by Hayleigh Sol
“It could also mean you’re indecisive. A flip–flopper.”
“Well, I certainly don’t want to be accused of that.”
Even though he wasn’t playing the game as intended, I had to admit I was having fun. And getting to know him, which was really the whole point. So, rather than giving up, I told him I’d give him another chance, but only if he played by the rules. I even shook my finger at him for emphasis. Which made him chuckle some more.
“Okay, but maybe you ought to show me how it’s done. Let’s put you in the hot seat.”
“Bring it on, baby.”
“Spicy or sweet?”
In the bedroom? Both, please. Not what he’s asking. Probably.
“Sweet.” That wasn’t really true; sometimes I wanted spicy, sometimes sweet. Usually the sweet after the spicy. But I was trying to show him how to play the game properly so I couldn’t deviate from my own rules.
“Books or movies?”
Damn, this was harder than I realized.
“Ha! You want to say both, don’t you? I can see it.”
We both laughed as I conceded that, yes, there were times I curled up with a fluffy blanket, a mug of tea, and a good book. Other times, I cued up a movie instead. The good thing about This or That, at least the way we’d been doing it, was that it broke up the awkward tension we’d started our walk with. We dove a little deeper on some of the previous questions and I discovered that he liked skiing at Tahoe a couple of times a year and had only tried surfing once. He said he hadn’t been very good, but I suspected he was better than he let on and was simply being modest.
I told him about the work I did and, unlike plenty of men I’d met, his eyes didn’t glaze over in disinterest when I said the word “fashion”. Garrett actually seemed intrigued by the idea of helping people find their confidence and properly display their personalities through style choices. When I provided an example of how my former experiments with rainbow hair dye and, during a particularly rebellious time in my teens, shaving the back and sides of my head would be judged and deemed unprofessional by the majority of my current clientele, he lowered his sunglasses and squinted at me.
“I can’t picture your hair like that. The way you have it now is lovely. Kind of…mahogany. Yeah, like a rich, deep mahogany.”
Tucking some of my brunette strands behind an ear, I was suddenly glad for the natural color I’d always thought was so boring. I thanked him for the compliment and forced myself to stop playing with the ends of my “mahogany” locks.
“Here’s a good one,” I said, changing the subject before sipping the tea I’d forgotten about. My cheeks were flushed and even I couldn’t attribute their warmth to the outside temperature; we’d been walking in the shade for a while now. “Going out or staying in?”
He glanced my way before lowering his gaze to the sidewalk in front of his feet. I told myself the huskiness in his voice was all my imagination. “I think either one, as long as you’re with the right person.”
Danger, Will Robinson.
Where was that phrase from, anyway? I was pretty sure my dad used to say that.
Swallowing past the constriction in my throat, I found myself still unable to speak. Unbidden, the thought that I hadn’t felt such a pull to anyone since—nope, not going there. We’ll just say it had been a very long time since I’d had this kind of chemistry with a man.
After tossing his empty cup into a recycling can—Maya would be happy he’d chosen correctly—he asked, “Country or Rock?”
“Motown.” Eyebrows lifted above his shades again. “Surprised you with that one, did I?”
A slow smile spread across his mouth and I flashed back to my coffee–shop fantasy of sitting on his lap as I sank into his perfect azure–blue eyes.
Cripes, don’t think about which other parts of his anatomy are probably perfect.
“Motown’s not exactly the music of our generation.”
“I think that’s part of what I like about it. Lots of older rock, really; Motown might be too narrow of an answer. You know Gimme Some Lovin’ by The Spencer Davis Group?” He shook his head. “I bet you would if you heard it. Anyway, I hear that song and I just can’t keep my feet still. Anything you can’t help wanting to boogie to, that’s what I dig.”
We were nearing the end of our loop, the bridal boutique and Starbucks coming into view. Looking both ways, we crossed the street. I was disappointed to be leaving him soon, but Tracie might already be waiting for me. Was it crazy to hope he asked for my phone number? Was I ready to end my dating hiatus?
For this guy? Oh, hell yes.
“I’m not much of a dancer, but I wouldn’t mind watching you bust a move to an oldie or two.”
I spotted another set of trash and recycling bins off to my left and moved to toss my empty cup, answering him over my shoulder. “If I’m dancing, boy–o, so are you.”
When I turned back around, I was just in time to see Tracie. Who was being scooped up by the man I’d spent the past forty minutes flirting with. He spun her around like a scene from a musical, kissed her on the cheek and smiled adoringly at her equally adoring face.
“There’s my gorgeous girl.”
Chapter 5
“There’s my handsome guy.” Tracie was grinning up at the hunk I’d already been close to developing a crush on.
I’d thought the feeling was mutual.
My brain was still playing catch–up, trying to process what I was seeing. The lovebirds in front of me had their arms wrapped around each other, heads close. From my place several feet away, I only heard parts of their conversation. But it was plain to see this was Tracie’s groom–to–be.
And the sonofabitch had absolutely been flirting with me. I hadn’t imagined that.
Wait a minute. Wasn’t Tracie’s boyfriend’s—correction, fiancé’s—name Noah?
Shit, he did say Garrett was his middle name.
I hadn’t thought to ask for his first. Was he one of those guys who went by either? That drove me nuts. I mean, come on, pick one already!
“Bailey, hi. Sorry about that. This guy’s the master of distraction.” Tracie’s arm was tucked into Garrett’s—Noah’s?—as they walked toward me.
I snapped my open mouth shut and managed a smile that was probably more nauseated than pleasant.
“He says you two met already?”
Automatic head nod. My mouth still wasn’t working right.
Garrett (Noah) had no such problem. He was smiling away as if he hadn’t been flirt–cheating on his lady. My friend. “We bonded over a love of tea and I stole Bailey away for a little stroll in the sunshine.”
I think my head was nodding again. Honestly, the situation was so surreal, I felt like I was having an out–of–body experience.
“Well, I’m sorry I was so late, but we’d better get in here before they close. And you, mister, have a very important errand to run yourself.”
My stomach rolled over at her playfully scolding wife act.
“True. I’ve got the toughest job for this shotgun wedding. I have to go to a tasting deal and decide on the menu.”
Tracie rolled her eyes and laughed, squeezing his bicep—the one I’d envisioned biting in a very different setting…and alternate universe, apparently—before she released him. “It’s not a shotgun wedding, you jerk. I’m not knocked up.”
“Not yet, anyway.”
Oh God, I was gonna hurl.
She swatted his shoulder over his last comment. “And I’m so sure eating all that delicious food is going to be really hard work for you. I’d gladly trade places with you right now, you know.” Pointing at the satin–and–tulle–filled windows behind her, she slumped her shoulders and sighed dramatically.
“What do you think, Bailey? I’d look pretty good in a veil, right? I think it’d reflect my personality perfectly.”
&n
bsp; If only to hide your two faces.
Their banter made me want to scream. Luckily, only Garrett—Noah—seemed to notice something was off with me. His brow wrinkled as his glacier eyes roamed my face, but he didn’t say anything when I failed to respond to his reference to our conversation about my work.
Tracie dug a credit card out of her wallet and handed it over to him—what the hell, was she paying for this wedding on her own?—then sent him on his way to meet with their chosen caterer.
“Okay, you ladies have fun in there—”
“Can’t wait,” Tracie interjected, her sarcasm making him chuckle.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Bailey. See you at the engagement party?”
“Mm–hm.” It wasn’t much, but I’d found my voice again.
He walked away, looking back over his shoulder once before Tracie bustled us through the door to the bridal boutique.
“That man, he drives me crazy. But I love him, y’know? Actually, I’m grateful he’s taking care of the food. Everyone in the family knows his tongue has mad skills. Wait, that sounded super wrong.”
My stomach did a somersault.
“His palate is skilled. Refined? Yeah, that’s better.” She laughed and, once more, I wanted to be sick.
Before I could say anything, Tracie was whisked away to a fitting room, and I was left sitting on a tufted couch trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. He’d called me beautiful, hadn’t he? Our shoulders had brushed while we walked and he hadn’t made any move to put distance between us. I was sure he’d inched even closer after the first time it’d happened. He’d made that comment about staying in or going out with “the right person”.
Uggh, he’d been talking about Tracie. Had I really read into everything he’d said and done because I’d felt an attraction to him?
This was inexcusable. Tracie was my friend. I was her maid of honor, for shit’s sake. In my defense, though, I hadn’t known who he was when I’d been interested. When I’d been picturing us naked together.
Oh God. I was a terrible person.
But the more I thought about it, the more I went over every moment of our time together, which I dragged into the light of day like a wily detective with a reluctant witness, the more I realized Noah had been flirting with me. At least some of the time.
Vindication was mine! But I couldn’t believe I fell for his charm, for the lines he said he didn’t use. That was his biggest line of all.
Aw, hell. Now I’d have to figure out if I should tell my friend about her skeazy guy. And, if I did, how would I go about breaking it to her?
I was still combing through the evidence of his treachery in my mind when Tracie came back out in her gown. Part of me wasn’t convinced Noah had actually crossed a line. Maybe he was just one of those super friendly people, a “natural flirt”—not that I’d ever thought a harmless label justified the behavior—and he really had wanted to enjoy a walk in the sunshine with a fellow tea–drinker.
And I was the reincarnation of Mother Teresa.
The seamstress was moving around Tracie, pinning fabric and making notes, as Tracie asked what I thought. I wasn’t done deciding if her groom was an asshat or not, but my auto–pilot engaged and I did my job, pointing out the lumpy bodice and suggesting a bra be sewn in to give her shape and support. Thankfully, there wasn’t much that needed to be altered and the seamstress was certain the dress would be ready for a first fitting in a few weeks.
Presuming the wedding proceeded as planned and the bride hadn’t kicked the groom to the curb.
I’d been staring at the e–invitation for Tracie and Noah’s engagement party for ten minutes with a growing sense of dread in my belly. Everyone knew the feeling – a bit of nausea mixed with that hollow sensation you got at the top of a rollercoaster. And maybe a period cramp thrown in for good measure.
My phone rang, Emma’s name on the display. She’d only sent out a couple of brief, emoji–laden texts to the group after her mic–drop press conference and I was eager to get the scoop behind her big announcement. So eager, in fact, that I’d resorted to threatening to show the world the video I had of her playing air guitar—technically, I suppose, it’d been tennis–racket guitar—back in seventh grade.
“Well, if it isn’t the woman who’s got the entire tennis world buzzing.”
“Ha, hardly.”
Uh–oh. Had she not been reading or watching the news recently? I’d already seen clips from her press conference and the accompanying speculation about her return to pro tennis five times in the past few days.
“Sooo…your big announcement kinda came out of nowhere, kiddo. You want to share what’s going on with the class?”
She huffed out a frustrated breath. Very unlike my perpetually cheerful bestie. “Everything’s crazy right now. I’m interviewing for a new coach and it’s just…not going well. To put it mildly. Anyway, I need a break from all that. Tell me, what the heck is up with you being in someone’s wedding? Thought you didn’t have any friends besides us.”
“Hardy–har–har.”
She chuckled at my sarcastic monotone.
“Actually, I didn’t think I had any friends besides you ladies, either. And we all know you only put up with my cranky ass because you’ve been stuck with me too long to return me now.”
Emma laughed louder this time. “Nah, there’s something almost…endearing about your particular brand of grumpy.” Aw, that made me smile. They get me, they really get me. “Most of the time. But don’t change the subject. I wanna know about this maid of honor gig.”
After I explained what Tracie had told me about losing touch with her friends from college while she’d been busy becoming Silicon Valley’s darling app designer, and how the one friend she did see regularly, besides me, was a wedding coordinator who was acting as bridesmaid and, well, wedding coordinator, my role made more sense. Like Maya, Emma asked how it felt to be participating in a wedding. Something I’d managed to avoid for over a decade now.
I’d never given voice to it, but I’d been secretly relieved that none of my best friends had gone through the whole wedding charade yet. Having been a ride–or–die crew since elementary school, I knew I’d be heavily involved in any of them getting married. A big part of me dreaded that day coming.
Like so many important things in life, my reasons were complicated. I wanted nothing more than for the five closest people to me in the world to be, have, and do anything that made them happy. But my own experiences had taught me to beware marriage as integral to achieving that happiness.
Sometimes I could picture Maya, her hair in braided pigtails or some bohemian flower wreath, standing barefoot on a beach, her smile lighting up those blue–gray eyes as she said, “I do”.
Or Emma floating down the aisle in a princess dress—because, if anyone could pull off “princess”, it was she—and bouncing on her toes as she said her vows. Everyone watching would be grinning because Emma’s bubbly personality had always been contagious.
I had visions for Lisette and Simone, too. Even Holly, who was nearly as anti–marriage as I was. The curse of having an eye for bringing out a person’s personality through their style choices was that I could all too easily imagine exactly how my best friends would look if—when—they took the plunge. They would all be beautiful in their unique ways and I was sure, on the day at least, they’d all be deliriously happy.
But I knew that wouldn’t last. And I couldn’t stand knowing any of them would have their hearts broken and I wouldn’t be able to do anything to prevent it.
Because I was nothing if not a good friend. If they decided they wanted to marry Mystery Dude X, I’d support them and bite my tongue on any misgivings I may have.
That didn’t mean I wouldn’t warn them if a glaringly obvious red flag showed up before
the big day. One they weren’t able to see for themselves. Like Tracie and her overly friendly–flirty groom.
“Em, I need some advice.” I told her about meeting “Garrett”, how we’d walked and talked together, the way he’d looked at me, exchanged playful banter with me. I even fessed up to my attraction, worried I might be skewing his behavior in light of my own reaction to the sex–on–a–stick devil.
Er, man.
“So, what do you think? He was being inappropriate for someone about to get married, right? I should tell Tracie about it, I think. Or was he just being friendly?”
Emma was quiet for several heartbeats. She wasn’t one to build suspense intentionally, but her silence certainly had me awaiting her verdict with bated breath.
“You’re not going to want to hear this, but I don’t think you have enough evidence to convict.”
The breath I’d been holding left me in a rush, ending on a frustrated growl.
“I know, I know. But hear me out.”
“Fine,” I grumbled, flopping dramatically on my couch.
“As someone who’s been accused of flirtatious behavior many times in the past when I was just being friendly”—it was true, that happened to Emma all the time—“some of us are just natural extroverts who want to make friends with everyone we meet.
“You said yourself the place was crowded and people were bumping into you. The weather was nice and you were right across the street from a greenspace, both of you waiting for Tracie…”
When she trailed off, I had to admit his invitation for the walk seemed a lot less date–y. Maybe he’d figured out I was connected to his fiancée and wanted to get to know me better.
“But what about some of the things he said to me?”
“Well, I don’t like it, but maybe he tells women they’re beautiful and doesn’t realize it’s not cool with anyone who’s not your significant other or family member. Like older dudes who still call women, “sweetheart” and “gorgeous” and crap like that. Maybe this Noah guy is just living in the dark ages.”