The Wedding Game

by Quinn, Meghan

  “Well, if everything is okay . . .”

  Shit. Say something before she hangs up.

  “Uh, would you want to maybe see me . . . on Saturday?” I swallow hard. “Thad told you about the show, right?”

  “Yes,” she says, sounding confused. I don’t blame her. I can’t honestly say when we last talked, let alone saw each other in person. “It’s very nice that you’re helping him. He told me you made a wonderful cake.”

  Of course he did.

  “It was a good challenge,” I say, sounding like a robot. “Uh, so we’re allowed to invite a guest if we want, for the next episode. Thought it would be fun to surprise Thad.”

  “Oh yes, he would enjoy that. I haven’t seen him or Naomi in quite some time . . . or you, for that matter.”

  “I know.” I sigh, picturing her disapproving gaze. “I’m, uh . . . I’m sorry. I kind of got caught up in other things.”

  “You don’t need to explain yourself, Alec.”

  But I do. Maybe not over the phone, though.

  Moving past the elephant in the room, I ask, “So, do you think you can make it on Saturday? I can text you all the information.”

  “Yes, I don’t have anything going on. I can be there.”

  “Okay, cool. Thanks . . . Mom.”

  “Of course. Anything for Thad.”

  Yup. Anything for Thad.

  I squeeze my eyes shut as guilt washes over me. Guilt for staying away for so long, for not thinking my family was important enough to keep in my life, for wasting so much time that could have been spent with them.

  She sniffs. “Well, okay then,” she says, voice shaky. “I’ll see you Saturday, Alec.”

  “See you Saturday,” I reply and then hang up. I toss my phone on the couch, run both hands through my hair, and let out a sigh of relief. The easy part is done—now to worry about Saturday and how I’m going to explain to my mom why I’ve been absent all these years and why I want to change that, be a part of everyone’s lives now.

  I’ve had sporadic visits with her since college, which dwindled as time went on and eventually turned into only holidays, and then not even that. I honestly can’t remember the last time I saw her, and I certainly can’t remember the last time she was sober and not abusing prescription drugs. And when she’s in those manic moods, lost to pills and vodka, she says mean, spiteful things.

  Things like, You’re just like your father.

  Your heart is just as black as his.

  You never cared about me or your brother.

  You know, the good stuff that really cuts to a son’s heart.

  My parents’ relationship was tumultuous. Dad was addicted to making money, to investing and spending hours upon hours on Wall Street, wining and dining the next biggest client. When he would finally come home, if he decided to come home that night, Mom would get on his case about never paying attention to her—mind you, never said anything about the kids—and then they would lose it. Throwing things, calling each other names. It was in those moments that I would take Thad away, cover his ears, and protect him from the storm of hate brewing through our house.

  Dad would leave for the night to do God knows what, never once caring that he had two sons, and Mom would draw herself a bath and drown herself in alcohol and pills until she was numb, leaving me with Thad.

  The shitty part of it all: I felt bad for my mom, even though she couldn’t get it together and be there for Thad and me. I still feel for her, but I also have so much resentment toward her. She could have left sooner, she could have taken care of us, she could have loved us . . . but she chose not to.

  Scrubbing my hands over my face, I stand from the couch. I head to the bathroom and switch on the shower. Not sure when Luna is going to come over, or if she’s going to come over at all, but at least I can be ready if she does, and I need to wash away the nerves from that conversation.

  Once again, I find myself staring down at my phone, but for an entirely different reason. It’s nine o’clock, and there’s no sign of Luna.

  No texts.

  No calls.

  No knock on my door.

  I’ve thought of texting her at least a dozen times, asking if she was coming over, but I didn’t want to pressure her. I already knew my ask last night was a big one—keeping things quiet for the sake of Thad and our growing relationship. I’d like to think he would be mature about everything, but knowing him, he would think I was in cahoots with Luna and jeopardizing his chances at winning and providing a new life for his family.

  I flip through the channels on my TV mindlessly, wondering why I even pay for cable in the first place.

  Frustrated, I turn the TV off before tossing the remote to the side with my phone and leaning back into the couch. Maybe I should just go to bed. Or read a book. Do a word search. Plan for Saturday’s challenge, despite knowing nothing about centerpieces; at least it would get my mind off—

  Knock. Knock.

  I fly off the couch before I can even register what’s happening, practically salivating like one of Pavlov’s dogs. I peek through the peephole, and standing on the other side is a very nervous-looking Luna.

  I whip the door open, and without a word, she ducks under my arm to enter. Like every other time she’s been to my apartment, she slips off her shoes and then walks over to the couch, where she takes a seat.

  Fuck. This is even more nerve racking than talking to my mom on the phone.

  I have a feeling I’m not going to like what she has to say.

  With a defeated sigh, I shut the door and take a seat across from her. She’s resting her chin on her fist and staring off toward my kitchen, a crease in her brow.

  I want to ask her what’s wrong, if there is anything I can do to make it better, but my tongue freezes. For what has to be the first time in my life, I don’t have anything to say. Instead, we both sit there. I stare at her; she stares at the kitchen.

  Silent.

  After what feels like hours, she asks, “What do you have planned for this weekend?”

  Okay, wasn’t expecting that. But from the defensive way she’s holding herself, I’m going to guess she doesn’t want to talk about what she’s really here for . . . Are we going to call it quits?

  I clear my throat and shift on the couch. “Uh, you mean . . . for the centerpieces?”

  “Yeah. What were you planning on making?”

  I scratch my jaw. “Wasn’t really thinking about that. Probably some feather thing.”

  “You should probably go into it with a plan. You want to be prepared, Alec. That’s how this works: you prepare yourself for every challenge. If you truly want a chance at winning, you should start drawing up images or at least googling centerpieces with feathers. I saw a blog the other day about dipping feathers in glitter to give them a little bit of that boho look, and I know Vicki and Amanda are doing that, but it wouldn’t hurt to bounce some of their ideas off to Thad. Although he might freak out if—”

  “Hey.” I rest my hand on her thigh. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing, I just thought you should be prepared—that’s all. What are you even planning on doing Saturday? Just showing up? Are you bringing anyone to the taping? We don’t have anyone to bring, but I didn’t know if—”

  “Slow down. You’re rambling.”

  “I’m nervous. Okay.” She presses her hand to her forehead. “I’m nervous, and I almost didn’t come tonight, but I hated the thought of not seeing you, so . . . tell me something. Tell me anything about Saturday. Take my mind off all the emotions whirring through my head.”

  She’s freaking out a bit. I can see it in the wildness of her eyes, how they’re darting all over the room. She needs a distraction, and I have the perfect one for her.

  “My mom is coming to the show . . . and I invited her.”

  Luna’s eyes focus on me for the first time since she walked into my apartment. “You invited your mom to the taping? You?”

  I nod. “Tonight. I called her.”r />
  She softens, her shoulders relaxing as she carefully takes my hand in hers. “You called her? Alec, that’s . . . wow, that’s amazing.”

  “You, uh . . . you inspired me to reach out, to be better.”

  “Alec . . .”

  “I’m serious.” I grip the back of my neck as I keep my eyes trained on hers. “I see what you have with Cohen, how strong your bond is. And the stories you told about your childhood, about your parents . . . I know I can never have what you have, but I can at least try to repair things with my family. God forbid something ever happens to us—I don’t want to look back and regret never even trying.”

  “That’s . . . that’s amazing, Alec.”

  “It’s a step in the right direction.”

  “It is.” She smiles, which causes me to lean into her and squeeze her hand.

  “Why are you here, Luna?”

  She traces her finger along my palm. “I don’t want to put a pause on things.” She exhales sharply. “I want to see where this goes.”

  “Yeah?” I’m half-terrified that if I get too excited she might change her mind. Her body is humming with energy—excitement or anxiety, I can’t tell, but I can feel it, see it in her eyes.

  She nods. “Yeah. I talked to Farrah about it, and she pointed out that a few weeks isn’t that big of a deal. And I agree. I can keep this between us for now. I want you to have a real relationship with Thad, but it’s going to take some big steps to get there, so I understand why you don’t want to tell him about us. And frankly”—she smiles wickedly—“that kiss last night left me more frustrated than anything.”

  I catch my breath at her little smile.

  “Wanted more, huh?”

  “So much more.”

  “Then get over here,” I say, tugging on her hand and guiding her onto my lap so she’s straddling me, her thin leggings rubbing against my flimsy shorts.

  She sits directly on my cock and wiggles, pulling a chuckle from the back of her throat. Her lips land on mine as my hands find her hips. Her lips part and her kisses settle into a deep, sensual rhythm. She’s addicting, how her mouth moves along mine, making me dizzy with lust.

  I need more.

  My body hums for more.

  My hands grip her tightly, begging for more.

  Her tongue swipes against my lips and then dives into my open mouth, teasing me, tempting me. Her hips move along mine, and my cock quickly turns rock solid within a few glides. When she feels me harden beneath her, she smiles against my mouth and pulls away, but I pull her close and trail wet, hot kisses along her jaw, down her neck and then back up, my beard scraping along her skin, my tongue pulling sweet, tiny moans from the back of her throat.

  While my mouth works to her earlobe, I glide my hands under her shirt and up her back until I reach the clasp of her bra. I want to undo it, free her, feel her, but then think better of it and slide my hands back down her ribs. Too much, too soon. Don’t scare her away.

  To my surprise, she protests with a groan and brings her hands to her back, unhooking her bra herself. She does some magic to slip it out of her shirt and then brings her hands to my chest again, gripping my shirt. Holy shit. Completely unexpected, but there’s no way in hell I’m turning her away.

  “Touch me,” she says as I nibble the spot right below her earlobe.

  “I am.”

  “Under my shirt.”

  “I am,” I repeat, unable to control my smile.

  She grinds her hips into mine. “Touch my tits, Alec.”

  Well . . . damn.

  Chuckling, I reach one of my hands to the front of her torso but don’t quite touch her, not yet. Instead, I keep my hand just below her breast and then press my lips against her mouth before plunging my tongue inside. She groans and moves her hips against mine continuously, up and down, up and down, rubbing my cock in such a way that my spine tingles, my limbs start to go numb. The friction between us is fucking magic, turning me on and overtaking my body. There is no doubt in my mind she could get me off like this in minutes.

  “Shit, Luna,” I say, pulling away for a breath. “You’re going to make me come in my shorts if you keep doing that.”

  “Good.” She reaches for the hem of my shirt and pulls it up and over my head. She tosses it to the side and leans back to take in my bare chest. “Jesus,” she mutters, her hands gliding down my torso, down to my abs, and playing dangerously with each divot. “Thank the good lord for abs and pecs.”

  I chuckle, and that only makes her sigh more.

  “When you laugh, your abs contract and your pecs shake. It’s really hot.”

  “Stare all you want, Luna Moon,” I say, bringing my spare hand behind her neck so I can pull her lips closer. When our mouths connect, something unhinges inside of her because her hands float up my chest to my pecs, where she grips them hard, and she moves her lips slowly, methodically. The combination spreads warmth through my body as sweat gathers along my back.

  My hand itches to move up, to touch her, to ravish her body, but I also know I don’t want to take this all the way. Not yet. But hell, getting off as she dry humps my lap seems like a good second option.

  Savoring her, I move my mouth back down her jaw to her neck as I run my hand up and over her breast and cup it, my thumb rubbing over the nub of her hardened nipple.

  “Oh God,” she moans, her head falling back, her hips grinding even harder. “Alec . . . I could come just like this . . . God, I could come so hard.”

  “So do it,” I say, licking the column of her neck. “Get off. Make us both come.”

  She swivels her hips, and I bite down on her neck. She yelps, startled. “Shit,” I breathe out. “Sorry.”

  “Do it again,” she whispers as she grinds her hips, over and over again until I feel dizzy, unable to comprehend the thick pulse that’s pounding through my veins, breaking down my walls, and turning me into a puddle of need.

  I bite down on her neck again and then kiss, bite, and kiss. I repeat the process until her head is falling to the side and her hand grips the back of my thighs.

  In a haze, I scan her body, one hand still up her shirt, and take in her pert nipple pressing against the fabric of her shirt, her neck, her delicate collarbone. I want to run my tongue along it, back up her neck, to her mouth. Her sweet fucking mouth.

  I need control. I remove my hand, grip her lower back, and then scoot off the couch, guiding us both to the floor. I lay her down carefully, and her legs fall to either side of my hips. I help her spread them wider and then grip her hands and bring them above her head, pinning them with one of my hands and lowering my mouth to hers. We devour each other, hungry and desperate for more. With each pass of her tongue over mine and every nibble of her teeth on my bottom lip, I crave more. I lower my hips and position my covered cock over her before driving my hips down, across her clit.

  “Alec, yes!” she calls out.

  I pull back just enough to catch a glimpse of the lust smoldering in her eyes, which turn heady as I stroke up her center.

  A breath escapes her.

  Her legs fall open even wider.

  Her hands tighten on mine.

  Greedy for more, I glide my hand up her shirt again and find her breast. I keep her covered and feel instead, stroking my thumb over her peaked nipple. From what I can feel, it’s small, tight, and so sexy. With every pass, my balls tighten farther and farther.

  “Hell,” I grit out, feeling an orgasm stirring.

  “Just like that, right there,” she says, breathless, her lips finding mine again, the electricity of her touch lighting up every nerve in my body.

  I grind down on her.

  She grinds up.

  I groan against her mouth.

  She moans along my tongue.

  My hand tightens around hers.

  Her fingers dig into the back of my hand.

  I pull my mouth away.

  Her forehead presses into my shoulder.

  My hips fly.

  Her moa
n radiates through my body.

  “Yes, oh fuck . . . yes, Alec!” she yells, her body tensing and then falling apart beneath me, right there on my living room rug.

  “Mother . . . fucker,” I mumble as my spine straightens, my balls tighten, and my cock surges with my orgasm, spilling into my shorts. My legs shake with every spurt. Breathless and shaking, I ride out both of our orgasms until there’s nothing left. “Fuck,” I say, depleted as I let go of her hands and press my weight into my forearms, still straddling her.

  I touch my forehead to hers as we both try to catch our breath. What we just did reignited a passion inside me I hadn’t realized was dead. A dam has broken within me, and there’s only one person to thank for it.

  “Luna Moon,” I say with a slight shake of my head. “What are you doing to me, girl?”

  She chuckles and brings her hands to the back of my neck. “What am I doing to you? What are you doing to me? I don’t dry hump guys in their living room . . . not anymore, at least.” She laughs. “That was some old-school stuff right there.”

  “You started it.” I run my nose along her jaw and kiss the spot beneath her ear.

  She sighs. “I didn’t have a choice—you pulled me onto your lap. Was I just going to let you be hard underneath me?”

  “You could have, and that would have been fine.” I raise my head so she sees how serious I am.

  She reaches up and cups my cheek. “I didn’t want to. I wanted you to embarrassingly come in your athletic shorts.”

  A chuckle pops out of me. “Trust me, Luna Moon, there was nothing embarrassing about it. I would do that over and over again, if it meant having a little piece of you.”

  Her eyes soften, a smile plays at her lips, and I see it—the attraction, the yearning she has for me. I created that look with my words. Me. The guy who could barely stand the idea of a relationship. And yet, here I am, happily letting Luna lasso a rope around me and claim me as hers.

  “You like me,” I tease.

  She rolls her eyes and tries to push me off her, but I hold her tight, keeping us planted where we are.