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

by Meghan Quinn

  But when I think Vegas showgirls are about to burst through the doors as well, I’m utterly mistaken. With the bouquet clutched to her chest, the bride slowly—and I mean slowly—walks down the aisle . . . humming Mendelssohn’s infamous Wedding March.

  Yes, humming.

  Humming to her little heart’s content, as loud as can be.

  And just when I don’t think it could get any stranger, the groom joins in, swaying back and forth, hands linked in front of him.

  They hum in unison, eyes locked together, their pitch off, making for an interesting rendition.

  That is until Beck joins in next to me. Eyes wide, I turn to him in shock when the drag queens in front of us join in as well and before we know it, the entire chapel is humming together.

  Well, okay then. This is by far, one of the weirdest weddings I’ve ever been to.

  Nope.

  Nope, nope, nope.

  I take that back. THIS is by far the weirdest wedding I’ve ever attended.

  The elderly couple dressed in leather and whips walk down the aisle together as their attendees cheer them on. Next to me, Beck claps and then performs a congratulatory whistle, really getting into it.

  When the couple reaches Beck, the balding groom grabs Beck by the back of the neck and says, “Thank you for being here, Pastor Rick.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Beck replies before placing a rough kiss on the groom’s head. Leaning past his newfound friend, Beck says, “Edith, you give our boy Erwin here a run for his money tonight, you hear me?”

  She points her finger at Beck. “You know I will.” Waving at me, she says, “Bye, Marni. Good luck with stripper school; we know you’ll do great.” Yeah, can you guess who came up with my backstory, once again.

  “Thank you and congratulations,” I add.

  Turning away from us, arm and arm, Edith and Erwin walk off into “the sunset” in assless chaps, their wrinkly old butts swaying back and forth to the music.

  Jesus Christ.

  I rub a hand over my face. I think my wedding crashing days are soon to be over. Pretty sure I’ve seen it all.

  Once Edith and Erwin are gone, Beck takes my hand and says, “Ice cream?” He says it so casually, as if we didn’t just experience a mind-blowing, freaky bondage-type wedding with two old coots.

  “You want ice cream? After watching Edith and Erwin’s wrinkly butts walk away?”

  He shrugs. “Nothing wrong with assless chaps at a wedding. Just means they’re marrying the right person for them.”

  And there he goes, being insightful again.

  “You are amazing to me, you know that? Always seeing the good in people, no matter what situation you’re in.”

  “Because there’s no need to focus on the negative, it only brings you down.” He pulls on my hand. “Come on, Saucy, I’m dying for some mint chocolate chip ice cream.”

  “Can we get waffle cones?” I ask, trailing behind him.

  “Do you even need to ask?” He winks at me and ushers me toward the strip, carefree and handsome as ever.

  Part Four

  The Truth

  Chapter Twenty

  BECK

  Rylee rustles in the bed, her arms stretching to the headboard. Her little whimpering sounds as she stretches are cute.

  When I invited Rylee to Vegas, I really threw the whole wedding crasher suggestion in there to give me an excuse to see her, and even though it was tiring to go from chapel to chapel, trying not to get caught, it was worth it. The amount of times I got to hear Rylee’s laugh was beyond perfect.

  It’s weird that seeing her again in person is stirring up all sorts of feelings, feelings I haven’t experienced in a really long time. There is something different about Rylee I can’t put my finger on, but whatever it is, I want more.

  We both leave tomorrow, back to our opposite sides of the country. Thinking about it rips me apart. It feels like I just got her back, and I’m not ready to say goodbye. Part of me worries that when we do, she’ll try to cut me off again like she did last time. I’m not sure I can allow that, not with the connection I share with this woman. I want more.

  I take a sip of my orange juice and look out the window, taking in the daylight that casts a dirty glow over the city. Las Vegas during the day almost looks like someone stuck a city on Mars. It has an orange glow about it, dusty and dingy looking. But at night, when the lights are gleaming, sin befalls you, and it’s an entirely different place.

  Soft footsteps approach, and I see Rylee wrapped in a white terrycloth bathrobe, the one I left by the bed for her, walking toward me. Without prompting her, she curls up on my lap, tucking her head in the crook of my neck. I hold her tightly against me, loving how she fits perfectly in my arms.

  “What time is it?” she mumbles, her cheek resting on my bare chest. I’m wearing my slacks from last night and they’re unbuckled.

  “Noon.”

  She props her head up. “Seriously?”

  I nod. “Yeah, you slept in pretty late.” We didn’t get back to the hotel until past midnight and even then we didn’t go to bed right away. I might have spent a few hours worshipping Rylee’s body until we passed out.

  “You wore me out.” She nuzzles against me again and I hold on to her tighter.

  “If you’re looking for an apology, you won’t be getting one.”

  “Ruthless.” I love the feel of her smile against my chest.

  I kiss the top of her head and say, “I ordered breakfast. It came about twenty minutes ago, but it’s probably cold by now.”

  “It’s okay, I’ll eat pretty much anything. I want to snuggle a little longer first.”

  Hell, I’m not going to complain about that. We rest together, my hand leisurely stroking her hair, her fingers playing with the short stubble on my chest, our breaths synching, our hearts beating as one.

  It’s the most at peace I’ve ever felt.

  “Do you have any regrets in life?”

  I still. That question is so unexpected and any peace I felt dissipates. In its place is anxiety, which slowly creeps up the back of my neck. I have so many regrets. The question really shouldn’t be if I have any. The question should be how many do I have, and how many altered my life?

  Not wanting to get into details, I answer, “I know I seem like a guy who would say something like regrets are what help shape us as humans, but that would be lying. I have some big regrets, some moments in my life I wish I could take back. There’s no doubt about that.” And to deter her away from those regrets, I ask her, “What about you?”

  She pauses, regarding my question. “I mean, I had small regrets that seem ridiculous now like not hiring an editor for the first few months of being an author instead of trying to do everything myself, but big regrets that have shaped me? I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t seem like the type to harbor regrets.”

  “And you are?” Back to me. I knew that was too easy.

  I lick my lips and try to think of the best way to put this. “There’s an air of darkness that looms over me. I might live life to its fullest, but if you look closely, you’ll see regret in my everyday movements. It’s like a weight I have to carry around day in and day out. But when I look at you, I don’t see that same darkness. I see”—I pause and study her for a second—“a beautifully intelligent woman, maybe a woman with a hint of sadness eclipsing her.”

  Propping herself up, hand to my chest, she looks me in the eyes and says, “You see sadness?”

  I place my finger under her chin and nod. “I do. I don’t see it all the time, but there are moments where I’ve seen . . . sorrow. I’m not sure where it stems from, but what I do know is when you let go, when you let yourself have fun, it disappears and your eyes are clear, full of laughter. It’s the way I like seeing you the best, such fucking joy exuding from you.”

  “And your happiness, is it clouded?”

  I press my lips together and close my eyes, my cheek leaning again
st the top of her head, the smell of her hair melting my muscles.

  “It’s not clouded when you’re around,” I answer boldly, but honestly.

  She stills in my arms, and I worry I’ve crossed a line, but when she presses her cheek back against my chest, I relax.

  Rylee enters from the bathroom, freshly showered, hair wet, still wearing that damn robe. I planned on taking a shower with her but when her editor called about her story, I took a quick shower and left the room to give her some privacy.

  “Hey, there you are.” She walks toward me, scrunching her wet hair, her tanned legs peeking out past the robe. “Where did you go off to?”

  I take her in my arms and plant a light kiss on her lips, my hands playing with the tie of her robe. “Just for a little walk. Thought I’d give you some privacy.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Needed the fresh air.”

  She cups my cheek. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, everything is good.” I smile and bring her to the couch where I sit her on my lap and play with her wet hair, twisting it over my finger. “Do you know what you want to do tonight? Maybe crash some more weddings?”

  She shakes her head. “I think I’m crashed out. Would it be weird to stay in for the night? Order room service?”

  “Hell no. Staying in works for me.” All I want is to soak in as much Rylee as I can before tomorrow, before I have to say goodbye for a while again.

  “Perfect.” She presses her cheek against my chest once again, her legs hanging over my lap, her hair dampening my shirt. She sighs, melting into me.

  Clearing my throat, I decide to ask her a question that I can’t seem to take my mind off. “So, about this Griffin guy. You close with him?”

  She chuckles in my arms and presses a kiss against my collarbone. “We grew up together, went to the same school, hung out on occasion, see each other regularly when we pass each other in town, but close? No, not really. More cordial than anything, possibly friends, but more cordial. Why, are you jealous?”

  “Yeah,” I answer honestly, “I am. I’m jealous this mother fucker gets to see you almost every day and I only get stolen moments.” The day I watched him walk into her kitchen as if he belonged there was torture. I haven’t been able to ask her about him. I haven’t known what she really thinks about me, about us, if there is really an us. So, asking her about the guy she’s clearly very comfortable around, the guy Zoey thinks might be into her, yeah, fuck that. I want an us. I want more, so yeah, I’ve been jealous. I know what it’s like to feel as if I’m not the one. Not enough.

  “Beck.” She sighs heavily, and I have a feeling I’m not going to like what I hear next. “What are we really doing?” She lifts her head and smooths some stray strands of hair out of her face. “I get that there is this heavy attraction between us, the kind of attraction you don’t experience very often, but is that all there is?”

  “No.” My jaw tenses from irritation. Is that all she feels? Attraction? “There is a hell of a lot more than just attraction on my end. I feel something for you, Rylee. I have a genuine interest in your life, how your day goes. I crave to talk to you every damn day because I care about you. To me, that’s more than just attraction. If I was only attracted to you, I wouldn’t have taken time off to come see you. I wouldn’t be jumping at the sound of my phone every time it beeps, hoping it’s you.” I scrape my hand down my face, my frustration showing. “I didn’t come here this weekend to get laid, Rylee. I came here to see you. I text you every day to talk to you. I FaceTime you every damn day to see you. I’m trying to keep myself immersed in your life from three thousand miles away because I want you.”

  She gives her head a shake and pushes against my chest, sitting up to face me. “Don’t you think it’s lust driving your actions? You can’t possibly be interested in the long run.” That’s where she’s wrong.

  “I’m interested in the long run,” I answer her, looking her square in the eyes.

  Her mouth parts, her eyes searching mine. “But there is so much we don’t know about each other.”

  “Then ask me,” I shout, my frustration pouring over. “Fucking ask me anything you want.”

  She tries to scoot off my lap but I don’t let her. If we’re going to talk, then we’re going to talk while we’re sitting as close as possible.

  Still keeping her distance, she twines her hands together in her lap and softly asks, “Who’s Christine?”

  Without skipping a beat, I answer, “My ex-wife.” To convince Rylee to stay with me, to make this work, I’m going to have to be open and honest with her. I hope she doesn’t end up being disgusted with me after.

  “You were married before?”

  I nod. “For two years. We got married right out of high school. Our families weren’t supportive, but we were young and at the time, I thought I was in love. We were foolish, naïve, and immature. After the first year, it went downhill.”

  “What happened?”

  I run my palm up her thigh, my heart pounding dreadfully hard in my chest. “We struggled and when you struggle and are immature, you don’t quite fight like adults, or solve problems like adults. We were short on cash every month, we weren’t supportive, we didn’t have goals, we were the perfect combination of what not to do in a marriage.”

  “You were toxic for each other.”

  I nod, continuing my gentle touch against Rylee, pulling courage from her. “Exactly. More toxic than you could imagine. It got to the point that I would end up drinking every night when I got home from my piece-of-shit job.”

  “You weren’t painting then?”

  I shake my head. “No, I was working some shitty job at a moving company. It was a complete waste of my life, not at all what I wanted to be doing. But lust clouded my vision, and I ended up in a shitty situation I couldn’t get out of.” I swallow hard and rub the back of my neck, the next confession is a hard one to share, a difficult part of myself to reveal. “I started drinking a lot. We started drinking a lot. The fights we would get into . . .” I shake my head. “They were volatile, ugly, and so shameful. The names we called each other, the things we said about each other.” I bite my bottom lip and Rylee presses her hand against my cheek, her thumb rubbing over my skin.

  “Take your time,” she whispers, understanding that there’s more.

  “She started cheating on me. She sent picture after picture of the guys she was with, sent me videos of her banging some random man in a bar bathroom. It spurred me on to drink more. I started drinking during the day, while at work, and the smell of alcohol wasn’t easy to hide. I was caught and fired.”

  Her face grows softer with concern. “I never cheated on her, ever. I said vows, and I held them close to my heart. I didn’t touch her after she started cheating though, but what’s sad is, I didn’t know how to get out of the never-ending circle of hell I was living in. I don’t know why she didn’t leave me. She didn’t want me, so why stay? Why cheat? Why? So I drank more and fought. That was my life, drinking and fighting.”

  “That’s no way to live.”

  “Tell me about it.” I press my fingers into her hips, holding her in place, stilling her for the next part of this story. “One night, Christine came home after sending me the usual disgusting photos, and I was so angry. I was drunk off my ass, we got in a huge fight, and I took off.” I pause and take a breath. “I still remember climbing in the car, thinking I shouldn’t be driving, I should sleep it off, but I was so goddamn mad that I turned the ignition and drove. I can remember it so vividly: the red light I ran; the bright lights heading my way; the sound of the metal crunching; the brutal force of the airbag slamming into my face.” My heart is beating a mile a minute. I chance a look at Rylee and instead of judgment, I see is understanding . . . compassion in her eyes. I feel . . . relief.

  She urges me to continue, resting her head on my chest, her hand playing with the fabric of my shirt, her fingers dancing over my erratically beating heart.


  “I hit a mother on her way to pick up her son from a slumber party. He got scared and asked to be picked up.” My throat grows tight as I recollect the night that changed my entire life. I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut. “She never had the chance to pick him up. She . . . she died on impact.” Rylee quietly gasps, her fingers gripping my shirt tightly. “I can remember sitting on a gurney, EMTs trying to tend to me, but I was only able to focus on the lifeless body being pulled from the car.” I clear my throat. “I was tried and convicted of vehicular manslaughter and sentenced to six years in prison.”

  “You went to prison?”

  I nod. “Yeah, and it wasn’t fucking pretty. Everything they talk about on shows and documentaries is true. The first day I was there, I was jumped. I had to show I could hold my own, which I did . . . for the most part. The first year, I kept to myself, not responding to anyone. I was angry and reeling, craving alcohol. It wasn’t until I met Cal, my sponsor, that I started to make a change for the good. He told me I was going to leave prison at some point, and when I did I had a choice between two paths. I could go back to the person I was, never fulfilling life to its fullest, or I could rise above and make a difference.”

  Quietly, Rylee says, “And you rose above.”

  “Not right away,” I answer honestly. “But after a few more conversations with Cal, I decided to start participating in some of the educational opportunities prison offered. I learned to speak Spanish fluently, I read every inspirational book that crossed my path, and that changed my focus to philanthropic endeavors. I found a great passion for art, the kind of passion I carried on past prison. Cal saw my talent and called one of his friends at the zoo and recommended me for some part-time work. Because of Cal’s recommendation, once I left prison, I was hired and my life changed for the better. I’ve spent every waking moment trying to be a better person, trying to make things better for the little boy who lost his mom. I’m on a waitlist through the court for a request to be put in contact with him, to apologize, but I doubt he will want to talk with me. I wouldn’t blame him.”