Two Wedding Crashers (The Dating by Numbers Series Book 2)

by Meghan Quinn

She nods. “Yeah, it wasn’t hard to see that you two shared something special. I was actually a little surprised when you decided to quit him cold turkey. I don’t think he’s the kind of guy you can wave goodbye to.” Spot on, Victoria. He isn’t someone you can easily walk away from or say goodbye to.

  Victoria never really talks about feelings, or guys for that matter, because it’s not her jam. She would rather talk about the intricacies of a World War I musket than a relationship, so I’m a little shocked she’s being so open now.

  “Where is this coming from?” I take a sip of my drink and set it on the tabletop of the fire pit.

  She shrugs and plays with the zipper of the garment bag. “I don’t know. After we talked in Key West, I thought about your situation some more. You deserve happiness. It’s been a rough year—”

  “Everyone has rough years. I don’t want to keep using that as an excuse to go after some guy who lives on the other side of the country.”

  “I’m not using that as an excuse. I’m making a statement. You had a rough year, Rylee. It’s time to take a breath and enjoy the life you have, the one you strived to keep. If anyone knows about life being too short, it’s you, so live it to your fullest. I’m glad you’re talking to Beck again because it shows me, as your friend, that you’re moving on from your past and taking a chance on living. I say go for it.”

  Taking in deep breaths, I look to the sky and close my eyes, willing the threatening tears to stay put. Victoria doesn’t like crying. She hates it, in fact, so keep it together, woman.

  Not wanting to talk about Beck or my situation anymore, I say, “What’s in the bag?”

  Victoria pauses. I can sense her wanting to continue this conversation but instead, she moves on, and the stark sound of a zipper being undone opens my eyes. Oh hell.

  The garment bag parts and a turn-of-the-century dress, frills, gigot sleeves, and the ugliest fabric that looks like it’s been starched at least five times in a row appears. Oh my God.

  “Uh, what is that?”

  A devilish smile crosses her face. “Do you remember our little deal? If I went to Key West, you’d come to my historical ball with me. This is your dress.”

  Yup, I knew I wasn’t going to like the reason Victoria was here. “You can’t be serious?”

  “Oh, I was very serious when we made that deal. I don’t want to go to the ball by myself.”

  “Well, it’s not like you went to the wedding with me. You didn’t even stay through the reception. How is this fair?”

  Victoria shakes her head. “It’s not my fault you met a guy and happily traipsed around with him everyday. I held up my end of the bargain.” Holding up the dress, she says, “Now it’s your turn.”

  Knowing she’s right, I sigh, hating every ounce of the deal I made that seems to be more in her favor than mine. How was I supposed to know I would end up meeting Beck? “Fine, when is it?”

  “In an hour.”

  “What?” I sit up in my chair, leaning forward. “An hour? Why the hell are you telling me now?”

  “Because if I told you any earlier, you would have come up with some excuse why you couldn’t attend. With this carefully planned-out sneak attack approach, I know you’re not doing anything and can go to this ball with me.”

  God, she’s so fucking smart. That’s Victoria though; she thinks of every possible route a situation can go and takes the surest route. Something I probably should have done before I made this plan.

  “Fine.” I huff and stand, taking the bag from her. I turn off my fire pit and point my finger at her. “I don’t care what you say, I’m wearing makeup.”

  “But—”

  “If you want me to go, I’m wearing makeup. That’s final. I’ll be waiting for you in half an hour.”

  I walk away as Victoria calls out, “Hair instructions are in the bag; try to stay as close to the design as possible.” Shouting now, she adds, “We want to look authentic.”

  Mumbling to myself, I say, “Oh yeah, I’m going to be authentic. Real fucking authentic.”

  In my house, I take the gown to my bedroom where I start to get ready. This isn’t my first time going to one of these terrible balls where I have to talk like I’m from that era. It’s dreadful, and I’m always called out for talking about things I shouldn’t. Sorry if I think playing some Bruno Mars instead of the organ would put a little more pep in people’s step. Bruno Mars was created for a reason: to make us thrust our hips together on the dance floor.

  God, Bruno could sing in my ear all day.

  But that’s not the case for the people attending the ball. They prefer someone to pound out a concerto on an out-of-tune piano. Painful, so freaking painful.

  I pull out the instructions for my hair and immediately turn my nose up at it. Yeah, I’m not doing that. A low bun is all she’s getting. Sorry, Victoria. Maybe if I’m not “authentic” enough, I’ll get kicked out. One can only hope.

  Getting ready is only going to take me a few minutes with my new plan of attack, so I pick up my phone and dial Beck, nerves bouncing around in my belly.

  I have yet to initiate our contact. Until today, he’s always reached out first, but now that the ball’s in my court, I have to make the effort.

  I don’t know why it makes me so nervous, but it does.

  I put the phone on speaker and sit on my bathroom counter, listening to the phone ring, and ring, and ring.

  Should I leave a message? I wasn’t prepared for a message. Why does leaving a voicemail seem so much harder? Maybe because I ramble and say stupid things and will end up saying something like I dream about your dick and wish—

  “Hey, Saucy.” Beck sounds out of breath when he answers.

  “Uh hey.” Did I interrupt him doing something? Like . . . you know, DOING something?

  No, no way. Beck isn’t that kind of guy, so get that thought out of your head.

  “Rylee, are you there?”

  “Oh . . . yup. I’m here. Sorry. Was thinking about you having sex.” See, rambling and saying what’s on my mind. That’s exactly what I’m talking about.

  Chuckling, Beck answers, “Is that so? Was I doing a good job?”

  “What? No. I mean yes . . . I mean . . .” Flustered, I hang up the phone and drop it on the bathroom counter, as if it’s on fire. I step away and place my hand on my forehead, trying to comprehend my inability to call a man and not act normal.

  That was embarrassing.

  Like, mortifying and yup, look at that. He’s calling back. Of course he is, because he’s nice and interested and wants to talk to me.

  Damn him for being so perfect.

  Sighing, I answer, “Hello?”

  “Hey there.” There is so much humor in his voice, it releases some of the tension in my shoulders.

  “What’s up?” Taking the casual approach this go around.

  Chuckling some more, Beck asks, “Are you nervous to talk to me on the phone, Rylee?”

  I should be used to his blatant directness, but it’s still taking some time to comprehend. I’ve never met anyone like him, so to the point, no messing around.

  I want to be the same with him.

  “I am. You make me nervous.”

  “Because I’m so goddamn attractive you can’t think about me without fumbling over your words?”

  Okay, sarcasm works for me. “Don’t be a dick.”

  He barks out a laugh and then soothingly says, “Don’t be nervous, Saucy. It’s just me. You know what you’re going to get when you talk to me on the phone. General interest in your day, some blatant flirting, and of course the begging for a selfie. How many times can a guy really ask?”

  “You have pictures of me, so you’ll survive.”

  “I want more. Come on, I know you got the package, my tracking number told me so. FaceTime with me, let me see that smile of yours.”

  I bite on my bottom lip, trying to comprehend where this is going.

  “FaceTime seems too intimate.”

 
“So, maybe I want to get intimate.” His response is instant, no stumbling, no pauses.

  “Intimate seems pointless because we live so far away.”

  “Sometimes you have to take a chance on something that makes you happy, regardless of the unknown.”

  And just like that, his words resonate with me.

  Taking that chance, I press the FaceTime button on my phone and hold my breath.

  Within an instant, Beck’s face comes on screen. Oh my God, I really forgot how attractive he is. How attracted I am to him. I love his gorgeous smile and how his eyes show sincere happiness, amidst the cocky mischief. How I wish I could hug him right now.

  “Hey Saucy.” His voice is low, smooth, just how I like it.

  “Hey,” I answer shyly.

  I take in his background. He looks like he’s in his bedroom, and he’s definitely not wearing a shirt because his shoulders are bare. There isn’t anything on his walls, but he does have white curtains over his windows, which is a bit surprising. I never would have pegged him to be a man bothered with window decoration.

  “There’s that beautiful smile I’ve been dreaming about.” He sits on his bed. “Now tell me about the package you received. Is it everything your little heart desired? Is he the most handsome of the mermen you have?”

  I chuckle, feeling a little more at ease. “He is definitely the most interesting.”

  “And handsome.”

  I laugh some more. “Of course the most handsome. I like that he’s holding a paintbrush, very fitting.”

  “I thought so myself. But can we agree that the bulge needs to be bigger? I’m packing some heat here and that merman is not representing me properly.”

  “Maybe he rolled it up like a sushi roll and tucked it behind his scales. Shifters and such can do that.”

  “Shifters?” He makes a confused face.

  “Never mind.” I brush it off, not wanting to get into that conversation. Too many questions are involved when trying to explain paranormal romance to someone. “I love the ornament though. Thank you; that was really sweet.”

  “You’re welcome, Saucy. I’m glad you like it.” He lies down on his pillow and holds the camera above him. I catch a flash of his broad chest and my mouth waters. “What are you up to tonight? Got any big plans with any guys I didn’t know about like Griffin?”

  I give him a sideways look. “Nothing with Griffin.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.”

  “But I do have plans,” I say quickly.

  “Yeah?” The hand that’s behind his head lightly brushes through his hair that is longer than I remember. “What kind of plans? Do they involve me and getting naked on FaceTime?”

  “No, nice try though.” I scoot back on the counter and lean against my mirror. “I have a date.”

  His brow pinches together and call me a bitch, but I kind of like playing around with him since he’s played with me so much. It’s only fitting. “A date? Tell me about this date.”

  I purse my lips together. “Let’s see, there will be music and dancing.”

  “Oh yeah? I love dancing.”

  I know, and he’s sexy as sin when he dances. There is something to be said about a man who effortlessly shows his skills with no qualms and no holding back. That’s Beck; live in the moment and express yourself. It’s what makes him so addicting, and it’s what makes him impossible to cut loose.

  It’s why I’m talking to him right now, giddy as hell to see him, to hear his voice.

  “So much dancing.” Choreographed dancing from the 19th Century, but I’m not going to let him know that. Dancing that I sure as hell won’t be participating in. “And food, because you know, what’s a date without food?”

  “Got to have food,” he answers. “What else is there going to be?”

  Hmm . . . let’s see, there will be paper fans waving over massive amounts of ringlets cascading down the up-dos of each and every woman—except me—in the venue. Maybe I’ll skip that detail.

  “Drinks, yup. I’ll be drinking.” And that’s the freaking truth. The minute I walk through the doors of that ballroom, first stop is the bar and instead of a glass of wine, I’m going to ask them to duct tape two bottles of champagne to my hands. And if anyone asks what I’m doing, I’ll introduce myself as Madame Boozehands of Soon to be Drunkville.

  “Huh, so dancing, drinking, and food. Sounds like you’re going to a wedding without me. You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

  There is a pounding in my hallway that’s quickly picking up pace and before I can see what it is, Victoria bursts through my bathroom door, looking frantic and thrusting a piece of paper in my direction.

  “Victoria, what the—?”

  “Oh thank God. You haven’t started your hair yet. I gave you the wrong instructions. I gave you the hairstyle of a servant, not of a middle-class woman. What the hell was I thinking? Here, read the instructions carefully and if you need help let me know right away so I can do it for you. You know what, maybe I will do your hair. It has to be right for tonight, and I have my dress in the car so we can get ready together. I don’t want to be late to the historical ball. Dance cards fill up quickly, and I want to make sure we don’t miss out on any of the dances.”

  What terrible, terrible timing.

  Exhaling a long breath, I turn my phone to Victoria and say, “Say hi to Beck.”

  Startled, Victoria squats to look into the phone like it’s a microscope. “Oh, Beck. Sorry. I didn’t know you were talking on the phone with Rylee.”

  I don’t have to look at the phone to know that not only is Beck smiling like a damn fool, but he’s already calculating the ribbing he’ll unleash on me when he next gets the opportunity.

  “Hey Victoria. So you must be the date our friend Rylee is talking about.”

  “Oh, yup.” Victoria pushes her glasses up on her nose. “We’re going to a historical ball tonight. Do you want to see her dress? I picked it out myself. It’s very authentic.”

  “There is nothing more I want to do than see her dress right now.”

  My nostrils flair . . . Ass.

  Excited, Victoria unzips the garment bag and pushes it over the shoulders to show off the maroon and tan frilly, poofy dress I’ll be wearing.

  “Wow.” He pauses. “I’m going to need a picture of Rylee in that.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take one with her phone and send it to you. But we should go, because I have to do her hair, and I really want to make sure it’s accurate for the era we’re representing.”

  “Totally get it. Don’t let me keep you. It was good seeing you, Victoria.”

  “You too.”

  I turn the phone back to me where Beck is gleaming with joy . . . on my behalf. With a wink, he says, “Looking forward to that picture, Saucy. I’ll talk to you later.” And then the phone goes blank.

  That devil of a man. Ugh, I could scream at Victoria, letting the cat out of the bag. I mean, to her defense, she didn’t know I was trying to pull a fast one on Beck, but still, gah . . .

  Beep.

  A text . . . from Beck.

  “Okay, sit down on this chair, and I’ll get to work.” Victoria motions for me to sit, which I do. There is no getting out of this anymore. This is really happening, and there’s no doubt in my mind Victoria will make sure Beck gets a picture of me. “Beck is so nice. I’m glad you’re talking to him again.”

  “Yeah.” I huff and open my text message.

  Beck: I hope your date goes well tonight and you get lucky with Victoria.

  So fucking cheeky.

  Rylee: Me too, twenty bucks says she’s a better lover than you.

  Ha! Take that. I giggle to myself, very pleased with my response.

  Beck: Send me video and I’ll let you know my opinion on the matter.

  Of course he has a smart-ass comment to follow up.

  Rylee: Your opinion isn’t warranted.

  Beck: Okay, then call me after. Bet she can’t make you come all
over her face like you did on mine.

  My body heats up and I’m immediately embarrassed when my mind jumps back to our night together, my naked breasts pushed against the glass, Beck’s powerful shoulders spreading my legs, and his entire mouth pressed against my center, making me come so goddamn hard I nearly blacked out.

  “Are you hot?” Victoria asks. “Your head is getting all steamy. Want me to turn on a fan?”

  “Yes,” I practically moan.

  “Eh, that sounded a little sexual. Are you okay?”

  “Fan, Victoria. Just get the fan from my bedroom.”

  “You’re being weird . . . are you . . .” She leans over my shoulder. “Are you sexting right now? While I’m touching your hair?”

  “No!”

  “Let me see then.” Victoria reaches for my phone, but I pull it close to my chest. “Ew, you’re sexting while I touch your hair and getting horny over it. Do you realize how creepy that is?”

  “I’m not sexting.” My entire body is on fire from humiliation. I don’t have to look in the mirror to know how red my cheeks are right now.

  “Then let me see.”

  “No. It’s not for your eyes.”

  Staring me down through the reflection in the mirror, she says, “Are you making fun of me in your texts?”

  “What? No!” Ughh, I sigh and say, “I was tricking Beck, telling him I had a hot date, and then you came in and spoiled that. Now he’s saying he hopes I get lucky with you tonight since you’re my date and I said”—I take a second to catch my breath—“I bet you’ll be a better lover than him.” I cringe in time for Victoria to smack me on the arm.

  “Ew, don’t talk about me pleasuring you. What is wrong with you?”

  The question for the ages.

  Before I can answer, she takes off toward my room for the fan. Oh poor Victoria. How she got caught up in Zoey’s and my brand of crazy, I have no idea. Some days, I really think she wishes she could trade us in.

  For the next half hour, Victoria works on my hair in silence. I don’t text Beck, and instead I plot in my head, going over all the different feelings I want to evoke from my characters. When it’s time, I slip into the over-starched dress, let Victoria button me up in the back, and stare in the mirror.