How To Ruin Your Ex's Wedding: A Romantic Comedy

by Denise Wells

  “I can’t do any more shots,” Crystal says. Maisey seconds her sentiment. So, I take both their shots as well. Because, fuck it.

  Until my head starts to spin.

  “I need to dance more,” I say, standing. I move off to the side of our VIP area that we’ve designated as our dance floor, close my eyes, and start to move my hips to the beat.

  I feel someone come up behind me and turn quickly. It’s Jonah, one of the guys who’s shooting this new mini-series with me. He’s a side character but we’ve had quite a few scenes together and I’m happy to see him.

  “Hey!” I cry out as I step in to hug him, albeit a little sloppily.

  “Wanna dance?” he asks.

  “Yes!” As I answer, the song changes and “Fireball” by Pitbull comes on. We start a sort of modified salsa dance, only a little dirtier and cornier since neither of us know how to truly salsa. Pitbull just inspires it with his music. When it gets to the middle of the song, when they start taking it down, Jonah leads me to the platform and helps me step onto it, where I start to shake my ass and head to the beat. Dance like no one is watching, as the saying goes. I lose myself when they start with bringing it back, and then jump down into his arms when the music starts again, feeling crazy free and inspired. I’ve never laughed so hard in my life.

  I like Jonah.

  “How come you don’t have a girlfriend?” I ask him.

  “Because I have a boyfriend,” he says with a wink, and I laugh.

  Not having to worry about his intentions makes him all the more fun to be around.

  I don’t want this night to end.

  The song ends way too fast, and the sultry beats of Rihanna pound through the room. It sounds like a mashup of “S&M” and “Only Girl (in the world,” both of which I love. I can barely contain my excitement. Not just over the song, but being out with my friends, drinking, dancing, feeling free, laughing with Jonah, the floor vibrating with the bass. It’s a rush, all of it. Plus, the power of music on my mood is amazing.

  Jonah moves in behind me and we dance with my back to his front. Joking around and dirty dancing like we were before, I move away from him a bit and shake my head to the beat. I make a mental note to see if Hunter would be into tying me up during sex. If whips and chains excite Rihanna, they can’t be all bad, right? I throw my head back and laugh, losing myself completely in the music.

  Arms up, eyes closed, hips swaying, ass shaking, head bobbing.

  Jonah puts his hands on my hips and dances us back further into the corner, then pulls me back against him, which is when shit gets a little serious. His cock hardens as I move my hips against him. And, damn, if Jonah isn’t packin’ heat in his jeans. Maybe we aren’t joking with the dirty dancing.

  I thought he had a boyfriend? Is he bi?

  Jonah moves his hands up and down my hips lightly. Roaming a little higher and a little lower on my sides each time.

  His hands feel good.

  Clearly, I’ve had too much to drink if being touched by a younger gay man is turning me on.

  I should go sit down.

  When’s the last time Hunter touched you like this?

  Shit, we’re just dancing, for god’s sake. I’m pathetic.

  Relax and enjoy it, Tabatha.

  Another Latin-inspired tune comes on. I expect Jonah to start spinning me and salsa dancing again, but instead he pulls me even closer to him. All of me is touching all of him. My bare legs against his jeans feels naughty and sensual. I lift my arms over my head then reach back to circle them around his neck. He seems taller, which doesn’t make a lot of sense. Jonah reaches up and trails his fingers down my arms, making me shiver. He snakes an arm around my waist and spreads his hand across my stomach, holding me firm to him. His hands seem bigger when they are on me. Possessive. Sexy.

  Sexy as fuck.

  I should go sit down.

  It’s just dancing.

  I deserve to enjoy myself for a night. I’ll have to admit to Jonah that he was turning me on, but I’ll also have to make a joke of it so it doesn’t get weird. For me. Maybe that would make it weird. I mean, Jonah is a good-looking guy, but I’m not attracted to him, and he’s not attracted to me. The hard on is probably like morning wood. An inadvertent reaction. Or maybe it’s because it’s my butt and he’s an ass man. I laugh at my stupid joke. This is totally innocent. As long as I ignore the warmth spreading through my belly, that is.

  I use the back of his neck to pull his head down toward my mouth, then tilt mine back to tell him I’m going to go sit down.

  “One more dance,” he says, barely above the music. His voice low and gruff, like he’s turned on by me too. The music slows to something haunting and melodic. The shots buzz through my body. I rest my head against his shoulder and shut my eyes. Our bodies sway slowly, moving as one, his hands on my hips and fingers splaying from my stomach to near my bikini line. His touch injects my body with a heat that’s not been realized in a long time.

  He’s young, you feel flattered.

  My hips roll, trying to press closer, obviously with a mind of their own. I can’t stop the moan that escapes my lips.

  He nuzzles my neck, the stubble on his face scratching my skin. “I heard that.”

  Just go with it.

  I smile, reaching behind me to grab his hips.

  Different hips. Not as slim as they were a few moments ago.

  Wait a minute.

  I turn to face him.

  My heart stops.

  It’s not Jonah.

  “Pax? What the hell?” I slap him on the chest. “What are you doing here? Where’s Jonah?”

  “I sent that kid away two songs ago,” he says, pulling me tighter against him, his mouth close to my ear. Too close. “Paparazzies were getting way too many incriminating pictures, had to intervene for your own good and pull you over here where you couldn’t be seen.”

  Oh.

  I guess that makes sense.

  Shit.

  “Thanks,” I say, still tense. Still thinking I should walk away. Not remotely comfortable with knowing it was Pax turning me on and not Jonah. Somehow, that makes it worse. More dangerous.

  Being turned on by Jonah is okay, but turned on by Pax isn’t?

  “It’s just a dance, Tabs. Relax.” Again, he knows what I’m thinking. And he’s right.

  Fuck it.

  I mean, why not, right?

  Live in the moment, seize the day, and all that crap.

  Not to mention, Pax saved me from something potentially embarrassing. Or at least from having pictures taken of me that would be misconstrued into something embarrassing.

  The music slows considerably. I rest my cheek against his shoulder and let my body melt into him just a bit. I’m tired from all the dancing. Tired from all thoughts, comforted by the familiarity of his body. If Pax and I did still have feelings for each other, the song would be ironic. The chorus talks about the guy being someone that the woman loved. He let his guard down and she pulled the rug out from under him.

  An argument could be made for—

  It doesn’t matter Tabatha. It’s just a song.

  I’m getting married in a week.

  My face flushes as I admit to myself that Pax still excites me. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t nice to be back in his arms again. I may hate him, but I love him too. As someone I have a past with, as my first love. Nothing more.

  I raise my head slightly to look for my friends. Gregor is dancing with Maisey. She looks dreamy. Like happy dreamy. Maybe Igor BigJerksy isn’t so bad after all. Angela and Crystal are next to them, swaying back and forth with one another.

  All in all, I’m going to say that this has been a really fantastic evening, which makes me smile.

  Then my head starts to spin.

  22

  Pax

  It’s clear Tabatha and the girls have had way too much to drink. That was evident when I saw Tabby up on the table dancing while that little shit actor egged her on. It was act
ually a surprise to run into them. Well, for me anyway. Gregor knew they were coming here because Maisey told him. I should have known something was up when he suggested stopping in for a quick drink after we left Hunter’s gig. Gregor rarely wants to stop in for a quick drink anywhere that he doesn’t already own. And especially not a club.

  I look at him dancing with Maisey. He seems pretty fucking happy with himself right now. Not that I’m complaining. I’ve got Tabby in my arms and it feels good. Right, even. It makes me wonder if we could ever work things out. Maybe Gregor is right and I’m not over her. On the one hand, I find it hard to believe that I found my one true love—if such a thing even exists—when I was so young. On the other hand, I can’t imagine ever being with anyone else. And if I had a third hand, that one would be slapping me across the face and reminding me she drives me batshit crazy half the time.

  Tabatha’s body grows heavy against me. “You okay, Tabs?” I ask, my mouth so close to her ear that my lips brush against her skin.

  She shakes her head.

  “I don’t feel so good,” she mumbles.

  I steer her into one of the available unisex restrooms, trying to gesture to Crystal at the same time, who is still dancing with Angela. We barely make it into the stall before Tabs is emptying the contents of her stomach, which clearly contained very little food. I hold her hair out of her face and rub her back.

  “Oh, Pax, this is not good,” she groans, her insides erupting again. And again. I flush the toilet as she lowers to her knees and leans her face against the tile wall. I reach behind us to get a cloth and dampen it for her forehead and the back of her neck.

  The door opens and Crystal walks in. “Is she okay?”

  I shake my head.

  “Oh, honey.” Crystal kneels next to her, pushing her hair back from her face.

  “I can’t do this, Crystal,” Tabby moans.

  “I know, honey. Nobody likes to throw up. It’s awful.”

  “No, I can’t marry Hunter. He won’t pound me against the wall.”

  I try to stop myself from snickering. Not very well if the look Crystal gives me is any indication.

  Tabby keeps talking. “We’re in our thirties. That’s young, right?”

  “It is, it’s so young. We have our whole lives ahead of us,” Crystal murmurs as she brushes the hair back from Tabatha’s face again and again.

  “Does Michael pound you against the wall?” Tabatha’s voice is pitiful.

  Crystal looks at me, I shrug. I’m pretty sure I know what Tabatha is talking about, and she’s right. Hunter is never going to be that guy to lose control and take her against the wall. Then I think back to the number of times that I’ve taken Tabs against the wall. Including that last day when she threw me out. The hate fuck. Hottest goddamn sex I’ve ever had, hands down. She was all claws and teeth, it was exceptional.

  “You’re worrying about nothing,” Crystal soothes.

  “No.” Tabatha tries to push herself up, using the toilet seat as leverage. I’m reminded briefly of my bowling alley restroom tryst with Trix and do my best not to shudder.

  “She okay?” I turn and see Angela, Maisey, and Gregor at the door

  “I think we just need to get her home.”

  “I’ll call the limo.” Angela pulls her phone out and starts the call, putting her finger in the opposite ear to hear better.

  “Poor baby,” Maisey murmurs. Gregor pats her on the shoulder reassuringly. She reaches up and covers his hand with hers.

  Interesting.

  Crystal and I help Tabatha stand, but she falls before she’s even straightened. I pick her up. “Let’s do this quickly before anyone realizes who she is. Where’s the limo going to be?”

  “Back entrance,” Angela says. “I’ll go make sure he’s there.”

  Tabatha snuggles against my chest, gripping my shirt in her fist. “Pax?”

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “Why didn’t it work, Pax?”

  “Why didn’t what work?”

  “Us. Why didn’t we work?” And then she passes out cold. Even if she hadn’t, I didn’t have an answer for her. Not a finite one anyway. There are a million reasons why relationships don’t work. And probably more than that for why she and I didn’t work. Youth. Pride. Reality TV. Stupidity. Immaturity.

  I walk us through the club quickly, and out the back door. I’m fairly certain we weren’t seen and that no one has realized it’s Tabby and she’s drunk. The girls clamor in the limo and I move to lie Tabatha down on the seat.

  “No.” She tightens her grasp on my shirt. “Don’t leave.”

  I try to loosen her fingers. “Tabs, the limo is going to take you home, okay. Crystal and Angela are here, so is Maisey.”

  “Oh, I love Maisey,” she slurs. “She’s my new friend.”

  I smile down at her and attempt to loosen her fingers again.

  “Please?” She looks up at me, her green eyes wide. I’m halfway inside the limo anyway. I look back at Gregor, and he shrugs. So, I climb in and he follows me. I sit on the back bench next to Crystal. Angela and Maisey sit on the side seats, while Gregor takes up the other bench seat. Tabatha curls her lithe body onto my lap. Her bare legs go on forever. I have to put my hand on her calf to hold her in place. I don’t have a choice.

  At least that’s what I tell myself.

  Her skin burns where I touch her. A sure sign that if hell exists, I’ll be banished to it for touching a woman who no longer belongs to me. She was magnificent tonight. Her hair wild, her outfit sexy as hell, dancing like the carefree girl I remember. When I compare the dancing girl with the woman planning a wedding with Wipplecock, it’s easy to see how restrained she’s become. Whether that’s by choice or by his influence, I’m not sure.

  It makes the most sense for the limo to drop off Crystal first, then Angela, Maisey, Tabatha, and Gregor. I’ll just crash at Gregor’s house rather than ask the guy to take me all the way over to Port Orchard. We wait to make sure both Crystal and Angela get into their homes okay. When we get to Maisey’s house, Gregor gets out with her and walks her to her door. She kisses him on the cheek before going inside the house. He returns to the limo with a large smile on his face.

  “Gregor and Maisey, sittin’ in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” I sing.

  “I like her, man.”

  “You say that with every girl you meet,” I tease.

  “I know, but this is different.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. I feel different. Patient, maybe?”

  “That would be a new one for you, Casanova.” In addition to really wanting a relationship, Gregor also falls for women way too fast. And it usually results in disaster and he gets hurt. Women come on strong because he’s handsome, rich, and famous. He falls hard. When it becomes apparent they aren’t genuine, he’s left dazed and confused.

  I feel the limo begin winding up the hills, I assume toward Pimplecock’s. The houses in this area are ostentatious. It figures this is where they live, which is also why it’s not surprising he has gated access to his home. The driver buzzes for permission to enter, and I hear a scratchy voice answer, then the gate opens slowly.

  Hunter is outside waiting when we approach the house. I try to move Tabatha from my lap again, s process I should have started five minutes ago. She protests and wraps her hand in the fabric of my shirt. Before I can do anything else, Hunter has opened the door, his face red and stern.

  “Tabatha—” he starts. Then he sees me. And Tabatha. “Well, isn’t this becoming quite the habit,” he sneers.

  “She had too much to drink, we’re just making sure she gets home safely,” I say.

  “We?” Hunter asks. Then he sees Gregor. “Oh, hello, Gregor, I didn’t see you there.” His tone changes completely to something friendly and inviting. Gregor waves a hand in reply.

  I scoot toward the open door prepared to hand off Tabatha.

  “Can’t she stand?” Hunter asks.

  “She was sick earlier,�
�� I say by way of explanation, climbing out of the limo and trying not to drop Tabatha at the same time. Not an easy task.

  “How convenient that you were there to help her,” Hunter says. “What, you had to leave my party early to rush to her side?”

  “No,” I said. “I didn’t even know she was going to be there.”

  “It was my idea,” Gregor interjects, also climbing out of the limo. “Maisey told me where they were going to be, and I wanted to see her again. Pax didn’t know.”

  Hunter does not look convinced.

  Tabatha starts to open her eyes. “Oh hey, Pax,” she says softly.

  “We brought you home, Tabs.”

  “Home?” She glances around, seeing Gregor first. “Igor BigJerksy,” she says, her voice friendly. “I’ve decided to like you after all these years. But only because Maisey does. So be nice to her. She’s my new friend.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Gregor says, laughing.

  “Tabatha, are you well?” Hunter asks.

  She looks at him, as if seeing him for the first time. “Hunter! How lovely to see you.” Then she looks back at me. “We’re getting married.”

  “I know,” I tell her. “In less than a week.”

  “That soon?” she whispers loudly.

  I nod.

  “Do you think it’s a good idea?” She looks from me to Hunter then back at me again. “For me to marry him.”

  I watch her expression, trying to decipher what she’s getting at. If she’s just drunk babbling or actually asking me my opinion.

  “That’s enough, Tabatha,” Hunter says. “Let’s go. You need to sleep this off.”

  She peeks up at me through her lashes. “I need to sleep this off.” I nod, suddenly feeling beyond sad suddenly. This is probably the last time I’m going to see her before she marries this idiot. He has no idea what he’s getting with her. How lucky he is.

  I lean down and kiss her forehead softly. She closes her eyes and sighs. I take a moment to memorize her face one last time and then hand her to Hunter. Where she was easy for me to hold—she can’t weigh more than a hundred and twenty pounds—he struggles under her weight.