by Amanda Faye
Rolling my eyes, I head back in her direction. Throwing my arm around her shoulder, I lean in conspiratorially, whispering against her earlobe.
"Sugarplum, I think I know what's going on here. You want to skip the wedding and head straight to the hotel room. I don't blame you. If I were you, I'd much rather be in bed with me than watching some lame-ass wedding ceremony. Come on. Did you get a king-size bed? I'm going to need room to work."
Cris huffs out a laugh, but I feel the tension leave her shoulders.
"Thank you," she whispers. She turns in my arms, bringing her hand up to my face and kisses me softly on the cheek.
"Ready?" I ask, content to stand in the middle of the lobby all night if that's what she wants.
"Now I am."
Instead of walking alone, though, she laces our fingers together, and we eat the space between us and the ballroom.
I spot him before she does, I think. If she sees him there, standing with his friends in an ill-fitting tux, she doesn't say anything.
I pull her close, mumbling, "As a reward, I'll let you be on top first."
She bursts into giggles, shoving my chest, and that's how he spots her, cheeks flushed with laughter, hand against my pecs, the other laced with mine.
His face burns in anger, and when his groomsmen see her, they elbow each other and enjoy the view.
Set and Match to Sugarplum.
She's still smiling when we make it to the front of the welcoming line, even if I can tell it's wilted a little around the edges.
He reaches to shake her hand, and I tighten my grip on her right, forcing her to offer him her left instead, messing with his mojo.
"Cristina, thanks for coming. Ryan."
There's little warmth in his voice for her, and it fills with an arctic chill when he says my name. Serves the guy right for inviting his ex to his wedding. The groomsmen have no such reservations, and welcome her to the party with open arms, not batting an eye when she stays latched to me while giving half-a-dozen one-arm embraces.
"Thanks for inviting me, Tom. It's so good to see you! I can't wait to congratulate Stephanie."
He doesn't look happy. While a few other late stranglers walk up behind us, he stares at Cris like he's sucked on a lemon. Seeming to realize he's glaring at her; he clears his throat and tries to paste a moth-eaten smile on his face.
"Of course."
I think he's going to say more, and obviously, Cris does too. When it becomes apparent that nothing else is forthcoming, she smiles beatifically at him and gracefully makes her way to a pair of empty seats in the ballroom.
"You won that round, FYI," I whisper as we hang our jackets on the back of our chairs.
"That was only round one. We have another eleven to go."
Don't I know it. I retake her hand and lean back in my chair, waiting for the bride.
Chapter Four
Ryan
“The bride and groom are going to take a few minutes to refresh themselves and take pictures with the bridal party. We invite you to gather in the reception area for appetizers and cocktails until dinner is served."
With that, the officiant steps off the raised platform and follows the newlyweds down the white carpet.
"That was —."
Excruciating? Horrendous?
Long?
"Beautiful. Absolutely, beautiful."
My head snaps in Cris's direction to see the painfully blissed-out expression she's plastered to her face.
What the hell?
Was the wedding such a clusterfuck that Cris had a stroke?
She takes my hand in hers, then digs her nails into my flesh.
Get with the program fucker—the blood pooling in the half-moon imprints seems to say.
"I couldn't have said it better myself," I stutter in response to the pain.
Her head twitches to the side, and I let my eyes skim the crowd rising to their feet.
Cristina's presence has been noticed.
There's the expected scattered applause and chittering about what a beautiful couple they make. Gag. But in between, there are comments and politely hidden pointing in my and Cris's direction.
Ahhhh.
Round two has begun then.
"Make a note of your favorite bits, Sugarplum. You may have your own wedding to plan soon."
She sparkles in my direction, but her nails dig in for a second time. I don't even bother to hold in my grin. If I have to be here, I might as well have a little fun with it.
We grab our jackets from the back of the chairs and join the throng of wedding guests heading into a smaller room off from the ceremony. I cast my hearing far and wide, trying to catch comments about Cris and I. All I hear is someone saying that this room will be transformed to host the reception while we're all sardined in at the bar.
Joy. Me and Tom in an enclosed space. Maybe I can knee him in the balls, and no one will notice?
She's still got a hold on my hand, and when I rub my thumb across her palm, she loosens her grip until I can feel the blood rush into my fingers.
"Do you want a drink?" I ask, scanning the crowd for the open bar.
"No." She shakes her head without looking in my direction. "I need my wits about me."
I can't tell if it's anger from being here or tension or what, but she's vibrating with anxious energy. She needs to calm down before she pops.
Did I mention that Cris is a little high strung? That may have been an understatement. Unstable seems more appropriate.
I try to drag her away from the crowd, but an old bitty gets to her first. Okay then.
Let's play.
"Cristina, dear! It's so good to see you again. I had heard rumors, of course, one does, but I didn't expect to see you here tonight."
She looks like every Southern grandmother you've ever seen in a movie: big hat, big purse, loud patterned dress. Cris drops my hand and passes me her jacket to be pulled into the bosom of Aunty Pam or whoever this lady is.
"Aunt Muriel," Cris oozes with apparent happiness.
Called it.
"It's good to see you too. Of course, I came! Tom and I are still great friends! I'm so happy for him and Stephanie."
Great friends?
Pull it back, love. Too much, it's too much.
She's laying it on a little thick. No one is going to believe that she's still friends with these people.
I paste an indulgent smile on my face and stand back as she's passed back and forth between the older generation of Tom's relatives. Another batch, which I can only assume belong to the bride, stands to the side, giving us curious glances.
Speaking of glances, I'm collecting a fair share of them on my own. I smile, nod, and preen, trying to set a good example. What I want to do is flip all these people the bird. Alas, I promised to be a good fake-boyfriend tonight.
"And you are?"
An older gentleman, graying at the temples, finally bucks up the courage and steps in my direction. He offers me his hand, and I move both of our jackets to my left so that I can shake his. I really need to see if they have a coat check somewhere.
"Hello there, I'm Frank, Uncle on the groom's side."
"Ryan, nice to meet you. I'm—." I don't want to piss her off, but I need to make sure she comes out of tonight looking strong. I waggle my eyebrows and wink in a conspiratorial manner at the woman closest to me.
"Cris brought me because I'm pretty."
There's laughter around us, and more eyes turn in our direction because of it. Cris's spine tightens in the arms of whatever old lady has her captured now, and I just know I'm going to pay for that later. It broke some of the tension, though, and more bystanders join in on the joking conversation.
"No, I'm Cris's boyfriend."
The grandma's titter in amusement. Score one for me.
"Ryan. Ryan? That name sounds familiar. Have we met before? Perhaps I know your mother?"
Aunt Muriel nudges her way to the front, and I watch as Cris's eyes flicker between me, t
he biddy, and the middle-aged man with whom she's speaking.
Man, I need a beer.
"It's possible. Cris and I grew up together. Three houses down, to be exact. If you know Kathy, then you probably know my parents too. Maria and Michael Thomlinson. They still live in Sunset Junction."
Her eyes widen, and I know that she knows who I am.
"Ryan, yes. So good to see you again. It's been a while, bless you. Give your parents my best, yes?"
She's easing back out of the crowd, probably to spread the word of my attendance. God damn, Beth. Does she always have to be right about everything?
Eyes narrowed and voice pitchy, Cris frees herself and closes the gap between us, digging her nails into my hand again. At least it's the other hand this time. I'm going to have a matching set of scars by the time this night is over.
"Ryan, sweetie, could you take our jackets up to the room? I don't think we'll need them in the dining room, after all."
She's freaking out, I see it in her eyes. Fuck. I don't want to make this harder for her. I face her, and see the pleading look behind her fake-ass expression.
"Of course, Sugarplum. You have the card."
She jolts as if she'd forgotten and unclasps her handbag.
"Room 618."
I lean down and drop a kiss on her cheek before looking around for the exit.
I can't imagine how hard this must be for her. These people were supposed to be her family. Now, she's helping them welcome another woman into her place. Even if she doesn’t have any feelings for Tom anymore, that doesn't stop the bonds and relationships she'd built with the other people in his life.
The elevator dings, and I get out, looking for the sign on which way to go.
I wish I could make this easier for her. Why in the hell did she come to this thing again? Oh yeah, to make him pay.
Then make him pay we shall.
The room is nice. It has a living area with a couch and a door blocking off the bedroom. There's a flat screen on the wall and champagne and glasses on the counter. It must have cost her a pretty penny.
The bed is huge, perfect for fucking.
Down Boy, I tell my cock and throw our jackets onto her bed. There's her bag, just like the bellhop promised.
She's going to get chilly. The woman is a walking freezer. It can be the middle of summer, and I swear she'll ask for a sweater. She usually keeps one with her—.
There! I open her messenger back and squished at the bottom, below the makeup, and high heels is a black button-down cardigan.
Damn, I'm good.
I take the opportunity to use the restroom, then head back down to the party.
If that's what we're calling it.
When I enter the bar area, I spot Cris immediately. She's still in the middle of the circle of people, but only now their ages have dropped by several decades. She laughs, and it's high and tight, fake as a pair of silicone tits.
Her hand moves in some gesture, and it's big and wild. Not my Sugarplum at all.
This is not the point she wanted to make. She looks spastic, not at ease with the world.
I spot the bar set up in the corner and detour in that direction.
"Beer, whatever you have in the bottle, and a Cherry Martini if you can swing it."
"Chocolate in the glass?" He asks, and my hopes for the evening rise a little bit.
"Yes! Please, and thank you. Four Cherries."
He hands me a Stella Artois, and I have to contain my eye roll. Of course, Tom doesn't have something as simple as a Bug Light. As he's preparing the martini, I pull out my wallet and toss a twenty into the tip jar. I feel he and I are going to be good friends by the time the night is done.
Taking our drinks in hand, I hightail it over to Cris. If there was ever someone in need of rescuing, it's her.
Luckily, I recognize some of the people from this group. Tom and I would never be called friends, but we hung out often enough that there is some acquaintance overlap.
"Matt, hey, how you doin', man?"
He whips around at the sound of my voice, shock merging into amusement when I grin at him.
I move my beer so that I'm holding it and the martini with one hand, and I can grasp my hand with Matt’s.
"Ryan! Hey man, I'm great. Long time no see! I'm surprised to see you. Here. At Tom's wedding."
His words and smile say everything right, but his tone says, 'are you fucking stupid or something?' I can't help but laugh.
"Hey man, I only go where my girl tells me to go. She said get dressed, and I simply obey."
"So, you and—?" His voice trails off, glancing between Cris and me.
"What can I say?" I shrug and take a swig of my beer. Cris looks like she's about to pass out. "I've been in love since I was twelve. It just took me twenty years to make my move."
I wink in her direction again, the people around us laugh. She laughs too, only she sounds like a person with a mental health condition.
"Speaking of which, I need my girl for a minute. I'll bring her right back."
I shove her martini in one hand, grab her other, and drag her out of the crowd before she can say anything about it. I know what's coming and squeeze her fingers before she has a chance to dig her fingernails into my flesh.
I'm not shy of a little pain, but I prefer a mouth around my dick when it's happening.
"What the fuck, Ryan?" She hisses in my ear, but I refuse to answer her until we're pressed up in a corner.
Placing my back to the wall, I put my bottle on the floor.
"Sip your drink," I say, trying to keep a smile on my face.
"You stupid—."
I cut her off before she can finish.
"Now, Cris." My voice is deep and hard, sharpened with my frustration.
She narrows her eyes at me, anger radiating from her as she brings her glass to her lips.
The second the liquid hits her tongue, however, her shoulders slump, and her eyes roll up in her head. She takes a longer sip, and then another, and I watch as her throat swallows it down.
I want to tun my tongue up and down that gorgeous long neck of hers. Preferably when she’s pinned underneath me.
She slips a little 'mmmm" sound through her lips, and my body responds like she's set it on fire. Will I ever not react to her this way? I think my first hard-on was to the sound of her voice.
"Cherry Martini," she breathes when the glass is half-empty. "How did you know?"
I laugh for real at that, head thrown back in amusement.
"How did I know? Are you telling me you don't know my drink order?"
She pauses for a moment, and I take her glass and place it on the floor with my beer. With her hands free, I take her sweater off my shoulder, and at her nod, slip it up her arms.
“Your key,” I say as I hand it to her and watch as it disappears into the side of her dress.
I’m surprised when she belatedly answers my taunt.
"Anything in a bottle, Bud Light on tap, but your fridge at home is secretly stocked with apple-flavored bubbly stuff."
"Bubbly stuff?" I ask, amused.
"It depends. Beer, Smirnoff; I've even seen apple margarita mixes. Oh!" She jumps, a smile spreading across her face. "Nothing in a can, though. You drink it not to appear rude, but you always have a distasteful look on your face."
I leave forward and sneak a kiss on her lips, and she giggles like a schoolgirl, slapping at my chest.
"Cherry Martini. Four cherries on the rim."
She bends at the knees, removing a cherry from her glass and popping it into her mouth. My dick stands up and waves hello.
Ignoring him, I place my hands on her hips, pulling her closer to me.
"I say this with love. Because I love you. But you need to calm the fuck down."
Her eyes flash in anger, but her shoulders droop in defeat.
"I just—I want to prove so bad that I'm better than him. Better than her. Everyone is comparing us. Looking at me and wondering what she has
that I don't. Nine months ago, he was supposed to marry me, Ryan. I don't know if I can do this."
"Sugarplum, of course they're comparing you. But you win. You won before you got here. You won the minute he left you for her. Don't you see that? You are superior in every shape and form. I mean—," and I drop my voice below a whisper, leaning into her ear, "Did you see her wedding dress? It looked like a bad replica of Princess Diana's. And you—? You look enchanting tonight. You look more like yourself, relaxed and glowing, in those boots and that dress than you ever did with Tom by your side. How can they not compare you?
"If anything, they aren't comparing you and her. They're comparing you, now, to before, and now wins. Hands down.
"The truth of it, though, is that tonight isn't about you, as much as it may feel like it. It's about them. For better or worse, they got married. It isn't in you to wish failure on someone, even though you wish it were. So, partly you came to gloat and to see how you measured up, but partly, a small, tiny part brought you here to wish them the best."
She nods at me, her lip between her teeth.
"Besides, you proved you are better, just by showing up. How many women would go to their ex-fiancé's wedding and do it with a smile, huh? You don't need to pretend to be okay, because you are okay. That doesn't need to be faked, Sugarplum."
"Thank you," she says as she gazes into my eyes.
I lean forward to kiss her again, and instead of smacking me away, she relaxes against me. Her lips part, and her hands rise to circle my neck. It's a natural response, like we've been doing it all our lives.
I keep it quick, because we are at her ex-fiancé's wedding, but still dart my tongue out to get a taste. If this is my only shot, I'm not above taking advantage of it.
After all, just because I'm better than Tom, doesn't mean I'm necessarily a good guy. I'm okay with that.
Chapter Five
Ryan
When we part, she bends at the knees again and picks up both our drinks. I expect her to grab my hand and head back into the crowd. Instead, she hands me my beer, but turns around, leaning against my front.
Fucking Hell.
My dick is dead center against her hips. She’s trying to kill me. That’s the only explanation I have for it. Beth decided she wanted to be an only sibling. Maybe Beth wants my house? She knows it’s willed to her. So, she and Cris concocted a plan to murder me by hard-on.
