by E. Cleveland
“Okay, so, what are we doing? Did we just mess everything up with this?” I turn around and face Griz.
His eyes are bloodshot and there’s almost-asleep confusion on his face. “Huh?”
“Like, you and me. We’re fake, this is fake, but that sex wasn’t. Did that just make this all weird?”
“In what way?” He’s so groggy, but it’s clear he’s trying to follow the conversation.
“Like, when we go back to our real lives, to Westbury, isn’t this going to get weird?”
“You keep saying that word. I don’t know why. If you don’t want it to be a thing, it won’t be a thing.” He frowns and adjusts his pillow. “It’ll be like one of those weekend weddings in Vegas. We’ll just have Vegas rules.”
“What happens in the fake relationship stays in the fake relationship?” I try to clarify his thinking.
“Sure. Exactly.” He rests his head back down. “Better?”
“Yeah, I’m good.” I roll back over.
I try to fall asleep as quickly as he can. I can not. I’m happy with Vegas rules for our fake relationship, but there’s a faint whisper of disappointment keeping me awake. A small piece of me that wanted a different solution. One where we made this whole thing real.
19
Two Types of Tears
Hattie
I haven’t had a chance to process how I feel about last night. Not the sex. Not the Vegas rules. Nothing. Today has been my sister’s perfect day, one that’s entirely about her. Since our obnoxiously early wake-up call until now, it’s all just been prep. After we got our hair and make-up done, I tried on my dress without the waist trainer.
Corset, I guess.
Clementine said my middle looked ponchy, so now here I am, knowing exactly how it feels to die by boa constrictor. I guess this solved my “ponchy belly”, but now my boobs are pushed up, and I feel like a Pillsbury Crescent Roll can with the lid popped off one end.
Grandpa was right. Throwing a party the night before the wedding really takes the piss out of ya. I didn’t even wake up hungover, just lost in a groggy fog that I can’t escape. Everything has been a big rush. Griz has been helping my father and the staff move things around at the last second to prevent my sister from melting down about her stupid seating chart. Again. I pity my mother. She’s gone through months of this with her. I can barely handle a few days.
The guests are beginning to file in, so there’s no more finicking that can possibly be done. I join my father and Griz just as Dad is talking to him. “Here she is. Who knows, maybe I’ll be walking her down the aisle soon too.” His quip makes me cringe, and not just because it’s embarrassing that my dad’s trying to marry me off. That’s only a minor part of this cringe. I feel bad that my dad fell for this whole fake relationship. I feel bad that he likes Griz.
When I planned to bring home a fake boyfriend, I never pictured my family bonding with him. I don’t know why it didn’t feel like I was tricking them until now. Is it a trick? What did last night mean? Griz and I gave an Oscar-worthy performance in our fake relationship last night…if there were Oscars for porn.
“I should go find your mother.” Dad touches my arm. “You look beautiful, pumpkin.” He heads off, and I avoid Griz’s eyes. I know he’s looking at how this dress fits. His nostrils flare and he breathes in deep.
“You do look beautiful,” he agrees with my father’s parting words. “Even with that stupid thing on.”
I finally meet his gaze. I was expecting to see anger in his eyes, but it’s absent. Instead there’s...compassion? Kindness? Whatever it is, it makes me feel more uncomfortable. I’m hyper-aware of how much this thing is limiting my breathing.
I’m mad at how much it hurts to wear this. I’m mad that I’m so sweaty. I’m mad that my boobs feel like they’re going to pop my top. Mostly, I’m pissed at Clementine. That’s not true. Mostly I’m pissed at myself. I let her get in my head.
“Listen, I know you don’t understand why I’m wearing it,” I explain in a hushed tone. “You’re making me feel bad, but that’s because you don’t know what it’s like to have that pressure. You’re a guy. You’re a jock. You’ve never been judged by how much space you take up.”
Griz frowns. “Fuck those people.”
“Shhh.” I notice the stares people give as they pass by.
“I’m not trying to make you feel bad.” He lowers his voice.
“But you are.” I cut him off. “So, can you please stop? It’s making it worse.” My voice wavers, and I fight the tears. “I’ve gotta go sort myself out before I go bridesmaid this place up, alright?” I try to lighten it up, but it’s hard when you’re desperately trying not to cry.
Griz opens his mouth, but decides to let whatever he had to say go. He nods slowly. “Okay, you go do your thing, I’ll see you after.”
He heads into the packed room of guests, all waiting for the big show. There are enough phones in the audience, and professional cameras set up near the front, that it looks like Clementine has her own paparazzi waiting. She’s gonna love that.
I flick the tears away from my eyes. More importantly, away from the make-up job I sat in a chair for an hour to get. I walk into the back area where everyone from the wedding party, except my sister and father, are gathered.
Of course the face I see is little Chloe’s. She’s waiting at the front of the forming line, carrying a basket of multicolored petals. She’s the flower girl. That’s how these things work. She is a slice of pure sunshine with that smile on her face. The clip I gave her glints in her hair. I smile at her whole-heartedly.
“Hattie.” Her eyes light up when she spots me. “Look!” She points to the clip glinting in her hair. “It’s working. Can you tell?” She holds out her arms, like her new found confidence is a pair of long opera gloves she’s showing off to me. I might not be able to see it on her, but it’s radiating out of her.
“I’ve never seen a flower girl more beautiful.” I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat.
Chloe smiles so wide I can see every single tooth, even the spaces where her baby ones have fallen out, and the adult teeth are pushing up in their place. “Thanks.” She swings her petal basket back and forth and tilts her head to the side. “I feel beautiful.”
I don’t let my tears fall until I’m completely out of her sight. I duck into the bathroom and grab a wad of toilet paper to wipe them up before they smear my makeup and leave marks on my satin dress. I try to stop them from falling, but I can’t hold them back. I cry two types of tears. Happy ones for the girl who got a confidence boost from Grandma’s mysterious hair pin, and sad tears for the girl who didn’t.
20
Trampled Flowers
Griz
Savage Love is playing out on the dance floor, and somehow I’ve gotten dragged into the middle of an epic dance battle with the girls from the kid’s table. “You go like this.” One of the blondes pulls her arm across the air and then pops it up, the same way every girl on TikTok dances to this song.
“Pfft, no problem.” I do the move, adding a little swagger to my shoulders.
“I bet you can’t do the floss,” the other twin yells at all of us. I can’t tell them apart. They’re identical right down to their hair styles and dresses.
“Like this?” I swing my straightened arms around my body. This kid thinks she can out-Fortnite dance me? She’s about to get schooled.
“Yeah, the floss is easy,” the little one chimes in. She erratically swings her arms all over the place, looking more like she’s trying to hitch up a pair of coveralls instead of doing the floss.
“See. She’s got it.” I jerk my thumb at the flower girl, and she beams with pride. “I like how you bring it up to the next level.” I can’t help but smile. It’s clear that she has no idea how off the mark her dance is. Or how adorable.
“Yeah, I’m really good at it,” she answers. She either doesn’t see or doesn’t care about the eye-rolls from the older girls. Hattie’s magic hair cli
p is still snuggly attached to her braid. I think it’s safe to say it worked.
I look across the room, and Hattie still hasn’t moved. She’s sitting alone at the kid’s table. Wedding photographers have captured so many of her smiles today, but not a single one reached her eyes.
I hate that she looks uncomfortable. Her arms are folded around her middle like a hug. The pain in her eyes slices me open. I want to blame her sister or her parents or even that fucking corset for that sadness. I’m just as much to blame.
How many times did I tell her not to wear that thing? I was spouting off about her not caring about people judging her, and then I was judging her for putting it on. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. She didn’t deserve that extra stress.
“Alright, you know what time it is?” The DJ talks over the song as he fades it out. “Ladies, please come up for the bouquet toss.” He plays Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” as women make their way over. Most of them are laughing or at least smiling, but the twin sisters have got some serious game face happening. They look ready to take the others out for some flowers.
“Hattie? Come on,” her mother calls out to her.
She shakes her head, but for some reason that just makes her sister jump in too. “Yeah, come on over, Hattie!” Clementine is a bit louder and slurrier now that the stress is over and she’s had a few drinks.
“Last call for the bouquet toss,” the DJ cuts back in over the sound system.
Clementine and her mother are acting panic-stricken, calling out for Hattie like they’re trying to lure her off the tracks of an on-coming train. She stands up, and they stop, both watching in surprise as Hattie turns and walks away.
I saw her face crumple as she left the room. I know I should wait, but I try to beat the bouquet toss as I dash off the dance floor to go follow her.
“In three, two, one!” The DJ counts down for the toss.
I wasn’t quick enough. The flowers go sailing through the air. Women of all ages hop up and down, their hands stretched high over their heads, as I try to pass through. The bouquet lands right in front me. It hits my foot, and a few of the flowers explode out of it. The junior bridesmaids literally snarl at each other as they dive bomb on top of them.
“I got them first!”
“As if.” They wrestle back and forth. A few people in the crowd laugh and take out their phones.
“Madison. Morgan,” a horrified woman who could only be their mother yells at them.
“If you don’t let them go, I’m telling mom you kissed Evan,” one of the sister’s hisses.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
The meaner sister wins and holds her flowers overhead, victorious. A few people clap for her. I pick up a lily and a couple small flowers that rolled free from the bouquet and walk out of the reception.
I push the button for the elevator, but it doesn’t pop open, so I take the stairs instead. I know there’s no emergency, but I feel like I can’t get to our room fast enough. Her crying stops me at the door. When I walk in, she’s sprawled across the bed, face down. Her dress is pulled completely off the top half of her. It’s like an absurdly long skirt now. Her back heaves with heavy sobs. That stupid corset is still around her waist.
“Hey.” I put the trampled flowers down on the end table and sit next to her on the bed.
“Ikngettoff,” she says into the mattress, but I can’t make it out.
“What’s going on?” I grab one of her hands, and she lifts her head up.
Black streaks line her red eyes. She sniffles loudly. “I can’t get it off.” Her words are clear this time, even though her voice wavers. “It’s stuck.” Her chin quivers.
“I’ll help you get it off.” I grab her chin between my finger and thumb. I want to kiss her, even when she’s all snotty and puffy and red from crying. I want to kiss her so fucking bad.
“This is embarrassing.” She rolls onto her back and covers her face with her arm. A couple more tears slide toward her ears.
“No, it’s not.” I shake my head and she peeks up at me. I straddle her, and grab the top of her corset. “Did you see my dance moves tonight? Those were embarrassing.” Hattie half laughs and half sniffles. My lips tug up. “This is no big deal.”
I have to pinch in to pull the hooks out of the eyelets, and Hattie winces. When I unbutton enough of them, I can see the dents it left in her skin. They rise into red welts by the time I get it off her. Anger flares in my nostrils and presses my lips thin as I rest my hand over a particularly pink patch of her pinched skin. “Even though I know I shouldn’t say anything about it, I fucking hate this thing.” I yank it out from under her back and throw it across the room.
“It’s okay.” She smiles. “I hate it too. Almost as much as my decision to wear heels. Oh, and all the bobby pins in my hair right now. There’s got to be a hundred of them, and I hate them too.”
I move back and pull her so she’s sitting up, facing me on the bed. She’s in her bra and ridiculously long dress-skirt. I take off my suit jacket and put it around her shoulders. “There. Now you’ve got like a sexy 80s vibe happening.” I pull it closed around her, and she tilts her head when she laughs.
The tension she’s been carrying around all day seems to finally melt from her shoulders. “How about I get those pins out of your hair?” I move around behind her on the bed and start on the search and rescue mission for the little stick-men buried in Hattie’s hair. Each time I pull a big circle of them out, her hair unrolls a bit, and then there’s another layer of them. I end up with quite the pile by the time I double check if I got the last one out.
“How’s that?” I tuck her hair behind her ears.
“Good,” she sighs. “I’ve still got a pretty big problem.” She rolls her head back on my chest and looks up at me.
“I’m here to solve it.”
“I’m underdressed. Or you’re overdressed.” She nods at me. “One of us has to change.”
“I got this.” I tug my tie knot loose. I unbutton my cuffs first, and Hattie turns around and unbuttons the front of the shirt. I toss the tie and shirt to the ground. She lets my jacket slide down her arms. I kiss her tits over the bra, and then I take it off her and pull her nipple into my mouth.
“Mmm.” She lies back on the bed, and I get on top of her.
“Are you wet for me?” I murmur around her nipple and then graze my teeth over the edge. My fingers slide down where the dress has been pulled around her waist. Her underwear slides over the backside of my hand as I press my fingers into her pussy. She jumps but grinds her pussy against me. Hattie moans in my ear.
“I want to taste you.” I move down her body, pulling off her dress and underwear. I kiss her thigh, then inside the other one. I hold her legs open, flatten my tongue over her clit and slide two fingers into her tight, wet pussy. Rolling her clit between my lips, she pulses around my fingers, slowly at first. It builds up, and she lifts her hips from the bed.
“Oh, Griz, oh!” She writhes under my flickering tongue.
I take my time licking her clit. Rolling it between my lips. Sucking on it. Hattie surrenders to the pleasure. I can tell she’s getting close as her strong, sexy legs squeeze around me.
She arches back on the bed and lets out little pants. Her pussy is tight around my fingers. Hattie cries out again as her pussy pulses. I can feel her orgasm building up.
“Fuck.” Her voice goes high. Her fingers twist in the blanket. Her head is thrust back into the pillow. “Oh, my… Griz!” she cries out, and her entire body tenses, trembles and tightens.
“You’re so sexy,” I kiss her hip, then the other one, and then kiss the side of her neck slowly, giving her time to recover.
“You make me feel sexy.” She turns toward me and kisses my lips.
“That’s because you are.” I nod down. “Look at what you fucking do to me.”
She trails her hand down, and her eyes widen as her hand reaches the front of my pants. “It’s so hard,�
�� she murmurs. She slides her hand underneath, circling my cock between her fingers and thumb. She teases me, sliding her grip up and down a couple times. Hattie starts to open my pants, but it’s taking too long, and I’m not good at waiting. I flip open my belt, unbutton my pants and let her tug down the zipper. With them and my underwear kicked off, Hattie pauses a second, staring down.
“What?” I look down, wondering what’s going on. Is it the manscaping? I didn’t accidentally give my cock at handlebar moustache again, did I?
“Just admiring.” She blushes a bit.
“Oh, well, admire away.” I lean back and swing my hips enough that my cock does a heavy helicopter from side to side. She laughs, but stops when she takes it in her hand again and slides back on the bed. She moves down my body until she’s breathing a hot promise of pleasure on my cock.
With her knees under her, Hattie’s full, hypnotic ass sways up in the air. I want to smack it, kiss it and fuck it all at once. The thoughts quickly disappear from my mind when she eases it into her mouth, little by little. She’s enjoying dragging this out.
Even with my cock in her mouth, she gives a little smile of satisfaction. I feel it on her lips. The way her red hair falls down over her shoulders makes this all sexier somehow. She looks up at me and takes me deep into her mouth all at once. Her mouth wraps around me, and she bobs her head, sucking my cock like she needs it to live.
“It’s over, Hattie. I’m gonna cum.”
There’s no stopping this orgasm. It shudders through me powerfully and leaves me breathing hard and wondering if I didn’t just get my soul sucked out of my body. Hattie swallows it all, and there’s a lot. I’ve been playing hockey for a while now, so I’ve had frequent encounters with puck bunnies. I’m no stranger to blow jobs, but that felt different. I got harder. I came stronger. I don’t know how or why it felt so different this time, but it did.