When he had the courage to look back into Mr. Hanks’ eyes, he realized old man Hanks married her probably because little Brawley was on his way, and for no other reason. He felt the man’s pain.
“You believe in miracles, son?” Hanks said, his eyes folded into thin slits.
“Yes, sir, I do. I surely do. That and redemption, too.”
T.J. cleared his throat. “Well, congrats, sir. Must be a load off to have Brawley settled. I think those two will be happy together.”
The far away look Mr. Hanks gave them back was difficult to read. Tucker had been feeling a little lonesome and sorry for himself until he encountered Hanks Sr. today. Now he was damned pleased he’d never hooked up with anyone.
Sure, they’re pretty, but they’re dangerous. Unpredictable. Who needs them? Certainly not me!
At last, Hanks pushed through the two younger men, heading for greener pastures, having exhausted any thought process he was following. He turned his head back to them and whispered, “Happiness’ got nothing to do with it. All a state of mind, gentlemen.” His fingers pointed to his temple, oddly positioned to look like a gun. “All a state of mind.” He sauntered off, straightening his jacket and making room for his crotch as he walked, swinging his feet at the ankles to shake off wrinkles.
“Close your mouth, Tucker. You’re gawking,” T.J. reminded him.
“That’s a complicated man right there,” murmured Tucker. “I can see how he gutted out twenty years on the Teams. Thank God Brawley made it. Would hate to be a son of his and not make a Team.”
“You know the family better, but I’m guessing being on the Teams was summer camp compared to growing up in the Hanks household.”
Tucker knew T.J. was right. They’d grown up together in Oregon, and the two boys got acquainted by competing for spots in high school sports teams. They joined their BUD/S class together, but Tucker disengaged after ten years. Brawley re-upped for a short tour and was going to leave as well. Then he met Dorie, so he extended and used the bonus to buy a house. Dorie had a lot to do with that decision.
The rest of the wedding party began to spill out onto the walkway leading to the sanctuary. Blossoming orange trees gave off a gentle and pleasant aroma. Tucker punched Brawley hard in the bicep, nearly knocking him over before he gave the groom and his groomsmen a fat-fingered wave. He was going to find a seat toward the front, but not too close, give himself enough room to spread out in case he fell asleep during the wedding. His goal was to keep his big mouth shut and his eyes glazed over so he could just swim a little with his former Teammates without getting into trouble. That meant he’d keep his hands to himself and wouldn’t ask anyone to dance. He’d also pretend not to look for cleavage or evidence of a proud bony mound or ample ass beneath layers of swirling chiffon and taffeta.
Piece of cake, he thought as he entered the sanctuary. Organ music played, accompanied by a violin and flute combination.
Hospital music.
The two Hanks sisters were dressed in identical maroon dresses with white lace collars, revealing their beanpole stature. Both girls had their long brown hair parted in the middle, tied in a bun at the back of their neck. No curls, ribbons, or sparkles to adorn them. Each had a deep pink lily wrist corsage on their right hands, folded identically next to each other.
The moms were ushered in next. Mrs. Hanks wore a darker shade of maroon, but her brownish grey hair was pulled back similar to her daughters’. Mr. Hanks looked around the room, catching eyes of friends and landing briefly on Tucker’s face. He sat down hard, making the pew squeak.
Dorie’s mom was lead in by Riley Branson. The lady was the same kind of bombshell for the older crowd, and Brawley had told Tucker stories of her younger years growing up in San Diego. Though she was close to sixty, her hair was as blonde as her daughter’s gorgeous locks. She wore a tailored light pink suit with a flared waist jacket covered in glistening crystals that flashed all over the interior of the narthex and the aisle going down. The skirt below her tiny waist didn’t leave much to the imagination. She wasn’t as tall as her daughter, so the high heels were giving her some trouble on the cushy rug.
Dorie’s mother sat next to her already seated boyfriend, an obvious sign that he might not be a permanent fixture in the family, but he gave her a peck on the cheek anyway.
The organ music crescendo rose, and a majestic non-wedding style march was on, signaling that the audience should rise for the bride and her father. Everyone came to their feet, Tucker one of the last to stand. He turned to the narthex and saw beautiful Dorie all decked out in bright white. Ahead of her were several bridesmaids, all Barbies, except for one, who was a big girl with about the largest chest Tucker had ever seen. He found himself praying for a clothing malfunction as she paraded down the aisle with Riley. Her tight bustier looked like it was going to explode any second, which might even knock Riley off his feet. He found himself chuckling under his breath at the image in his head until someone in the row ahead of him turned around with a frown.
But Tucker’s daydream was shattered by the presence of Dorie, looking every bit the virginal angel. She was probably the prettiest bride he’d ever seen. Her veil was loaded with little crystals, like her mother’s suit. By candlelight at the evening service, it created the effect of a thousand little faeries dancing down the aisle all around her. Mr. Carlson looked tanned and about as proud as a father could be, since his daughter was marrying a war hero.
Brawley was gaping and looked pale as the creamy skin on his bride’s beautiful face. His best man whispered something to him, which caused a quick glance to his crotch, followed by an annoyed sigh as he realized his best man was messing with him. He presented his elbow to Dorie as her father kissed her good-bye. Dorie grabbed Brawley’s hand instead.
Tucker prepped himself so that he wouldn’t fall asleep, but found he needed very little help. The girls were ten point fives, even the heavy one. He told himself to stop it several times, but he was used to ranking women in front of him. Dorie would be number one, of course. Then there was that red-head, but the dark-haired heavy one kept catching his eye. He matched them all up to her, and, to his surprise, his dick preferred her.
The Hanks sisters began a duet that was about as bloodless as the middle-aged female lab tech at the VA who actually sported a five o’clock shadow. It was about as pleasant, too. The slightly off-key rendition of a country song he couldn’t remember had people in the audience coughing to clear the pain in their ears. Tucker was going to burst out laughing if he wasn’t careful. He opened a package of gum, made too much noise, and found people frowning at him.
Who cares? He chomped his gum silently and appeared not to notice.
With that out of the way, he tried to concentrate on the words of the reverend’s message to the audience, and that’s when he fell asleep. He startled from a very pleasant dream to find several in the crowd reminding him they still didn’t approve. An older bony fist leaned over his shoulder to hand him a tissue because he had drooled on himself.
Can I help it? Sermons put me to sleep.
Then he noticed the dark-haired plus sized girl staring right at him with daggers. Okay, so he messed that one up. But he wasn’t there to take home a date anyhow, so he shrugged, stopped looking at the girls, and started staring back at the people in the audience who had caught the snoring or grunting or drooling—maybe all three.
I need some spiked punch.
He knew that someone was going to do it. Mrs. Hanks had forbidden alcohol, but she was about to learn a lesson. It was no SEAL wedding if there wasn’t a heavy dose of alcohol.
Come on. Come on. Let’s get the party going.
The rings were exchanged. The kiss was pornographic, as a good SEAL should behave, and included a gentle squeeze of the bride’s ass, which made her giggle when they both got tangled up in her veil. Tucker noticed the big girl didn’t like that, either.
Mercifully, the wedding was over. Brawley and his young nymph floated down the a
isle, followed by the bevy of lovelies, Tucker was suddenly jealous that T.J. had accompanied the brunette. The shit-eating grin he gave Tucker in exchange meant he knew full well what he was doing as his elbow leaned a little deeper into the lady’s chest, which extended her left boob and created about eight inches of mouth-watering cleavage.
I got assholes for friends.
But since T.J. was happily married to the lovely Shannon, Tucker didn’t have to worry about anything.
Except to keep from drooling, get drunk with dignity, and pretend this was a good idea.
Because it wasn’t. He knew he’d made one of the biggest mistakes of his life.
Chapter 2
Brandy was glad the party was beginning. Her plan was to get considerably sauced, dousing and putting out the fires of a disastrous year. She’d been let go earlier in the year for speaking a little too plainly to a customer of the advertising firm. A competing agency hired her the next week—until she found out they were moving their operation to Silicon Valley from San Diego. Her father still owned and operated the local organic grocery store, and so Brandy came back to work for him until something else came on the horizon.
When Dorie asked her to be part of the wedding party, her decision to stay in Southern California was set in stone.
Thinking it would be helpful to meet her diet goals for the wedding she took up a part-time job as a weight loss counselor. The free meal plans and extra income were at first a double bonus. She had some early success, but then her diet stalled and crashed. The food started tasting like cardboard, and she was secretly supplementing with things from her dad’s store. Her lack of progress and her MIA at weigh-ins caused another termination.
But that was last year. This was New Years Eve, and she was going to have a great year. She’d land that dream job after all, get down to a size eight or ten—one she’d never achieved before—and who knows what else could happen? Perhaps Prince Charming would notice her new svelte physique. She’d start lifting weights and perhaps learn to run so she could enter a 5k with Dorie.
She watched the bride and groom glide over the dance floor. The weather was spectacular and clear, surprisingly warm. By candlelight, they swayed and swooned, and there wasn’t a woman in the crowd who didn’t want to trade places with Dorie and her handsome new husband. The hush that fell over the group made her begin to cry. The glittery twinkle lights and silky drapes at the sides of the tent blew in the gentle breeze coming right off the bay.
She approached the group of her fellow bridesmaids and noticed their chatter stopped the instant she was upon them. Several brittle smiles greeted her.
“Having a good time, Brandy?” asked one of them.
“Isn’t it the most gorgeous wedding you’ve ever seen?” she answered, aware she was gushing like a schoolgirl.
“I’m looking at all the eye candy,” one of the other girls remarked, nodding to the group of nearly twenty young men, all fit and handsome, dressed in black tuxes and suits.
“Your Randy is deployed, Sheila. You can look, but better not touch.”
“I hear that the guys on SEAL Team 5 don’t have much to do with these boys. They’re all Team 3.”
Brandy was disgusted with her attitude, but the rest of the crowd tittered, and closed ranks. Soon she was left alone as they wafted off to grab some punch. On the way, two girls were asked to join the dance floor, as other couples from the partygoers began to pour into the revelry. In a matter of minutes, the bride and groom were hidden by other dancers. When the tune turned lively, the dance floor got even more crowded.
Earlier, she’d watched one of the SEALs on Brawley’s team add some rum to the punch, along with something else, so she was fairly sure it would be strong. But just in case, she had a flask of brandy, her namesake and always a good companion in case the evening turned lonely.
She checked her watch as she headed to the punch and saw it was forty-five to midnight, the beginning of the New Year. Soon all those bad dreams of this year would be wiped away forever.
As she reached for a glass, another hand crossed hers. In the collision, several drinks fell to the floor, and several more fell over on themselves on the pretty lace tablecloth, making a light pink stain. The hand she’d collided with could easily palm a basketball or clean off a windshield with one swipe. Enormous beefy fingers, dripping in the sweet mixture, shook, sending droplets of punch all over her face and upper chest. The surprising spritzer caught her off guard.
A deep voice made an apology to the plain woman behind the punchbowl who looked like she’d faint from fear. Then the voice came her way.
“So sorry. I didn’t mean to make a mess.”
It was the beast from the sanctuary, the one who reminded her of Shrek. And now he even sounded like Shrek. She stared up at massive shoulders and a puffed out chest so large he could have trouble getting through a doorway without going sideways. He wasn’t young, like the other men, with a healthy dose of salt and pepper in his hair and a solid white full beard. It was a lot to take in, but she finally found his eyes, and that settled her nerves just a bit.
“Are you okay?” he whispered. His warm eyes twinkled and were kind.
“Y-Y-Yes.” Then she felt the coolness of the punch covering her. “Napkin.”
It was quickly delivered to her flailing hand.
“Another one. I need another one,” she said since the small napkin began to fall apart as she dabbed her face.
He handed her a fistful nearly an inch thick.
“Oh! That’s too many,” she mumbled, but took the wad anyway.
“You got a lot on your-your-your chest there. I hope it doesn’t stain.” He pulled her aside to make way for one of the caterers to mop up the floor.
The slip made her angry. He gave her a fistful of napkins because of the size of her chest. She turned her back to him and continued to dab off the droplets dripping down between her breasts. Out of the corner of her eye she saw one of the other bridesmaids whisper to her neighbor.
She abruptly turned again so she could address the monster, but the area was vacant. She caught sight of his back and head as he ducked under the tent cover and walked out into the night.
The young catering staff member brought her a filled cup of punch. “Here you go. Don’t be concerned about this. That guy looks like an accident waiting to happen. Not your fault.”
“Thanks.” It was all she could think of to say.
The punch was indeed strong, and Brandy discovered upon finishing it that, although she was relaxed, her breathing was still just as difficult. She tried not to think about the help she’d needed getting the big undergarment on before the bustier could go on. It took two of the bridesmaids to work alternating to get the large zipper to close. At one point, she thought her breasts would reach her chin, but she was able to position herself until she was somewhat comfortable. The bustier was easier, since it closed with a row of large hooks and eyes.
She wobbled her way to the women’s restroom and reapplied lipstick, really laying it on heavy. She loved the bright red shade of her new purchase. Adding a little blush, removing two dried droplets of punch, and rinsing her dress with a little water, she felt put together and ready to take on the world. It was only twenty minutes to midnight. All this would go into the folder of old news in just a little while.
Brawley was standing at the edge of the dance floor, watching his friends taking turns dancing with his bride.
“She’s lovely, Brawley. I’m surprised you share her,” she said and smiled.
The handsome SEAL had always been nice to her. Her crush on him was hard to hide. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Well then, let’s make her jealous. You game?”
When he leaned back to check her expression, she gave him the biggest smile she could muster.
“Game on, mister.”
They danced a modified swing to a lively Motown classic. She knew Brawley had benefitted from the instructions he had taken with Dorie. Brandy had tak
en lessons with her father after her mother passed. The two of them moved around the floor like a choreographed routine, causing a clapping circle to be formed around them. Brawley’s bow tie was undone, as were the top two buttons on his shirt. Brandy wished she could remove or disconnect something, too, but in the end, she stopped just long enough to take off her shoes and throw them into the corner. Brawley swung her around with his powerful arms. She felt lighter than air.
This is a good way to usher in the new year.
Finally the music ended and the crowd cheered them. Brawley gave her a big bear hug that nearly toppled them both. She regained her balance, and, breathing heavy, she accepted his polite kiss to her cheek—a cheek she would hate to wash off.
Dorie was smiling as she re-attached herself to her beau, using his handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his forehead. All Brandy could do was watch them.
The room seemed to rumble behind her, but it was only the sound of the beast’s voice.
“Tell you what. I’ll go kidnap Dorie, and then you can have him.”
Even the hair at the back of her neck stood straight out. Her shoulders felt the tiny beads of moist breath against her flesh. It set up a vibration that traveled briefly down her spine. It was a curious reaction, especially for someone so beast-like.
Upon turning, she faced his warm brown eyes again. They were still twinkling little laugh lines evident at the sides. Somewhere the bevy of bridesmaids and their friends were laughing, and she didn’t care.
“That would never work. Brawley would be too heartbroken. He’d probably throw himself off the Coronado Bridge.” Her tongue nearly stuck to the roof of her mouth. “I need something to drink.”
“I think we should try this punch thing again, don’t you?” His voice was gentle, almost melodic, but very, very deep. She felt the words vibrate in her chest.
“Yes, let’s try to do it better this time. I think they’re out of napkins,” she answered.
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