Two Wedding Crashers

by Meghan Quinn

  “You have a lucky chair.”

  “I do,” I answer, my body more relaxed than ever. “But that’s not what I’m about to tell you.”

  “No? There’s more?”

  “Yes.” I pause. “I want it to be known that I’m not proud of this, but I was desperate, okay?”

  “Okaaay,” Beck drags out in curiosity.

  “Promise not to judge me?”

  “If you tell me you started diddling yourself in the coffee shop to get yourself turned on to write a sex scene, I very well might judge you, and you can’t take that away from me.”

  Laughing, I playfully pinch him from behind, causing him to shift in his seat.

  “Hey, watch it.”

  “I didn’t diddle myself in public. God, what is wrong with you?”

  His chest rumbles against my back. “What the hell am I supposed to think? You’re talking about this sex chair and how I’m not supposed to judge you for something you did in it. I think everyone would immediately think you diddled yourself in the chair.”

  My eyes roll to the sky. Sex chair. Gah! “Men, so disgusting.”

  “Okay, so if you didn’t diddle yourself, what did you do?”

  I shift so I’m back into my comfortable position. “I was desperate to get through a sex scene, so I walked to the coffee shop, Snow Roast, to sit in my inspiration chair—not sex chair—and when I arrived there was an old lady sitting in it, sipping her coffee.”

  “Oh Jesus, I think I know where this is going.”

  “I told you I wasn’t proud of what I did.”

  “How did you get her out? Please don’t tell me you got into a fistfight with an old lady over a sex chair.”

  “Inspiration chair,” I say rather aggressively. “And no, I didn’t fight her. God, I’m not an animal. You see, we live in such a small town that I know almost everyone, and it wasn’t my first encounter with Mrs. Braverman. She’s known to be a squatter. She will spend hours sipping a cold cup of tea, staring off into thin air, not having a worry or care.”

  “So you punted her out of the chair.”

  “No!” I hold back my smile. “I told her there was a flash sale at Wicks and Sticks.”

  “Wicks and Sticks?” Beck’s thumbs continue their pursuit across my skin.

  “It’s a candle and incense store in town. Mrs. Braverman is well known for hoarding her scents . . .”

  “Oh Rylee.” I can feel Beck shake his head. “You fooled that old lady.”

  “I fooled her so hard.” I giggle. “And she snapped out of my chair, grabbed her cane, and booked it down the street.”

  “You monster.” Beck chuckles.

  “To be fair, I felt really bad while I was writing one of the hottest sex scenes ever. To make it up to her, I gave her a gift basket of candles and incense afterwards.”

  Beck squeezes me. “I guess that’s fair. Still, fooling an old lady. That’s just low.”

  “I told you not to judge me.”

  His stubbled jaw runs along my cheek as he whispers, “Sorry.”

  Chills scream their way down my arms and legs, my nipples pucker, and just like that, with one word, all humor vanishes from our little conversation and awareness of this all-consuming man wrapped around me hits me hard.

  Gathering myself, I say, “Tell me something Chris and Justine know about you.”

  “Hmm.” His thumbs hook under the waistband of my shorts, playing with the lower part of my hipbones. His touch spurs on my pelvis, needing to rock, begging for him to go lower. My toes curl in my sandals and my back slightly arches, reaching for more. “Something they know about me.”

  His mouth doesn’t stray from its position against my ear, and his hips start to slowly move underneath me, his legs tangling with mine. Involuntarily, one of my hands hooks the back of his neck as I hold on tightly to him, feeling like I need support from the onslaught of sensation I’m feeling.

  I hear him say something, but it doesn’t register in my brain, which has turned to mush as his thumbs stray from my hipbones to right above my pubic bone.

  There is no denying how turned on I am, how wet I am from his mere touch, how much—despite my reservations—I want this man.

  With each stroke, my head turns farther and farther to the side until our noses are touching, Beck’s head bends forward to meet me halfway. My eyes flutter shut for a brief moment before I open them and am captured by those flecks of green and gold.

  The air stills around us, our breath mixing, swirling between us, our lips so close.

  One swipe of this thumb.

  Another one.

  I can’t breathe.

  I can’t focus.

  Another swipe, my head leans even closer, my tongue wetting my lips.

  One more swipe . . .

  My heart hammers in my chest, my skin prickling with awareness.

  Beck brings his mouth even closer, only a whisper away now, and he waits.

  Holding still.

  His breathing feeling erratic beneath me.

  One.

  More.

  Swipe.

  And I’m gone.

  I bring my mouth to his, slowly parting my lips ever so slightly, just enough to maneuver my mouth across his.

  A low, provocative moan escapes Beck as one of his hands snags the back of my head and holds me in place, almost as if he lets go, I’ll disappear.

  Needing more, I shift on his lap so I’m straddling him once again, my hands on his bare chest, feeling the powerful sinew that holds him together.

  Our lips press and mold, mingling, taking, begging . . .

  Desperate.

  Beck’s tongue runs against my bottom lip, eliciting a moan from deep within me, lighting a fire so hot, so wild, my hands start to travel up his neck to his cheeks where I grip him, positioning his head so when I open my mouth, I can expertly dive my tongue onto his.

  He groans, his lap shifting against mine now, his hard-on pressing against my wet and throbbing center. I match his rocking, using my position on his lap to take advantage of his length I can feel through his board shorts.

  This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen, but God, am I happy it has. Maybe I really should live in the moment, maybe I should take advantage of the opportunity, maybe I should…

  “Woo, yeah, get it on!” Zoey screams from below us, immediately shooting me off Beck’s lap and into the rail behind me, causing me to lose my balance.

  With cat-like reflexes, Beck catches my arm and steadies me, his eyes aware but heady with lust, his breathing as erratic as mine.

  “Don’t let us disturb you,” Zoey calls out once again. “Just taking a midnight stroll.”

  “Yup, that’s great.” I give her a thumbs up with one hand as the other is holding on to Beck, our eyes never breaking contact.

  “Have a good night, you two.” She makes an obnoxious catcall and then disappears with Art, I’m assuming. Thanks, Zoey. Thanks a lot.

  After what seems like forever staring at Beck, disbelief in my mind, he beckons me back to his lap with a little tug of his hand, but I resist, feeling like the moment has passed. Hating that the moment has passed.

  “I should get to bed. Big day tomorrow and everything. Never crashed a wedding before. Should probably do some research on how to do it. Don’t want to be that wedding crasher who doesn’t follow protocol. Maybe I should watch the movie, really brush up on my rules. What does Vince Vaughn say?” I bite my lip and try to think back to the movie. “Rule number seventy-six: no excuses, play like a champion.”

  “Rylee . . .”

  I point at Beck and say, “You should catch up on the rules too. I want to make sure my date doesn’t screw this up. I refuse to be kicked out of a wedding because you didn’t pay attention to details.” I steal my hand back from Beck and before he can stop me, I hop over to my balcony. “Don’t forget, rule number seven: blend in by standing out.” I touch my nose and then point at Beck again. “Blend in by standing out, don’t forget t
hat.” I trip over a chair on my blind pursuit to my door. “Ouch, rule number fifty-five: watch where you’re going.” I unattractively snort. “Rule number eighty-two: leave the snorting for the pigs.”

  Rule number five hundred: shut the hell up, Rylee.

  “Okay, yup, good night.” I give him a solid salute—because that’s what awkward people do—and head into my room but not before I can hear Beck blow out a long breath and mutter, “Fuck.”

  Yeah, I’m right there with you, buddy.

  Part Two

  Rule Number 7: Blend in by Sticking Out

  Chapter Eleven

  RYLEE

  There she is, master humper of Key West.”

  “Shut up,” I say, flopping next to Zoey, my head pounding as if a hammer is trying to make its way through my skull. I steal Zoey’s coffee and take a big gulp.

  Victoria spreads jam across her wheat toast and asks, “Master humper? Did I miss something last night?”

  “Yeah.” Zoey grabs my shoulders and shakes me, making my stomach roll from my migraine. “Our girl here totally got some last night.”

  “With Beck? I like him, he’s a swell guy.”

  “You should have seen them, Victoria, it was super hot. Art and I went back to our room and had some of the best sex we’ve had in a while. Isn’t that right, honey?”

  “Can you not talk about our sex life with your friends?” Art has a forkful of scrambled eggs partially lifted to his mouth, a look of utter embarrassment on his face.

  “Oh sweetie, they know all about how you please me. This is not new information to them, but you’re cute for turning red.” She pats Art on the cheek and helps lift his fork to his face to encourage him to keep eating. I would do the same, and tell him to ignore the rest of this conversation; better yet, run for your life, Art. Run.

  “First of all, don’t tell me about getting off from watching me kiss some guy, that’s extremely disturbing, and concerning.”

  “We didn’t get off over you two. God, full of yourself much? It lit a spark in us, like it was a competition, like who could fuck harder.” Zoey leans back in her chair and twirls a strand of her hair. “Let me tell you, Art fucked hard.”

  “For the love of God, woman,” Art mumbles, face beet-red and buried in his plate, avoiding all eye contact.

  “Well, good for you,” I answer awkwardly. “And for the record, Beck and I didn’t do anything last night.”

  “Bullshit, you two were clawing at each other.”

  “In public?” Victoria’s nose scrunches up. “Rylee, a little modesty. I know he’s attractive, but to hump people in public is just beneath you.”

  “We didn’t hump in public, we . . . humped on his balcony.”

  “You should have seen it, Victoria, her hips were moving like a jackhammer.”

  Oh God, were they? I sure as hell hope not. How embarrassing. Did Beck think I was hammering my hips into him? Honest to God, I can’t remember anything besides the way he tasted on my lips, like the best kind of addiction I could ever experience.

  Not going to let Zoey get away with embellishing the story, I say, “There was no jackhammering. There was kissing and light hip action. We stopped once you started catcalling up to the balcony. Thanks for that by the way.”

  “What? You stopped? You weren’t supposed to stop; you were to keep going. Why the hell did you stop?”

  I take another sip of her coffee and slouch back in my chair, closing my eyes, willing my headache to dissipate. It’s a tension headache no doubt. “You killed the mood.”

  “Oh no, don’t you dare blame this on me. This is all on you.” Zoey turns to Art and says in a sweet voice, “Darling, why don’t you take your little fruit cup and go eat by the ocean. What a delightful experience that will be.”

  Art grumbles and stands from his chair, picking up his fruit cup and a spoon. He’s a good man, putting up with Zoey. I barely put up with her, and she’s my friend. I can’t imagine being married to her, although, I think they do balance each other nicely. Art grounds her, and Zoey pushes him out of his shell. It’s a good pairing.

  Once Art is out of earshot, Zoey grips the table and turns to me. I can feel her eyes blazing, scorching laser beams in my direction. I block my sight from the world, but there is no denying the wildness exuding her. She’s about to give me one of her “lessons.”

  “What the hell are you doing?” Yup, here it comes. “You are single and in paradise, living it up in the sun, getting all tanned, and there is a gorgeous man interested in you, practically panting every time you walk by. If I were you, I wouldn’t be sipping my friend’s coffee and whining about your humping parade coming to a quick end. I’d be hauled up, fucking said gorgeous man every chance I had. Hell, I would make a fuck-it list of everywhere I wanted this man to do me while on this island, including against a palm tree making it rain coconuts, in the ocean with fish as my witness, upside down in the shower, soap beating my eyes, and let’s not forget on a piece of driftwood while sharing a piece of Key lime fucking pie! This is your last day here, what are you waiting for?”

  I sigh and bite my bottom lip, trying to will back the tears threatening to fall. Zoey knows me better than anyone. She knows I’m not a girl who can simply fling. I’m just me. And Beck will probably avoid me like the plague after last night’s excruciating exit. “Why start something when I know it’s not going to go anywhere?”

  “Uh, it’s called endless orgasms and that man is handing them out like candy on Halloween. Who cares about starting something? Just have fun, Rylee. You deserve it after what you’ve been through this past year.”

  And the tears fall.

  This past year. Hell, how I endured it, I have no idea.

  “She’s crying,” Victoria says stiffly. Victoria doesn’t do well with emotions, and I know I’m making her extremely uncomfortable.

  Zoey sighs next to me and places her hand on my arm. “Sweetie, why are you thinking about this so much? Just have fun, have a vacation fling, throw caution to the wind.”

  I wipe my tears, seeing how soft Zoey’s eyes are, understanding etching her features. Victoria, on the other hand, is trying to avoid me at all costs. I’m used to her dismissing anything that deals with feelings, so I’m not the least bit hurt.

  “I’m nervous because I like him.” And the truth comes out. “I don’t want to have a taste of something I’ll never have again. You know?”

  Zoey squeezes my hand, pressing the palm of her hand to the back of mine. “I can understand that, but you and I both know, you only live once, why not live life to its fullest? No regrets, right?” She tips my chin up. “Will you regret throwing caution to the wind and having the night of your life? Or will you regret more never truly finding out what it’s like to be with such an enigmatic man?”

  I know what my body wants. It’s practically thrumming for him right now, but can I truly put all thoughts to the side and have a passionate night?

  Zoey is right. I think of all the regrets I could possibly face, and not being consumed by Beck for one night would be one of them. A huge one.

  Massaging my temples, I take deep breaths as I calm the pounding in my head. “I need some medicine and my bed.”

  “Headache?”

  “Yeah.” I stand but Zoey grabs my hand. “Let us know if you need anything. Wedding is at five.”

  “I’m arriving an hour early,” Victoria says, finally looking at me again. “I want to soak in Ernest Hemingway and his environment. I doubt I’ll stay for the reception. I’ll pay my respects to the couple and take off.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you girls later.”

  “Hey,” Zoey calls out before I can walk too far away. “Are you going to be okay?”

  I barely nod, not wanting to shake my head too hard. “I’ll be good. Thank you.”

  When I reach my room, I take three Ibuprofen, down another cup of coffee from my hotel room coffee maker, and rest my head on my pillow, blocking out the sun and the rest of the wor
ld.

  The bed dips and for a second, it almost feels like I’m on a boat, the waves peacefully floating me up and down. It isn’t until I feel a warm hand press against my cheek that I realize I’m in a bed with someone hovering over me.

  “Hey there.” Beck’s voice drapes over me like a warm blanket. “How are you doing?”

  Peering my eyes open, I spot him immediately, his brow etched together, genuine concern on his face. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

  “Victoria gave me her spare key to your room when she told me you weren’t feeling well. I wanted to come check on you.”

  I would expect Zoey to do such a thing but not Victoria, unless Beck once again wooed her over, and I wouldn’t put it past him.

  “I brought some food and tons of water, also some more Ibuprofen and a Mountain Dew in case you needed some caffeine.”

  Right past Beck is a small cart with food, Ibuprofen, a bottle of Mountain Dew, and what looks like six bottles of water. God, he’s sweet.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I say while rubbing my eye. “But thank you, that was really sweet.”

  “I had to make sure my date was feeling better for the wedding. I didn’t want you miserable, and I know how important it is for you to go to this wedding. So, here I am. How are you feeling now?”

  I pause, giving myself a second to adjust to the semi-intruder and waking up from a very long nap. There is no pounding in my head, only a faint “off” feeling, which could be from the nap or could be the recovery from a migraine.

  “I seem to be feeling better.” I sit up and Beck helps me by propping up my pillow behind me.

  “Does that mean you’re up for some food?”

  “Depends on two things. What time is it and what did you bring?”

  Beck pushes a long strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture so gentle, as if he’s been doing that for years. “It’s a little past two and I brought burgers and waffle fries, figured the grease might help you out a bit. But now I think about it, grease helps with a hangover headache, not a migraine.”