You May Kiss the Bridesmaid: A Wedding Date Rom Com (First Comes Love Book 6)

by Camilla Isley

  I sigh, silently agreeing with my conscience.

  Twelve

  Summer

  Tonight the hen and stag parties are supposed to merge. Yay! The resort has cordoned off a wide area near the pool and reserved it for the wedding party. The weather is playing along, making it okay, with the help of a few strategically placed patio heaters, to eat outdoors. Dinner is going to be self-serve, and the menu is all things barbecue: steaks, hamburgers, hot dogs, ribs, grilled chicken, and vegetable shish kebabs. There’s even a seafood station with grilled shrimps and salmon. The various grilling stations are assembled in a semicircle at the end of the patio, and each has its dedicated cook. Baskets of French fries are being brought outside from the indoor kitchen. A server with a round, heavy-looking tray offers me a basket, and I gladly take it.

  Biting down on a fry, I search the crowd for Archie. Same as I used to do back in high school when I had a secret crush on David Montgomery and spent every minute searching the halls, cafeteria, and any other common space for him. Just seeing David would mark whether my day had been a great one or a complete waste of time. If we crossed ways in the halls, I’d get butterflies. If I sat at a table next to him in the cafeteria and was able to overhear some of his conversations with his friends, I’d become so ecstatic I wouldn’t touch any food.

  Sadly, David and I never kissed. Heck, he never even talked to me. David was a senior, and I was a freshman; he graduated the next year and disappeared from my life forever. But tonight, not only will I get to talk to my crush, and to kiss him as many times as I want, we’ll touch all the bases. I only have to be patient. My toes curl in anticipation. Archie and I haven’t been naked together since yesterday afternoon; more than a day, and definitely too long.

  I keep scanning the crowd, but no sign of the best man. Instead, I spot my sister and Logan seated at one of the round tables, plates loaded with food already in front of them. Shortly afterward, Lana and Tucker also join them. My best bet is to sit with them and hope Archie will do the same, just like at breakfast, recreating the unofficial wedding party table. A perfect way for Archie and me to have dinner together without being conspicuous.

  As I navigate the mass of guests cramming the patio, I’m a lot calmer than I would have been a few days ago. I’ve apologized to Daria, and even if my words fell on deaf ears, I unloaded a huge weight from my chest. I also don’t care as much as I used to about what people think of me. The Mistake, if nothing else, has forced me to take a hard look at my life. I thought I had a solid circle of friends, but when it all came tumbling down, only two people were left by my side: Winter and, ironically enough, Lana—the person who should’ve thrown me to the wolves and was the first to forgive me instead.

  I grab a cold beer from an ice bucket and join my sister’s table.

  “Hey,” I say. “The grill smells amazing. What are you guys having?”

  Chewing down a bite of hamburger, my sister says, “I’m having everything. The ribs are divine, and this hamburger is unbelievable.” Winter licks a bit of BBQ sauce off her fingers and promptly takes another enormous chomp.

  I smile to myself. I love that my sister is not one of those brides obsessed about being a size zero, and that she hasn’t lost her appetite because of the upcoming nuptials. Plus, the cheeses and cold cuts we had for lunch at the ranch, while tasteful and curated, lacked in quantity.

  Famished, I move to the back of the line for the grills and grab an empty plate from the stash near the first station, my stomach grumbling in anticipation. I load my plate with a bit of everything and turn, ready to go back to the table.

  That’s when I see him.

  Archie is standing on the threshold, between the big French doors leading outside from within the hotel. The patio is three steps down from those doors, granting me an unobstructed view of Archie in his raised position. He’s looking chill in a short-sleeved button-down shirt in a plaid print and beige cargo shorts.

  Honestly, he’s just missing a shark-teeth necklace to be the perfect Surfer Boy, another great fantasy of mine. I add the image to my mental catalog of his outfits, undecided on what guise is my favorite. Probably still the one that doesn’t require any clothes.

  His eyes search the crowd, moving over the heads of the people assembled below until they finally come to rest on me. When he spots me, his entire face brightens up in an open smile, and my empty stomach has its usual reaction and promptly explodes with butterflies, making those I used to experience for David Montgomery feel like amateur hour.

  Archie cuts through the throng of people, heading straight for me, and only stops a step short when the giant plate loaded with meat standing between us forces him to. It’s good I’m holding this thing in my hands or I would’ve thrown my arms around his neck already.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey, yourself.”

  I inch the plate toward Logan and Winter’s table. “I’m sitting with my sister over there.”

  “I’ll grab some food and come join you.”

  I nod, and am about to brush past him when he leans down and whispers in my ear, “Nice dress, by the way.”

  A cold shiver spider walks down my spine while my face heats up. I’ll admit I made a bit of an effort for a casual barbecue evening. I’m wearing a white sundress with a pineapple print, not exactly vintage, but with a retro, elegant feel. The dress has a V neckline and is sleeveless; it ties behind the neck in a bow it took me twenty minutes to shape in perfect symmetry. The skirt is wide and knee-length, while the waist is tight for that great fit-flare silhouette effect that flatters my figure. My hair is arranged atop my head in a deceivingly messy giant bun I spent half an hour sculpturing—I call it the Hepburn. To complete the outfit, I’ve put on killer-heels, strappy sandals. I went easy on the makeup only because I don’t want to leave it all smeared on Archie’s pillow later tonight. Instead, I pampered my skin with a gentle scrub and a facial mask, and I’m only wearing a layer of transparent mascara and ChapStick.

  But the hungry way Archie keeps looking at me throughout dinner makes me feel as beautiful as if a professional had done my makeup. Being in public with him when we can’t kiss or touch or do anything other than play with subtle stares is an unbearable form of torture. And dinner tonight is no different.

  We spend the whole evening eye flirting with each other in what is an hours-long, hands-off foreplay session. I don’t pay much attention to what everyone else is saying; it’s mostly anecdotes from the day. Half of them I already know from personal experience, and the other half are not as interesting or amusing enough to tear my concentration away from Archie’s lips. From his sizzling, icy stare. From those big hands…

  I’m desperately trying to find a polite way to leave as soon as all the plates are empty when Tucker gives everyone the perfect excuse.

  “Guys,” he says, standing up and stretching his arms. “I’m super tired. I’m calling it an early night.”

  “Are you sure?” Logan asks. “We can sleep in tomorrow; nothing but a spa day ahead.”

  “No, I know, but I’m positively beat.” He chuckles awkwardly. “Must be all the wine.”

  Archie throws his friend a stare that, if I had to define, I’d call suspicious. But he’s also just as quick to jump on the “going to bed early” boat. But, as he gets up, his devilish grin promises a whole lot of fun activities to take place in said bed, none of which include sleep.

  “If you’re going, I’m going, too,” Archie says.

  Winter narrows her eyes at him. “To bed? Alone? This early?”

  “That’d be correct.”

  “Why aren’t you trying to sleep with any of the female guests? Are you ill?”

  He winces at being put on the spot. “Subtle much?”

  “No, honestly, what’s up with you?”

  “Maybe I already have a rendezvous arranged and was trying to leave politely without drawing attention,” he says, making my face catch fire. I hide it
behind a glass of water, compose my features into the mother of all poker faces, and dare a peek at my sister. She’s completely oblivious and hasn’t looked my way once.

  “Really?” Winter asks. “And who’s the lucky lady?”

  “A true gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” Archie replies.

  I almost roll my eyes, but catch myself at the last second, my gaze landing on Lana. And, oh my gosh, she’s staring at me slightly wide-eyed, kind of slack-jawed as if she’s just connected all the wrong dots. I try to telepathically send her a “please keep quiet” plea, and she must receive the message because her lips press together into a furtive half-smile and she gives me the tiniest of nods.

  After some more badgering from my sister to know who Archie’s conquest is, and more stubborn refusals from Archie to fess up, he and Tucker finally walk away, leaving me in need of a fresh excuse to beat it.

  Now I can’t go. Not after Archie has openly admitted he’s seeing someone. I want to avoid arousing any suspicion in my sister’s head. I have to. At. All. Costs. Sorry, Surfer Archie will have to wait a while before I can safely join him in his room.

  I’m already resigned to this sad destiny when Lana, unexpectedly, comes to the rescue. Giving me that secretive half-smile again, she stands up, saying, “Guys, I’m going to call it a night as well.”

  “Not you, too,” Winter protests. “What’s your excuse?”

  “Christian has been busy shooting all day and I haven’t spoken to him yet. Now is the only good time to talk.”

  I can’t honestly say how much truth laces Lana’s statement. Does she really plan to call Christian, or is she leaving so that I, too, can leave without giving my sister the wrong impression?

  Before I can decide on an answer, the maid of honor blows us kisses and is on her way off into the hotel.

  Now or never.

  I stand up. “Well, you guys, as much as I’d love to stay and be the third wheel all night, I’m going to go, too.”

  Winter snorts. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll never be a third wheel with me.”

  “I was joking,” I say. The last thing I want is to make my sister uncomfortable. “But you guys haven’t seen each other all day. I’d understand if you wanted to go rest a little.”

  Not taking the hint, Winter replies, “I’m not that tired.”

  Thankfully, the groom-to-be seems to be more on board with my let’s-ditch-the-barbecue-and-go-have-sex agenda, even if he doesn’t know I’m sharing the same urges.

  Logan yawns quite theatrically and gives my sister the look, saying, “Actually, I could use some nappy time.”

  The bride finally gets the message, and suddenly an early bedtime becomes appealing to her, too.

  She looks up at me. “Are you sure you don’t want to hang out a little longer?”

  “Positive. You kids go have fun,” I say, using the tone a benevolent aunt would use when sending her horny niece to fool around—as if I didn’t have a vested, adult-turned-randy-teen interest in the game.

  I kiss Winter goodnight, wink at Logan, then rush inside and toward the elevators before anyone can stop me.

  When Archie opens his door five minutes later, he greets me with an infuriating, “What took you so long?”

  I jokingly poke him in the chest with a finger while pushing him into the room. “Well, next time try not to mention a secret romantic rendezvous in front of my sister and I’ll be faster.”

  “She was hounding me like a dog, I had to throw her a bone.”

  “Because it’d be so impossible for you not to get laid.” I try to make my comment sound playful and teasing, but the words come out more nagging than intended.

  Archie shrugs in a non-answer.

  So, I prod him a little more. “If I remember correctly, you came back from the trip to Thailand empty-handed. No conquests made.”

  He comes dangerously close to me. “That’s because I had met the wrong Knowles twin.” His words give me an unjustifiable amount of pleasure. Winter and I have never been competitive, but it’s nice to know someone in the world prefers me to her. Since The Mistake, my fan club hasn’t been exactly thriving.

  I’d like to tell Archie all of this, but at the same time, I don’t want to. Thankfully, I’m saved the need to talk by his fingertips brushing up my arms.

  “This little bow at the back of your neck has been teasing me all night,” Archie whispers. “I’ve so been looking forward to untying it.” He pulls at the strings unbearably slowly, eyes locked on mine.

  I shift my gaze lower, to his lips, and he puts me out of my misery with a deep kiss just as my dress slips down my body and pools at my feet. Breaking the kiss, I push back from him and step out of the dress pool. I’m left standing only in my high heels and underwear, exposed but not embarrassed. To be honest, I’ve never felt sexier.

  “Certain things are worth waiting for,” I say.

  Archie’s eyes darken with desire, and he scoops me up into his arms. “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”

  Thirteen

  Archie

  A sense of unease wakes me up. I stir in bed, my hand automatically reaching for Summer. She’s still lying next to me, so I wrap my arms around her, sighing in relief. The ease is short-lived, though, as I realize it was the fear she’d be gone again that woke me. The concept settles a little heavy on my chest, along with a memory from last night: me scooping Summer into my arms, saying, “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”

  What did I mean by that? And did my words give the wrong impression? Does Summer have expectations now? Do I? To be honest, I’m not looking forward to that Sunday end-mark at all. Three more nights to spend with her seems too short a time.

  Summer stirs, eyes still closed. Gosh, she’s beautiful. Not that she hasn’t always been beautiful, but I don’t know… It’s as if she’s becoming more so every day. Hard to explain, but the more I stare at her, the more perfect she looks. Because she is perfect, and not just in a physical sense. Summer is fun, and a little quirky sometimes. But she’s also smart and kind and sweet. And all other women compared to her fade in the background.

  Heck, Scarlett Johansson could walk past that door right now and I wouldn’t spare her a second glance.

  And that, my friend, is an even scarier thought. One I shouldn’t contemplate without being properly caffeinated.

  I return yesterday’s favor and make coffee. Summer’s I leave black, bringing the tiny creamer pod and a sugar packet along with her cup so as to leave her the choice of what to add, just like she did for me yesterday.

  As I sit on the bed again, either the movement or the coffee scent wakes her. Summer stretches, hands closed in fists near her head, elbows spread wide on the pillow.

  “Morning,” she says, pushing up in a sitting position. “Is that coffee I smell?”

  “Yep.” I give her the cup and accessories. “I don’t know how you like it.”

  She smiles, adding both the creamer and sugar. “Sweet and full of milk, thank you.”

  “Only returning the favor.”

  Summer takes a long sip, saying nothing. Guess we’re not discussing why she freaked out yesterday and made me wake up to an empty bed and a cup of coffee. What else are we avoiding telling each other? A lot, I fear. Too much.

  “Yoga will start soon. You want to go?” I ask, steering clear of more serious topics like a coward.

  “Yeah, sure,” she says. “I’ll pop into my room real quick to get changed and meet you downstairs.”

  “Okay.” I get up and pretend to use the bathroom to give her some privacy. When I walk out she’s in the white dress again, feet bare, the heels dangling from her fingers. The temptation to untie that bow behind her neck again and skip yoga altogether is hard to resist, but I bite the inside of my cheek and act cool. “See you in a bit?”

  “Sure,” she says, blushing. My eyes must be saying what my mouth isn’t.

  Summer wa
lks toward me, stands on tiptoe, and stamps a sweet kiss on my lips. It’s an almost innocent gesture, but it has a lot of meaning for me that she didn’t just walk out of the room.

  In yoga, our work has improved yet again. Our motions are perfectly coordinated, we’re more familiar with the various poses, and we move through them flawlessly.

  “Wonderful job, you guys,” the instructor says, walking past us toward the end of class. “You make a great team.”

  The simple comment launches me into another mental rant. Are we a team? I feel a little that way, like it’s me and Summer against the world. And not just because we’re keeping our involvement a secret.

  As we walk to the breakfast room, this insane thought pops into my head that I’d rather not have to share her with the rest of the wedding party. Not for breakfast. And not for anything else.

  Last night, Logan said he wanted to sleep in, so there might be a chance he and Winter are still in bed.

  That hope dies when I spot my friend’s mop of black hair next to Tucker’s distinctive brown curls.

  So much for taking it easy, I think accusingly.

  My dream of breakfast for two at a table by the window, eating croissants and enjoying the view together, vanishes. Summer will want to keep up appearances.

  Sucks. Especially because today’s activities will be split by gender again. Unfortunately, the resort keeps separate spas for men and women.

  Here’s another funny thought: I want to spend the day with Summer. Clothes on or off, I don’t care. And when have I ever wanted to be with a woman beyond the bedroom?

  Never. Ever.

  Not for long, at least. And never as fiercely.

  I mope over all these new realizations through our crowded breakfast, until Summer gets up to refill her plate and I subtly follow.

  I wait until we’re near the pastry counter to lean into her body, appreciating the jolt of surprise that shakes her, and the consequent relaxation when she realizes it’s me. The food tables are all placed behind a corner and no one else is around, thus granting me a little more flirting space.