What Happens at a Wedding: A Short Story Anthology

by Lucy Gage

  And with that the tether on my restraint snapped. Pulling him up by the hips, I angled his body so that I could drive into him even farther. He met me thrust for thrust and his body shook beneath mine with a pleasure I saw plainly written across his face. His achingly hard cock bounced between us and I couldn’t wait to drink down his orgasm.

  “Fuck,” I cursed. “Quinn, I’m coming. Oh God, Quinn.” I dragged out his name as each pulse of my orgasm filled his body.

  Drops of his own orgasm fell from his tip and I knew he was close. Without even worrying about catching my breath, I pulled out of him and took his thick, hard, dick into my mouth. Relentlessly, I worked him with my hands and mouth. Letting him use my mouth like I’d just used his body, he groaned in pleasure, calling my name, cursing a God neither of us believed in.

  “Ryan. Fuck. Ryan, fucking hell.” His curses were followed by a slew of sounds that only slightly resembled words and those were followed by the hot ropes of his climax filling my mouth, trickling down my throat and reaching my soul.

  Exhausted, both physically and emotionally, I didn’t have the strength to do anything more than curl up behind him, pull the blankets over us, and fall asleep just for this once with Quinn in my arms.

  When Ryan left twelve years ago, I never thought my heart would ever recover. His sudden absence in my life caused a pain like no other. It was enough to keep me from ever loving anyone ever again. It took me years to heal the wound enough just to be able to put on a face and go about my life as if a piece of my heart hadn’t been torn away.

  Twelve years ago I thought I’d suffered the most pain I’d ever feel the rest of my life.

  I was wrong.

  Staring down at the note on my nightstand, the wound that I’d though healed long ago, tore open as the words, I’m sorry, stared right back at me.

  Searching my memory, I wondered if I’d dreamed last night. My aching body told me that couldn’t possibly be true. He was here. We’d been together. And then, just like he did before, he left without saying a word.

  But one thing was different now. I wasn’t a kid anymore. I wasn’t some inexperienced, weak teenager who’d just had his heart broken.

  I was a grown man with the ability to bury my emotions when I needed to. So even though I wanted nothing more than to punch a hole in the wall and yell and curse about what he’d done to me, I put on some clothes and headed upstairs for breakfast.

  The house was still silent as everyone slept off the late night.

  Everyone except mom.

  She was sipping her coffee at the kitchen counter. “Morning, sweetie. Coffee?”

  Before I even answered, she was up making it for me. I sat at the stool next to her and she handed me the mug. Just as I was about to ask her what we had to do today to get the back yard and dockside ready for the wedding tomorrow, she began speaking.

  “I already know he left. Sarah got a call from Patrick this morning.”

  Stunned into silence, I didn’t know what to say. My mom always had this uncanny ability to know everything, but this was like some weird supersonic shit. “Okay,” I muttered, pretending as if it hadn’t affected me at all. “Why are you telling me?”

  “Oh, Quinny,” she cooed, patting my arm as she slid back into her seat. “When are you going to stop lying to yourself about how you feel about him?”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but realized I had nothing to say.

  “I’m not going to bring it up again, I promise. But let me just leave you with this. You only get one life, sweetie. You loved him then and you love him now. So all you have to do is make up your mind. You already know what it feels like to live without him. Maybe it’s time you both put the past behind you and see what it’s to have him in your life.”

  And without saying another word, she patted my arm again, rose from her seat and went about her morning.

  Over the rest of that day and the morning of the wedding, I didn’t say anything to anyone unless I had to. My mom’s words replayed in my head over and over, like some kind of torment on a loop.

  See what it’s like to have him in your life.

  Since she said those words, I couldn’t stop imagining the version of the life I’d always wanted with Ryan. Even in my dreams that night, I thought about what it would be like to have him in my life, to have him in my arms every night, just like he had been less than forty eight hours ago.

  And even as the words of the pastor droned on in the background, and as my sister’s wedding vows played out right before me, I could think of nothing but Ryan.

  Before I could even realize it, the reception was in full swing. Nothing more than some kind of zombie, I went through the motions of the night, fighting every urge I had to leave and find him.

  And that’s when it hit me. I didn’t even know where to find him.

  My eyes landed on Patrick. He was standing by the bar. Resting his elbow on the bar top, he looked out at the dancefloor in the middle of the back yard. Sarah waved over at him and his face lit up. As he saw me approach, the look on his face hardened.

  “Quinn,” he greeted icily as I stood next to him.

  Having had enough of tiptoeing around it all, I cut the bullshit and asked, “Where is he? What did you do this time?”

  I’d pieced together enough over the years to know that Patrick had played a major part in why Ryan left all those years ago. And honestly, I didn’t care about it at all right now. I just needed to know where he was now so I could get him.

  “Me?” he defended. “You might want check your facts before you go hurling accusations at me.”

  I stepped closer to him, not wanting what I had to say next to fall on anyone else’s ears. “You’re lucky this is my sister’s wedding, otherwise I’d take care of your face like I’m sure you took care of Ryan’s the other night. I don’t want to hear any of your bullshit anymore.” My harsh words and fierce tone surprised even me. But I wasn’t done yet. Patrick needed to hear what I had to say and then I had to find Ryan. “You’re the reason he ran away back then and you’re the reason he ran away now. So just man-up and tell me where the hell he is.”

  “You think I’m the reason he ran away now?” He dropped his drink onto the bar and turned to face me. “I may have pushed him away before, but he ran away now because he wanted to. He ran away because he was too chicken shit to face the lies he’s been telling everyone for years. So you can pin the past on me all you want, but he ran away now because that’s what he does best.”

  “Just shut the fuck up,” I seethed. “And tell me where I can find him.”

  Patrick let a snide chuckle fall from his lips before saying, “Camden, Maine. He’s easy enough to find.”

  With that I turned away, letting my hatred for Patrick fall to the wayside for now. “But just a word of advice,” he called to me when I was a few steps away. “You can only find the man who wants to be found. Just because you’re going to run after him this time, it doesn’t mean that he’ll stop running.”

  Patrick’s words danced around my head the rest of the night. They paraded through my consciousness through the rest of the week. And just when I thought they’d talked me out of going after Ryan, Mom’s words beat the shit out of them and battered them into nothingness.

  See what it’s like to have him in your life.

  Determined to do just that, I took care of what I needed to at my shop, delegated tasks to Korey, the project manager, and packed my bags.

  Patrick may have been right. Maybe Ryan didn’t want to be chased. But he would have to tell me that to my face in order for me to walk away.

  I had no clue how he’d react when I showed up, but I no longer cared about what he thought, what he wanted.

  I wanted him and sometimes motives are just that simple.

  You have to go after what you want in order to be happy.

  And Ryan was what I wanted. Deep in my heart, I knew I was what he wanted, too.

&nb
sp; Now, I just had to convince him of that.

  THE END

  Look for the rest of Quinn and Ryan’s story this fall

  New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Melissa Collins has always been a book worm. Studying Literature in college ensured that her nose was always stuck in a book. She followed her passion for reading to the most logical career choice: English teacher. Her hope was to share her passion for reading and the escapism of books to her students. Having spent more than a decade in front of a classroom, she can easily say that it’s been a dream.

  Her passion for writing didn’t start until she was home on maternity leave in early 2012. She read her first romance novel and her head filled with the passion, angst, and laughter of the characters who she read about it. It wasn’t long before characters of her own took shape in her mind. Their lives took over Melissa’s brain and The Love Series, among countless others, came alive on the pages.

  Web: https://mc-author.com/

  Facebook: https://mc-author.com/fb

  Twitter/Instagram: @mcollinsauthor

  Amazon Author Page: https://mc-author.com/amzn

  Fake It Until You Make It

  Copyright © 2018 by Renee Ericson

  All rights reserved.

  rericsonwrites@gmail.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  A knock at the door startles the crap out of me, and I practically choke on the fistful of popcorn being stuffed into my mouth. Kernels fly across my lips onto the coffee table as I hack up my left lung. It has to be my left. I never did like that one, it collapsed with pneumonia when I was three.

  The knock comes again.

  I wipe away the smarting tears and clear my throat, trying to pull myself together.

  Who in the hell could that be?

  Getting a grasp on my breathing despite the popcorn debacle, I call out, “Who is it?”

  “Beckett,” a male voice calls back.

  “Who?” Rising from the sofa, I dust off the popcorn remnants and make my way to the door.

  “Beckett. Beckett Ames.”

  I squint through the peek hole and find myself looking at no other than Beckett Ames with his square jaw, brow-brushing dark blond hair, and deep blue eyes. Rich and smart as hell Beckett—I-touched-your-penis-freshman-year—Ames.

  Yeah, that happened. There was kissing, too. And shots, and a foolish game of seven minutes in heaven our first year in the dorms. In the dark confines of that small space, we bartered a cock-grab for a moment of boobie shuffling, and a little bit of spit via tongue swapping.

  We talked a few times after that, but it’s been a while since I’ve said anything more than hello. He went his way, and I went mine, each navigating the college world with our own agendas.

  I open the door. “Hi.”

  “Hi. Emma, right?” He remembers me. I wonder if it was the forceful hand grip on his cock or my superior freshman tongue-tangle technique. Either makes sense.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m here to pick up Katie. Is she ready?” he asks, referring to my roommate.

  “Um, pick her up for what?”

  “We have a date.”

  I assess his overall appearance. Nice suit, tie, shined shoes, and well-groomed hair. He’s recently shaved, and my nose tells me he smells deliciously amazing. And all for Katie. I wonder why she never mentioned she was going on a date with Beckett. She knows I’ve had his dick in my grasp, literally. There are rules about penis grabbing and roommates having the potential to touch the same penis. There needs to be disclosure. Not to mention, I had a crush on him. A faraway one, but still.

  However, there will be no date between Katie and Beckett. At least not this evening.

  “She’s not here,” I tell him apologetically. “Sorry.”

  “What?” He pulls out his phone from his pocket, scanning his texts. “She said to be here at 4. It’s 3:59.”

  “I know, but she’s not here.”

  “Okay.” He takes a deep inhale, texts something to Katie, and then shoves the phone back into his pocket. “I’ll wait. No problem. This is fine. Everything will be fine.”

  “Okay then.” I widen the door. “Do you want to wait inside?”

  “Yeah.” He nods as if unsure, apprehensive. “That’s probably a good idea.”

  Beckett steps inside. I gesture for him to a take a seat on the sofa. He does, bouncing his knee anxiously.

  “Any idea where she’s at?” he asks.

  “Nope.” I plop down beside him and continue with the popcorn stuffing of the face, offering some to Beckett which he refuses.

  Just as I’m relaxing into the seat, my phone rings where I left it on the bar in the kitchen. Leaving a restless Beckett, I rise to answer the call.

  “It’s Katie,” I announce, garnering a snap of his head and stilling of his body as I place the phone to my ear. “Hey, Katie.”

  “Emma. Shit.” She breathes heavily. “Beckett’s there, isn’t he?”

  “Yup.” I glance at said man. “On the couch. Apparently, you are late for a date.”

  “Ugh. Is he standing next to you?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Can you leave the room. Please.”

  “Um.” Addressing an approaching Beckett, I say, “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

  I retreat to my bedroom, close the door, and whisper-shout to Katie, “What is going on? Since when do you have a date with Beckett Ames, and why didn’t you tell me about it? There are rules!”

  “It’s not what you think. We don’t have a date.”

  “That’s not what he thinks.”

  “Listen. I know he probably told you we had a date, but we don’t. This is why I didn’t mention it. And don’t you dare repeat what I’m about to tell you.”

  “Okay…”

  “I was doing him a favor. It’s not a real date.”

  “This sounds like a movie.” I play with the ends of my brown hair. “Like one of those fake girlfriends. You have got to be shitting me.”

  “I’m not. And don’t you say a word to anyone about it.”

  “Why would you even agree to something like this? Better yet, why would he? He could have any girl he wants. God knows he already has.”

  “I can’t tell you,” she says quickly.

  “Katie…”

  “I promised. I’m sworn to secrecy. Listen, it doesn’t matter anyhow. I can’t do it now.”

  “Chicken shit?”

  “No. Not even close. You know I don’t back down.”

  “True. You are my fierce sister from another mister…that is running away from her commitments!”

  “Listen,” she huffs. “My sister, my biological one with whom I share a mother and father, is in labor. Like having a baby fly from her body. I’m on the road now to meet her at the hospital.”

  “Oh…”

  “Yeah. So, that’s the reason I’m not there.”

  I nod. “It’s a valid one, for sure.”

  “And I’m really sorry to do this to him. You know I don’t back out on my promises, but this can’t be helped.”

  “Of course not,” I reply.

  “I’m glad you understand because I was hoping you could tell him I won’t be able to go with him.”

  Now she’s lost her mind.

  “What?” I shout. “No! You call and tell him yourself.”

  “My head it is going crazy with my sister. You know what a mess she has been with her preg
nancy. I don’t think I can bear dealing with Beckett, too.”

  “Jeezus, Katie. Who cares? It’s just a fake date anyhow. What does it matter?”

  “It does matter.”

  “Why?”

  “Please,” she practically whines. “Just tell him for me. I’ll owe you forever. Please. Please, Emma, I’m sorry. I know it was important to him, but I can’t. I can’t deal with telling him. Just please.”

  “Oh my god. You are such a baby. What is up with you and him?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “This is ridiculous. Fine. I’ll tell him. You owe me big time. I’m talking bathroom cleaning duty for the rest of the year.”

  “Done! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

  “And the kitchen.”

  “Not a problem. You’re the best.”

  “Ugh,” I groan. “You’re welcome. Drive safe. And I want to see a picture of the baby.”

  “You got it.”

  “Jeez, it must be really bad if you’re so easily agreeing to my terms.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “You’re right. Because you won’t tell me. Call me later.”

  I hang up and toss the phone on my bed, annoyed by the situation I’ve found myself in by circumstance. Today was supposed to be a low-stress day of full-on pajamas and popcorn after a trying week of exams. Now, it’s turned into a certifiable shit show where I’m the messenger of death. Well, disappointment anyhow.

  Taking a deep breath, I adjust my shoulders and join Beckett in the living room where he’s chewing the hell out of his lip and staring at his phone like it’s a delectable cheeseburger and he hasn’t seen food in three days.

  “So, hey,” I say, addressing the hottie, leaning a hip against the bar in the kitchen. “That was Katie on the phone, and she’s not coming. She’s on her way to the hospital. Her sister is in labor. So, sorry. She wanted me to tell you the date is off.”

  Beckett’s jaw slowly drops toward the floor, and the phone slips from his hand, landing with a loud clack near his feet. His pallor pales and then goes green.