Jason
I see blue.
Gorgeous sapphire blue.
How is it possible that outfit looks even better now? Perhaps it’s the sunset, that golden hue that makes everyone and everything a little softer, a little closer to perfect. Or maybe it’s because I’ve been thinking of her all day. Thinking of her since I saw her try on that dress. Thinking of her taking it off.
Truly arrives before the ceremony as I’m waiting on the lawn at the inn in Connecticut.
Her chestnut hair is in a twist, black glasses frame her face, and that dress hugs her fantastic body. What was I thinking? I should have bought her sweatpants, and I mean real sweatpants, the elastic ankles kind, not those yoga pants that radiate sex. Or a sweatshirt, all bulky and frumpy.
Then again, I’ve seen her in a sweatshirt, and I still found her alluring, so it’s on me to keep my lust in check.
She reaches me, rises on her tiptoes, and dusts a soft kiss to my cheek. “Hi, Jay.”
That’s not helping. I go up in flames. The temperature in me shoots up like I’m a space capsule reentering the atmosphere, radio signal lost, heat shield threatening to melt. This woman has my number. She is so fucking sexy, but I can’t let it distract me . . . because it’s expensive to teach Abby about the brachial plexus and solar plexus and whatever—screw all those bundles of neurons. All my nerves are unraveling for her.
“Hi, Julie.”
She shoots me a naughty grin. “Or should I call you Wilbur?”
“You know my conditions on that.” And maybe because she called me Wilbur, maybe because she looks good enough to undress, eat, and worship all night long, and maybe because resisting her is exhausting, I give myself a little leeway.
She’s my date, after all. Might as well enjoy the perks. I slide my arm around her waist.
Her reaction? Priceless. She trembles as I touch her. “Nice glasses. So glad you could make it, Julie.”
“Good to be here, Jay.” She sounds breathless, and for a split second, it feels like we’re the only people here, especially with our role-play.
With my arm still around her waist, I return the favor from the other night when she slipped her hands into my jean pockets. I let my palm slide down to her ass. I give the slightest of squeezes, enough to elicit a hitch in her breath.
“Behave,” she warns, shooting a stern stare over her lenses. But she wriggles against my hand, seeking out the curve of my palm.
I groan. “I’d tell you to behave too . . . but I don’t want you to.”
“We’re supposed to be good.” Wriggle, wriggle. “We’re in the friend zone.” She presses a little harder, a little more firmly into my hand, and the heat shield burns through, melting away.
I slide my fingers lower, teasing at the line—that absolutely delicious line—where her ass meets her leg. Ah, yes. I do enjoy where the tailbone is connected to the leg bone.
“If this is the friend zone, I’d like to live here.” I squeeze her ass, and a gust of a sigh rushes from her lips.
Too bad we’re surrounded by people.
Those people include my client, who’s rushing across the grass, looking dapper in his tuxedo. He pumps Truly’s hand. “You must be Julie.”
“And you must be Chip. I’ve heard so much about you. It’s a pleasure.”
“And you as well. Thank you for being here.” He turns to me. “And you. Without you, I wouldn’t be able to give Ashley the wedding she’s always dreamed of. Though, in all fairness, I should thank my ex-girlfriend. If she hadn’t dumped me for some other guy, I wouldn’t be here. I should send her a thank-you note.”
His genuine smile loosens some of the bricks in my facade. Because in his story, I hear echoes of mine, reminders of Claire. If she had held up her end of the bargain, where would I even be right now? With her? Without her? Back in London, trying to cobble together a living as . . . what? A meat-pie baking apprentice? A business reporter? I shudder at the thought of either. And honestly, I don’t know that I’d be doing the Modern Gentleman work in the UK. The cachet of not being from here seems to elevate my station when it comes to landing work in New York—speaking gigs and radio bits.
And I like my other job at the moment too. This one.
For the first time in a long time, I’m really enjoying this after-hours gig, and I suspect that’s not only because of the companion next to me. But because Chip’s a decent guy.
I clap his shoulder. “It’s her loss, isn’t it, mate?”
“Abso-flipping-lutely,” he says, the picture of happiness. “Speaking of, I just got word from Ashley that everyone’s here. We’re good to go.” He glances at the sun, slipping toward the horizon. His photographer is taking photos before the ceremony, so the light is ideal. “We can get the bridesmaid and maid of honor.”
“Right. Bring out the ladies.” When he darts off, I bring my face closer to Truly’s and whisper, “Remember, I’m too hot to be single. So feel free to put your hands all over me.”
“I feel like you can fend off any advances without me mauling you.”
“No, I can’t. I really can’t. You’re going to have to manhandle me. Just pat me down like you’re a TSA agent.” I widen my stance, raising my arms in the air. “Go ahead. I’m ready.”
“You’re ready? Is that so?”
“Completely. One hundred percent.”
She lifts her hands, draws a breath, then darts out her fingers and tickles me.
I muffle a shout, barely, squirming away from her on the lawn. “You’re vicious. Totally vicious.” But it comes out in a peal of laughter.
She grabs me, looping an arm around my shoulder. “Want me to put you in a back mount?” But the flirting stops when seconds later, a wrinkly, panting pug rushes across the lawn.
“Pugalove!” a young voice calls out, and I follow the sound, finding the bridesmaid shouting to her dog. “Pugalove! You come right back to me, you rapscallion.”
The rapscallion in question seems well-trained, since she spins around and rushes back to the bridesmaid, who bends and scratches the dog’s chin. “You are such a good girl. So good. But you’re supposed to have your maid-of-honor dress on, you nutty pug.”
I jerk my gaze toward her.
Maid of honor?
The young woman scoops up the dog. “Let’s get you dolled up, my lovebug.” The bridesmaid stands and brushes a hand down her dress, switching from dog baby-talk to something a little more seductive. “Oh, hi, Jay.”
“Hi, Amelia.”
She nibbles on the corner of her lip. “Pugalove was going to . . . well, I think she wanted to come over and meet you.” Her words come out all breathy.
Truly drapes an arm possessively around me. “Who doesn’t want to meet Jay? Get in line, Pugalove.”
The bridesmaid laughs. “I know. I’ll take tickets for that line.”
“You’re telling me,” Truly adds, squeezing my shoulder and snuggling a little closer. Well, there. Maybe I can get Amelia to hang around a little longer.
“Ah, you ladies are too kind,” I say.
Amelia slides me a dreamy look. “I promise, it’s not kindness that makes Pugalove and me want to wait in line.”
Truly chuckles. “Soul sisters. Am I right?” Then she brushes a quick kiss to my cheek, marking her territory.
Amelia sighs dreamily. “You’re so lucky.”
“I know,” Truly says.
“I want to be like you someday.” On that note, Amelia smiles sadly, spins around, and disappears back into the inn.
“Seems she brings out the jealous side of you.”
“You think so?”
“You were pretty handsy, Julie.”
“Just doing my job, Jay.” But the way she touches my arm—sensuously, seductively—doesn’t feel like she’s thinking about work at all.
Seconds later, the bride strides over to me, extending a hand. “I’m Ashley. So great to meet you . . . Jay.” In her soft North Carolina twang, she overemphasizes my name be
cause, of course, she knows Chip hired me. Ashley turns to Truly. “You must be Julie. So glad you could come too. And I saw you met my little bestie. Isn’t she a doll? Pugalove’s the reason I’m here today.”
“Is Pugalove a matchmaker?” Truly asks with a smile.
“You bet she is.” With a knowing grin, Ashley stage-whispers, “She served as my guy magnet. Helped locate the right man for me.”
“She has some top-notch man radar, then?” Truly looks just shy of smiling at the bride’s candid good humor.
“She absolutely does. And boy, was it tough out there before then. Finding a good man is harder than finding a bra that fits you just right.”
“Well, that’s a level-five challenge right there.”
“I know. I spent years looking for just the right fit. But dating these days? That’s a level ten.”
“You're telling me. It’s rough out there in those waters.”
I grit my teeth at Truly even alluding to the cruel world of modern dating.
“Exactly. But when you have a dog like Pugalove, friendly and with excellent radar, you have an icebreaker with the handsome fellas.”
“So how exactly does her radar work? Did she find Chip for you or grease the wheels?”
“Well, in my defense, I did spot him myself. I’d seen him heading into the dog park a few times, and I had a hunch about him because he was so sweet with his dog. I thought, He’s got to be a good one, and all I wanted was to finally meet a real nice guy like that. So I timed my visit one day. I brought Pugalove when I knew he’d be there, and once I let her off-leash, she ran right up to him and Pugalicious. Two seconds later, she wagged her tail, asked for a little ear scratch, and that was all she wrote. Boom. Done.”
“Wow. She opened the door and gave you her seal of approval at the same time.”
“Exactly. Like she knew what I needed, and I definitely needed him. Chip and I talked for an hour, and he asked me out that night, and the rest is history, all thanks to her.”
“She’s the perfect wingwoman.”
“She’s a rescue pup, but really, she rescued me from the misery of dating jerks. I love her.”
I flash back to Chip’s words from last night. Yep, this woman is staying for him. Absolutely.
Truly gestures toward the inn. “She earned the maid-of-honor job, then. I’d say she deserves a slice of steak-flavored wedding cake for helping you find true love.”
“I know, right? Don’t we all want that? And listen, sweetie, if you ever need any tips on dating, let me know. I can give you the number of the pug rescue or the address of some dog parks.” Ashley points from Truly to me. “Unless y’all decide to level up. And if you do, you’d make a hella cute couple.”
She waves and spins around, and I’m left holding a bowl full of dating advice from the newlyweds. I suppose it’s fitting they’re trying to tell us how it all works. Simply being married doesn’t qualify one to give advice, but being happily in love makes you dole it out with abandon, because everyone should be so lucky.
I let go of Truly’s hand and join the ridiculously happy couple for photos, feeling strangely empty.
When she reaches the end of the aisle, Ashley’s gaze finds Chip’s, and her smile is wildly happy and a bit wicked. She gives a tiny little wave and whispers, "Hey, you handsome man.”
“Hey, beautiful bride.”
“Are you ready?” she whispers.
“So ready,” he whispers back.
“I’ve been waiting a long time for someone like you.”
“I’ve been waiting longer.”
“No, I have.”
“No, I have.”
I bet this is how they were in the dog park, lovey and sweet.
They take their vows, and it suits everything I’ve seen of them, from that private exchange to when the justice of the peace pronounces them man and wife and tells Chip he may kiss the bride.
But she’s faster on the draw. Ashley grabs her husband’s face and plants a massive smooch on his lips. Yes, she’s keeping him.
Truly shoots me a smile that’s neither naughty nor droll. It’s simply . . . sweet.
And it does something to my cold heart.
Something that feels a bit like a thaw.
And that’s a whole lot of a problem.
Chip and Ashley’s plan to keep Amelia at bay seems to have worked. Jana keeps Sully occupied, Irene keeps Troy busy, and Amelia seems to have gotten the message that we’re all partnered up.
She’s ceased the flirting and instead is making besties with Truly at the head table later that night. “So there’s the guy at school . . . I can’t decide if I hate him or maybe love him . . . or if he loves me or hates me. It’s all so confusing, and I don't know what to do.”
“What makes it so confusing? Can you give me an example?” Truly asks, in that helpful tone she has with people she hardly knows. Must be another reason why she’s so good at her job. She’s great with people. She can talk to anyone, and find common ground with them.
“Well, he did listen to Ariana Grande with me. That’s a good sign that he likes me, isn’t it?”
“I’d say it’s a great sign.”
“But he also didn’t invite me to the dance next weekend, and it would be awesome if he asked me.”
“Well, does he know you like him? Sometimes men need a little reassurance before they put themselves out there.”
“True. He did Snapchat me earlier today and I never wrote back. Maybe I should Snapchat him back.”
“I think you should go for it. Snapchat him tonight.”
“I will. He’s so adorbs. Like you and your guy.”
Truly loops an arm around me. “Jay is totes adorbs.”
I slide a hand along her wrist. “So are you.”
“Awww, you guys are the most adorbs,” Amelia says with a sigh. “I want this kind of thing for myself. You guys have to stay like this. It’s sooo sweet.”
I meet Truly’s gaze, thinking Amelia has some damn good ideas. Staying like this sounds brilliant.
I lean closer to Truly, whispering, “Thanks for coming tonight.”
“Thanks for inviting me.”
She leaves her arm around me, and it hardly feels like it’s for Amelia’s benefit anymore.
Soon enough, it’s time for the best man’s speech, and I keep it short and simple per Chip’s request, but I talk him up, waxing on about all the ways he’s a good, fun, and caring man. The funny thing is, it’s all true. Chip is a good guy. That’s patently obvious.
When I’m through, I turn the reins over to Troy who clears his throat. “I’m here to celebrate this union with a little Shakespeare. Is everyone ready for Sonnet One Hundred Sixteen?”
“Go for it!” Chip shouts.
Troy then proceeds to rap the hell out of the Bard, starting with: “Let me not to the marriage of true minds…Admit impediments.”
When he finishes, Chip turns to his bride. “Surprise, sweetie! I had him do that for you.”
Ashley throws her arms around him. “I am never ever letting you go.”
Chip’s smile can power a rocket launch. “That’s the goal.”
When Ashley drops a kiss to his lips, that pang in my chest returns, like a drumbeat, persistent and a little annoying.
Or maybe it’s simply that Ed Sheeran is playing, and the dancing has begun.
Truly sets down her champagne and grabs my hand. “Let’s dance.”
“To Ed Sheeran?”
“Yes. I know you hate him, and I don’t care.”
Funny, I don’t care right now that I hate him either. The chance to have her in my arms is worth the assault on my eardrums.
I take her hand, guide her to the dance floor, and loop my hands around her waist.
I’d like to say we’re good. I’d like to say I feel nothing.
But that’d be a bigger lie than pretending the groom isn’t paying me to be here.
22
From the pages of Truly’s Drink Recip
e Book
A Little Hanky Panky:
Champagne, Straight Up
You tell yourself you’ll stick to the plan.
You know you can do it.
Hell, you’ve done it for a while now. For years, even. For as long as you’ve known that guy, the one you can’t stop thinking about.
You go over the reasons. You list them, highlight them, stick them to a Post-it, and slap it on the fridge.
But then there are the things he says, dirty and sweet, entertaining and thoughtful. The way he listens—the way he talks. How he holds the door, pulls out your chair, takes your coat.
He’s a man in a city that is teeming with boys.
Or maybe it’s simpler. Maybe it’s how he touches your hand, your waist, your hair. Perhaps it’s the tender way he meets your gaze when you demand a dance, or the hint of vulnerability that flashes across his amber eyes.
Or it could be that, once again, you’re away from the city.
You’re not in that five-mile radius of your regular life, your regular job, and your regular people.
This is an escape, and you know when you indulge in that first sip of champagne it’s going straight to your head. Not just the drink, but the night, the dress, the tux, and the talking.
When you take that sip, it tastes like a getaway, like a delicious secret, like a treasure to grab tight.
Times like this, when the man you want takes your hand at a wedding, you’re already in a champagne state of mind.
23
Jason
Dancing with her is not at all like dancing with Nora or anyone else in the world.
My pulse beats faster, my blood runs hotter. She slides against me, fitting perfectly in my arms. My gaze swings down to the neckline of her dress. It’s classy but shows a hint of creamy skin, just the way I like it. I brush my fingertips across the tops of her breasts, and she shivers as I touch her. “This dress looks stunning. Have I told you that?”
She licks her lips. “I’m not really sure. It’s hard for me to remember what I had for breakfast. But you can tell me again.” Her tone is so damn inviting.
Instant Gratification (Always Satisfied Book 2) Page 11
