us. Isn’t it time for your pictures with the groomsmen?”

  Daphne didn’t budge. “But the champagne’s here.”

  Good point. “Bring your glass. Just remember, the Real TV cameras will be rolling as soon as we step into the hallway. Drew, make yourself useful and grab another bottle from that stand.” Not that she would touch one more single drop. Not now that all she could think about was how great a kisser he was. Tabitha couldn’t risk going into drunk flirt mode with her client. She wasn’t doing that great a job of resisting him stone cold sober.

  * * *

  In a perfect world, Drew would be home right now. A container of General Tso’s chicken, two egg rolls, fried rice and his laptop. What more did a guy ever need? With his competitive training days behind him, Drew was catching up on all the delicious-but-nutritionally-crappy food he’d missed out on for years. But, he’d admit that if he had to be stuck at a wedding, this was the way to do it. Surrounded by beautiful women who, so far, didn’t seem too put off by anything he saidor did. He’d label this evening a success. Drew glanced at his watch. Well, seventeen minutes of a success. Probably a personal best.

  They walked down the long hallway toward the elevator in a clump. A camera guy from Real TV trailed behind them, and another led the pack walking backward. Both wore head to toe black. Neither was choked by a tie like Drew, though. He envied them.

  The women leaned on each other, all complaining about their shoes. They thought they were miserable? He was stuck wearing a noose around his neck. No way was his brain receiving optimal blood flow with this striped satin tourniquet around his carotid artery. That probably explained why it seemed like Tabitha had been about a heartbeat away from kissing him earlier.

  Hypoxia. A hallucination induced by lack of oxygen. Because women who looked like Tabitha—all sleek and sassy and self-confident—didn’t throw themselves at guys like Drew. The prom queen never went for the mathlete. Not that it mattered. Not with his job already hanging by a thread. Because he’d learned that lesson.

  No, Drew had to keep his focus solely on Game Domain. On how not to piss off Keiko any more. On developing Quest into the best, most original new game on the market. Thinking about the mythic impossibility of Tabitha wanting to kiss him was nothing more than a pointless distraction. Of course, not thinking about her glossy red lips right in front of his was also a mythically impossible task.

  Maybe he could run a mile or two tonight after the wedding. The path along the lakeshore had lights. Whatever it took to wear him out. Push him to the brink of exhaustion so that he couldn’t picture the mouth-watering contrast of her pale breasts against the dark green of her dress. Because if he slipped and started thinking about women instead of work, all he had to do was look at his silver medal to be reminded of what happened when he split his concentration. Remember the acrobatic night he’d spent with an archer from the Czech team…that wore him out just enough for his race the next day he came in second. He’d never make that mistake again. Especially not where Quest was concerned.

  “Daph, the flowers are gorgeous. Of course. But why does my bouquet weigh so much?” asked Mira, with a slow roll of her shoulders.

  “Hydrangeas come on thick stems. All of which are shoved into a stiff and heavy plastic holder. And your wedding bouquet’s going to weigh at least twice this with the pine and holly and roses, so suck it up. Or start doing more bicep curls at the gym.” Daphne poked her elbow against Mira’s upper arm. “You’ve got eight months to get into shape before it’s your turn to walk down the aisle.”

  Curious as to the possibility of maximizing the weight distribution, Drew reached for the bouquet of purple flowers. “May I?”

  “Be my guest.” Mira handed it over. Two sets of deep purple ribbons dangled from the sides.

  Once in hand, he almost laughed. Any eighth grade physics student could figure out a work-around to this glitch. “Here’s your problem. Carrying this weight out in front of you puts undue stress on your biceps and your lats. Until they start taking pictures, you should invert it and suspend it at your side, like a purse on a strap. Much easier on you.” He grabbed the ends of the ribbon and let the bouquet fall down in between.

  “But it’s not a purse,” snarled Daphne. “It is a work of floral genius, to be treated accordingly with great respect. In other words, it should only be carried upright.”

  She was right about one thing. It wasn’t a purse, but it did remind him of something else. Drew swung it back and forth, trying to jog his memory. Only took a couple of good arcs before it hit him. “This is just like the bolas I gave to the slayer in Trolls Under Tribeca: Eradication.”

  The women stopped walking so abruptly that Drew almost plowed right into them. The business end of a video camera dug in right under his shoulder blade. Tabitha forgot to warn him he’d need his old football pads to get through this night.

  “Shit. Sorry.” The cameraman crab scuttled back a few steps.

  Daphne turned around and scrunched up her nose at Drew. “There are so many things in that sentence I just don’t understand.”

  “Drew designs video games,” said Tabitha. “That explains the trolls and slayer. I don’t know what a bolas is, though. I haven’t made it to Eradication yet.”

  Now he got to talk about regional weaponry? While sort-of-not-staring at Tabitha’s breasts? This wedding was definitely way better than he’d expected. “The Incas used them as weapons. Spaniards, of course, stole the idea when they slaughtered that civilization. Led to South American gauchos, or cowboys, using them to hunt cattle.”

  “
Great.” Mira clapped her hands together. “If Ivy’s handsy cousin Lewis gets fresh tonight, I’ve got a ready-made weapon to fend him off.”

  Drew held the bouquet in one hand and the ribbons in the other to show them. The brilliance of the weapon really was in its simplicity. “You tie three rocks, or even weighted sacks, to one end of long leather strings. Twirl it above your head,” he lifted it up and started the circular motion, “then let it fly.” And then the silky ribbons spun right out of his fingers. It flew straight down the hallway, narrowly missing a chandelier. In a feat he couldn’t replicate if he tried a hundred times, the bouquet spun sideways and zipped into the elevator a second before the doors slammed shut.

  “What a shot,” he murmured. Talk about threading the needle. Drew spun on his heel. “Did you get that?” he asked the cameraman behind him.

  The guy let out a whoop and pumped his fist in the air. “You better believe I got that. Great stuff.”

  “Did you get that?” repeated Daphne. “That’s what you’ve got to say for yourself?” She extended her arm to point at the illuminated exit sign. “You go get it. You freaking run down those stairs and be standing, waiting for the elevator doors to open.” Eyes flashing, the heat in her voice all but singed Drew’s eyebrows. “It was empty except for a loaded bell cart, so it’s probably going straight to the lobby.”

  Talk about an overreaction. “But we’re on the twelfth floor.” He looked to Tabitha, but she just stood there wordless, her mouth rounded into a shocked circle.

  “Yep. And the lobby’s on the third, so you’d better hustle.”

  Guess he had his marching orders. “Okay.”

  “Be careful when you scoop it up. I don’t want to see a single bruised petal,” Daphne warned.

  Drew glanced at his watch. His newfound success in talking with women had lasted a whopping nineteen minutes before it all went to shit. Oh well. Progress in small steps was still, ultimately, progress. And nineteen minutes was about ten minutes longer than he’d gone without pissing off Keiko. The lead cameraman snickered as Drew shouldered open the stairway door. He’d have to give the guy his email address later. Daphne’s fury aside, that had been one hell of a shot. Drew wanted the footage for himself. It’d impress his buddy Javier who medaled in the javelin throw.

  Nine floors later, he skidded out onto the polished marble of the lobby. But the elevator doors were just closing. A man stood in front of it, holding Mira’s bouquet with a bemused smile on his face. Since he wore white tie and tails, Drew hoped he had something to do with the wedding.

  Drew held out his hand. “That’s my bouquet.”

  “Really? I would’ve pegged you more for a handful of daisies guy,” he joked, handing it over.

  The bouquet looked…well, it looked fluffy and purple. Hopefully unchanged enough so that Daphne wouldn’t rip him a new one when she got down here. “Any chance you’re part of the Rhodes wedding?” he asked.

  “I’m the other half of it. Ben Westcott. The groom.”

  Drew did a double take. With his longish blond hair, Ben looked more like the leather-kilt-wearing, sword-brandishing hero of Quest than a suitable mate for the bridal doll perfection of Ivy. “Drew Weston.”

  They shook. “You must be one of our wedding guests. Sorry the name doesn’t ring a bell, but Ivy’s parents invited, well, everyone they know. Who are mostly people that I don’t.”

  “I know the feeling. Nobody knows me here except Tabitha Bell. I’m her client.”

  Laughter rolled out of Ben. “You’re the mysterious client? I heard all about you. Gotta say, Drew, you’re doing me a huge favor.” He shook his head, then shot his cuffs. And Drew was only able to pair the phrase “shot his cuffs” to the action due to a weekend-long marathon of gangster movies. Weird that his fashion knowledge came from guys who bludgeoned people to death with baseball bats.

  “What’s that?”

  It took another second for Ben’s laughter to taper off. “Whenever I get nervous today, I’ll just look over at you. Knowing that you’re about twice as nervous and ten times more uncomfortable than me?” He clapped Drew on the shoulder. “It’ll give me the courage not to hotfoot it out of here.”

  Uh oh. A scared groom sounded way more serious than a couple of missing flower petals. “You’ve got cold feet?”

  Ben lifted his foot and shook it slowly. “Superman’s Fortress of Solitude up in the Arctic was a tropical island paradise compared to how cold my feet are.”

  “Seriously?” It surprised Drew, that a man on the verge of a lifelong commitment was so gun shy he’d admit it to the first guy who crossed his path.

  “Marriage was the one thing I spent my entire life avoiding. Practically made a career out of it. This is uncharted territory for me. I’m scared shitless.” He held his hands out in proof. They both watched them tremble the tiniest bit. “But—”

  “Don’t say another word. There’s no time.” Weird that none of his groomsmen were around to help Ben out. Guess it was up to him. Tabitha might even be thrilled by his take-charge approach. Drew looked left, toward the minimalist chrome and leather couches in the lobby. It teemed with people, but nobody else in obvious wedding getup. This was their chance.

  He leaned in close. “I’ve got a car in the garage. If you want out, say the word. I’ll drive you anywhere you want to go. Although your place is probably too obvious. Maybe I should take you to O’Hare?”

  “Unbelievable.” Tabitha’s voice cut through him like a laser scalpel. “Did you really just volunteer to drive the getaway car for the groom?” The elevator doors—the ones he sadly had not heard open—clanged shut. Her tone made it quite clear that Drew’s attempt at male solidarity had been unwise in the extreme.

  Uh oh. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a long, lavender skirt that had to belong to one of the bridesmaids. And where they went, chances were good the Real TV cameras weren’t far behind. Which meant all of America would get to watch him offer to provide the means for Ben to break Ivy’s heart. Not exactly the positive press coverage that Keiko wanted from him.

  Wait—no. He’d done nothing wrong. Every video game hero he’d ever coded battled to stand up for what he believed. He couldn’t back down just because of one angry female. Or even three. Drew straightened, then twisted to face Tabitha. Met her furious gaze with the calm certainty that he was right. Made sure not to let his eyes dip down to catch a glimpse of her heaving bosom. Huh. Didn’t think he’d ever actually see one of those in real life. So yeah, he had to peek. And temper certainly had her chest rising and falling with swift regularity in a rhythm that fascinated Drew.

  “Yeah. I did. And I’d do it again. Not to be the one who broke up the wedding. But because somebody’s got to have the brass balls to save this poor, petrified man from a…” he trailed off as he heard Ben laughing again behind him. Well, sort of a mixture of laughing and wheezing. Suddenly much less certain of his stand, Drew turned back around.

  “You didn’t let me finish,” Ben gasped. He hugged his midsection, he was laughing so hard. “Yeah, I’m scared shitless. Scared I’ll screw it up and not be the husband Ivy deserves. Scared she’ll realize I’m not close to good enough for her.” Solemnity rang now in his voice, like an oath. “But I’m not scared of getting married. That’s the smartest move I could ever make.”

  Mira reached for her bouquet with deliberate care. As if Drew was an unpredictable wild animal or something. “Thanks for retrieving this.” Then she backed away, exchanging an untranslatable sidelong glance with Daphne. They stood against the grey brocade wall. A cameraman flanked them on either side.

  “I’m gonna buy you a drink. Or ten,” said Ben.

  “Now?” Drew didn’t really see the point. “Aren’t all the drinks free at weddings?” A noise from Tabitha. Exasperation? Frustration? To his surprise, she reached up to ruffle his hair.

  “Here I am, completely furious with you for almost ruining the wedding, and then you go and be so adorably, utterly lit
eral. Sucks the simmer right out of me.”

  Ben whacked him between the shoulder blades with a flat palm. “Yeah, you drink your fill tonight. But when I get back from the honeymoon, Ivy and I will have you over. She’ll love this story. She’ll love that you don’t even know me and you had my back. That was a ballsy move. From the heart. I appreciate it.”

  Hopefully America would feel the same way once this episode of Planning for Love aired. Drew sure hoped Keiko wasn’t a fan. Ben’s gratitude didn’t necessarily equate to Keiko thinking of this as a positive portrayal of her “newest game genius.”

  “You’re making Daphne nervous.” Tabitha grabbed his hand. Stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “But off the record? The way you winged that bouquet into the elevator was amazing. I almost cheered.” She glanced over at her friends and raised her voice back to normal with a frown. “I want you closer than my own shadow until the ceremony is over. Don’t talk to anyone else. Don’t touch anything. We’ll put this little social experiment on hold until the reception.”

  And just that fast, this night made a U-turn straight back to what he’d predicted it would be—boring and miserable. So far, Drew hadn’t seen anything to explain why people loved weddings so much. Couldn’t even take Ben up on his offer of drinks. Not if he’d have to face making small talk with random women at the reception. It’d take all his concentration not to screw up. Or maybe he shouldn’t concentrate? Maybe Drew should relax and be himself, so Tabitha could get a good idea of how his conversations with women generally took a nosedive?

  Then again, getting an eyeful of Tabitha’s delightfully twitching ass as he followed her down the hallway? That might just make the whole night bearable.

  * * *

  A driving bass beat reverberated off the floor. Drew felt pretty damn good. The appetizer selection, especially the lamb lollipops and the sushi station, blew him away. Plus, when small talk inevitably turned painful, he just edged away to chase the nearest waiter with a laden tray. Dinner, on the other hand, had been a slog. Tabitha made him talk to everyone at the table. The entire damn time. Drew couldn’t even remember what he’d eaten. It was a blur of stilted conversation and awkward, gaping silences.