Game Changer

by Beth Orsoff

  Mark groaned and turned to Jake. “Help me out here, buddy.”

  Jake reluctantly pulled his gaze from the view of the Pacific, which was stunning from the deck of the Solomons’ beach house. “Hey, I’m just the organizer. I didn’t make anyone do anything they didn’t want to do.” And he definitely hadn’t forced the groom to get so drunk that he spent the night passed out on his parents’ front lawn. Poor kid. He probably would’ve gotten away with it if his mother hadn’t found him puking in her azaleas when she’d stepped outside to grab the newspaper.

  “Enabler is more like it,” Rita said and stormed off into the house.

  Jake returned his attention to the ocean. The future Dr. and Mrs. Solomon had gotten lucky with the weather. The marine layer had burned off early today, and Jake could see all the way from Malibu to the tip of Palos Verdes.

  “Give me that,” Mark said and grabbed the drink out of Jake’s hand. He took a swallow then cringed. “Why didn’t you tell me it was tomato juice?”

  Jake thought it was obvious that the tomato-red liquid in his glass was actually tomato juice. “What the hell did you think it was?”

  “A Bloody Mary!”

  Jake laughed. “Sorry, buddy. The bartender’s not here yet. I scored this off the caterer.”

  “Speaking of scoring,” Mark said and wiggled his eyebrows.

  Jake rolled his eyes. “Can you at least try not to be such a dork?”

  “Yeah, well, we’ll see how much of a player you are when you’ve got a wife and three kids.”

  They both heard the plaintive wail of “Daaaaddy, Holden took Mr. Pink and won’t give it back!”

  Mark sighed and handed Jake the near-empty glass. “Duty calls.” Then he turned toward the house and slowly made his way up the steps.

  Jake couldn’t imagine living Mark’s life. He liked kids, but he liked his freedom more. In fact, he loved his freedom. And he had no intention of giving it up.

  Jake surreptitiously scanned his email as the bridal party made its way down the aisle. It wasn’t until he heard the shuffling of hundreds of feet that he looked up. Everyone around him was standing and glancing back, so he did too.

  What he saw took his breath away. The bride was beautiful, but Jake was staring at the woman standing next to her.

  Chapter 11

  Samantha

  The sun was shining, a light breeze was blowing, and standing under a trellis of white roses at the precipice of a cliff overlooking the ocean, a handsome groom awaited the arrival of his beautiful bride. Everything was perfect—except for the pre-nup, which was still sitting in my briefcase unsigned. But I wasn’t going to think about that now. I’d already decided to convert it to a post-nup. I’d badger my sister to sign it when she returned from her honeymoon.

  “You ready?” I asked.

  Whitney let out a slow breath. “Ready.”

  “And you sure you want me to walk down with you? Because it’s not too late for you to change your mind.” I’d have to run down the aisle myself first so I could be there waiting for her, but I’d do it.

  “Yes, I want you to give me away.”

  “I’m not giving you to anyone. You’re not chattel. You’re entering into this of your own free will. Unless you’re having second thoughts, in which case—”

  She slipped her arm through mine and yanked hard. “For once in your life, Samantha, can you just shut up and smile?”

  For once in my life, I did. But only because it was my sister’s wedding day.

  The walk down the aisle was a blur for me, so I could only imagine how surreal it was for Whitney. All two hundred guests stood and stared. I recognized a few of Whitney’s friends, but most of the crowd were strangers to me. I presumed they were friends or family of the Solomons.

  A rabbi and a minister jointly performed the ceremony, then Michael stomped on a glass, and the guests erupted in shouts of “Mazel tov.” I’d attended Jewish weddings before, so I was expecting it, but Whitney seemed surprised. Or maybe it was the shock of realizing she was now someone’s wife. Of course, that title wasn’t necessarily permanent.

  After the ceremony we all moved to the patio for cocktails. I stood at the railing of the deck and stared out at the ocean. Late afternoon had always been my favorite time of day at the beach. The sun was just beginning to dip toward the horizon, and the water shimmered like crystal.

  “You look gorgeous,” Jenna said, joining me.

  “Whitney looks gorgeous,” I replied, nodding at my sister as she smiled for pictures with her new husband. In her form-fitting strapless gown, her hair in a chignon, and perfect makeup, she looked like a red-carpet movie star. I, on the other hand… “I look okay.”

  “You look more than okay. Whatever those guys used on you, you should buy it!”

  My sister had hired a professional hair and makeup team to prepare us. But I knew it was their skill and not their products that had transformed me. I used the same shampoo, conditioner, and serum as my hairdresser, but my long locks still never looked as good as when he blew them dry. Of course, my hairdresser spent half an hour styling my thick mane, and I lost patience after five minutes.

  “Where’s Tanner?” Jenna had been going through a bad-boy phase for the last few months. Tanner was her latest—all leather and tattoos. He’d definitely stand out in this crowd of cocktail dresses and dark suits.

  “I thought Jeffrey would be a better fit, so I brought him instead. He’s getting the drinks.”

  Jeffrey was her ex who she still slept with sometimes and occasionally brought to functions when she needed a date.

  “I bet that made your mother happy.” Despite the fact that they’d broken up over a year ago, Jenna’s mom was still holding out hope that her daughter would come to her senses and marry the eligible bachelor before it was too late.

  “It’s good to throw the woman a bone every now and then.”

  We both laughed, then accepted mini crab cakes from a passing waiter.

  “So,” Jenna said as I ate and she scoped out the nearby guests, “any prospects?”

  I swallowed my mouthful of crab. “I’m not trolling at my sister’s wedding!”

  “Why not?” she said, then broke off a bite of crab cake and popped it into her mouth.

  I should’ve followed her lead. I’d bitten into mine and now I was trying to unobtrusively suck shards of crabmeat out of my teeth. “Because I prefer not to be a cliché,” I mumbled.

  “Isn’t it better to be a cliché than to spend another night with your vibrator?”

  I was about to ask why she assumed I owned a vibrator (I did, but I didn’t advertise that fact, not even to Jenna), when Whitney grabbed my arm. “Sam, we need you for pictures.”

  Jenna clicked her fingernail against one of her incisors, signaling where I’d missed a spot, and I wiped it with a napkin as Whitney dragged me away.

  After dozens of photos with me and Whitney, me and Whitney and the rest of the bridesmaids, me and Whitney and Michael and his best man, and me and Whitney and the entire Solomon clan, I was allowed to return to the party. I searched for Jenna but I couldn’t find her, so I headed to the bar.

  Whitney had been right about the run this morning. Painful as it had been, after three miles, a shower, a plate of greasy bacon and eggs, and a nap, I felt like myself again.

  There were two people in line in front of me, both men in dark suits. The first one ordered a gin and tonic and a glass of white wine. When the bartender handed him his drinks, he headed down to the lower deck, where I assumed his date was waiting for him. The second man ordered a Jack and Coke and a glass of champagne. But, to my great surprise, when the bartender passed him the champagne glass, he turned around and handed it to me.

  “Thanks,” I said, mainly because I didn’t know what else to say. He hadn’t even asked if I wanted a drink.

  “I thought I’d save you the trouble,” he replied.

  After last night’s binge, I’d intended to order a club soda.
But since it was still my sister’s wedding day, I decided to continue with her advice. I shut my mouth and smiled. This guy was cute! And unlike most of the men here, he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

  “You look beautiful, by the way.”

  “Thanks,” I said again and hoped the copious amounts of makeup I was wearing would hide my blush. The way he was looking at me… I felt tingly all over.

  “I don’t think I ever told you my name. Jake Jensen.”

  I shook his outstretched hand, which was just as strong and smooth as it appeared, and for a moment I imagined that hand touching other parts of my body. Oh my. “Samantha Haller."

  “And Whitney’s your sister.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Yes. I assume you’re a friend of the groom.” I knew he wasn’t family, or at least not close family, because he hadn’t attended the rehearsal dinner.

  “Tangentially. I’m a friend of his brother-in-law, Mark, and I once dated his sister, Rita.”

  I’d definitely be hitting her up for details. So far all I knew about him was his name, his preferred drink, the fact that he didn’t wear a wedding ring (which I did not automatically assume meant he was unmarried), and that he had thick dark hair I wanted to run my fingers through, a gorgeous smile with a deep dimple on one side, and he looked great in a suit, although most men did. “That must be a little awkward.”

  He gave me a quizzical look.

  “Having slept with your friend’s wife.” Oooh, I shouldn’t have said that. All he’d told me was that they’d dated. I’d made the mental leap that they’d had sex. Probably because I couldn’t imagine dating this man and not having sex with him. Or at least not wanting to. He oozed sex appeal.

  “Only the one time. Not that it wasn’t good,” he quickly added.

  “I’m sure Rita will be very happy to hear that.”

  He cringed. “Wow, that came out wrong. What I meant to say was that it was a very brief relationship that happened a long time ago, and I couldn’t be happier that she and Mark found each other.”

  I laughed. “Much better.”

  “It’s your fault, you know. There’s something about being in your presence that leaves me tongue-tied.”

  I’d heard that sentiment before but always in a work context, usually from someone I was cross-examining. This was the first time anyone had ever said it to me in a social setting. “Thank you. I think.”

  “I meant it as a compliment.”

  He was staring at me so intensely I had to look away. I waited until he turned his attention back to the party before I checked him out again. I approved of everything: the hair, the smile, and those eyes! Two pools of dark chocolate surrounded by a thick fringe of lashes. Swoon-worthy, Whitney would say.

  “Maybe we—” I said, at the same time he said, “Would you—” We both laughed. It happened twice more until I finally said, “You first.”

  “I was just going to ask if you’d like to sit down.”

  Amazing! I was going to ask him the same. These shoes were much more comfortable than the ones I’d worn the night before, which I must’ve forgotten in the limo because I couldn’t find them anywhere in the house, but I’d been standing for hours. “I’d love to. My feet are killing me.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  What an odd thing to say.

  Chapter 12

  Jake

  Jake still couldn’t believe that the demure woman standing next to him was the same lusty girl who’d given him a hard-on with her feet last night. Although to be fair, he’d gotten the hard-on before she’d begun the toe massage. The foot job, as he now thought of it, had just brought him to the brink.

  She’d left him with blue balls last night, but he intended to rectify that this evening. He was glad he’d booked a room at the nearby hotel where the rest of the bridal party was staying. She was probably staying there too, which would make this even easier.

  He was leading her to a secluded spot on the lower deck he’d spied from the railing above when a waiter stopped him. “Sir, if you wouldn’t mind.” He pointed toward the lawn. “The reception’s about to begin.”

  Screw the reception. He was getting hard just thinking about her feet in his lap again. “That’s okay,” Jake said. “We like to be fashionably late.”

  “No, we don’t.” Samantha pushed her untouched champagne glass into his hand. “Sorry, but I need to help my sister with her dress. Find me later.” Then she kicked off her shoes—clear with rhinestones or crystals or something shiny—gathered them in one hand, and sprinted toward the huge white tent covering the far side of the lawn.

  “Cinderella,” Jake muttered, staring at the spot where Samantha had just been standing.

  “Excuse me, sir?” the waiter replied.

  “Nothing.” He downed her untouched champagne, handed the empty glass to the waiter, then followed her path to the reception.

  Then he realized she couldn’t be Cinderella this time since she’d taken her shoes with her.

  Then again, he was no Prince Charming.

  Jake had no trouble finding her at the reception since she was seated next to the bride. Unfortunately he’d ended up at the “extras” table—the one where the host stuck all the random guests who didn’t fit anywhere else—which was on the opposite side of the tent. He tried to approach her several times but kept getting sidetracked by friends and the Solomons’ well-meaning family. He finally made it to her table during the lull between the entree and dessert.

  He was about to grab the empty seat next to hers (someone was either on the dance floor or in the restroom, and he didn’t care which so long as they didn’t return any time soon), when Mark clapped him on the shoulder. “Jake, buddy, where have you been all night?”

  “Over there.” He nodded to the far corner of the tent.

  “Well, take a load off,” Mark said and pulled out the empty chair next to his.

  Jake locked eyes with Samantha, who was sitting four seats away. Mark was oblivious, but Rita wasn’t. She glanced from Jake to Samantha and back to Jake again. Then she grabbed Mark’s hand. “Honey, let’s dance.”

  “But we just sat down.”

  “Now, Mark.” She hoisted him to his feet.

  “Sorry, bud,” Mark said and followed his wife to the dance floor.

  “Alone at last,” Jake said, sliding onto Rita’s chair, which was only one away from Samantha’s.

  “Not exactly,” she said, nodding at Emma, Mark and Rita’s daughter, who was curled up in a ball on her other side.

  “Don’t worry, nothing wakes that kid up. Honorary uncle,” he supplied before she could ask. “So where were we?”

  “I believe we were about to sit down. But we’ve already accomplished that.”

  “Yes, we have.” Then he reached under the tablecloth and grabbed her ankles, intending to guide her already bare feet into his lap, but she kicked his hands away.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Giving you a foot rub. You said your feet were killing you.”

  “That doesn’t mean I want some stranger touching them!”

  Stranger? “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”

  “Last night?”

  “At the club.” Then it occurred to him—he’d never blacked out from drinking, but he knew people who had. “You don’t remember?”

  “Remember what?” she said and tucked her feet farther under her chair so they were now out of view.

  Shit. She must think I’m a total dick. “I’m really sorry. I never would’ve touched you if you hadn’t…”

  “Hadn’t what?”

  “Forget it.” This evening was definitely not going to go as planned.

  “No, tell me. Please.”

  He knew he should keep his mouth shut. There was no upside to informing her. She’d only want to shoot the messenger. Then he glanced down at her cleavage, and at that moment, all he could think about was how much he wanted to nuzzle those perfectly r
ound breasts. “You said you wanted to sleep with me.”

  “Excuse me!” she shouted.

  Emma stirred but didn’t wake, and Jake lowered his voice. “Listen, I get it. A year is a long time to go without sex. I mean, I could never last that long.”

  She jumped up from her chair, and even in the dim light from the lanterns, he could see her face had turned red. “You obviously have me confused with someone else.”

  He stood up too. “Samantha—”

  “Stop,” she said and thrust her arm out in front of her even though he was still three feet away. “You don’t know me. I don’t know you. We never met before tonight.” Then she spun away from him and ran out of the tent.

  Chapter 13

  Samantha

  I spied Jenna on the edge of the dance floor and grabbed her arm.

  “Where are we going?” she asked as I literally pried her away from Jeffrey.

  “I don’t know,” I said, dragging her with me to the exit.

  “If you don’t know, then why are we in such a hurry?”

  When my bare feet hit the damp grass, I stopped and spun around. “How could you?”

  “How could I what?”

  I knew I wasn’t making sense, but none of this did. “I can’t believe my best friend and my sister conspired against me.”

  “Conspired against you? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I would’ve thought one of you would’ve had the decency to tell me what happened last night and not let me find out from a stranger. Although I guess he’s not a stranger anymore, seeing as I told him I wanted to sleep with him. And apparently I also told him I hadn’t had sex in a year, and he’s politely offered to oblige.”

  “Whoa. The guy from the club is here at the wedding?” She turned back toward the tent, but there was a group of waiters blocking the entrance, obscuring her view. When she turned around again, she was still shaking her head. “What are the odds?”

  “That’s all you can say—what are the odds? How about ‘I’m sorry I let you make a fool of yourself, Samantha?’”