The Wedding Party

by Tracey Richardson

  Dani puffed her chest out adorably, possessively. “I don’t think we need any help from these things.”

  “Accessories never hurt, darlings. Take it from me. In fact, if you don’t need those handcuffs after tonight, I’d be glad to take them off your hands.”

  Claire pointed at Jordan. “You’ll have to fight her for them if you want them.”

  Jordan shot Claire a menacing look, and Shannon thought, oh no, poor Claire. You’ll never get the last laugh with Jordan.

  “I have plenty more where those came from, Claire, so I am more than happy to let you have them. In fact, they haven’t even been broken in yet. Perhaps you’d like to give them a go tonight? I’m sure you can find someone willing to help you out. In fact, I’m more than sure.”

  Sparks were now flying, the claws out, and Claire began huffing and stammering. Well, you did walk into that one, Shannon thought with amusement.

  She turned her face up to Dani and kissed her long and hard on the mouth, drawing a few oohs and ahs and a loud woohoo from the drag queen. She didn’t often go for public displays of affection—it wasn’t really her nature—but she wanted to give Dani a possessive, melting kiss at that moment, and undeniably it was partly to reassure herself that Dani was still hers.

  “What’s that for?” Dani asked in a sultry voice that indicated the kiss had turned her on.

  “Just because I love you.”

  “I love you too, but I think I need more of those kisses. Like how about every ten minutes?”

  Shannon laughed. “I’ll see what I can do, darling.”

  “Good. I’m going to hold you to it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Claire

  The casino at the Golden Nugget was every bit as disagreeable as any other casino to Claire. Noisy, smoky, full of weak souls with nothing better to do. It wasn’t that she had a moral aversion to gambling; she considered it a mindless waste of time that was potentially dangerous if it got out of hand. Looking around, she supposed Ann would have liked it here with its collection of interesting people, and the thought caused her to lighten her censorious grip a little. Ann had loved to people-watch, and being the competitive sort, she’d probably have tried her hand at a little inexpensive gambling. Claire, however, would much rather sit and read a book or do just about anything than mindlessly pull the lever of a slot machine. As for the rest—blackjack, roulette, craps—she hadn’t the foggiest idea of how to play them.

  Jordan guided them to a roulette table and ordered them to plunk down twenty bucks apiece for twenty one-dollar chips. They obeyed—Claire the most reluctant of them all—and bet their chips on Dani and Shannon’s wedding date, which was the number three for the month of March and the number twelve for the day, as well as both women’s birthdays.

  Amanda turned to Claire and in an urgent whisper asked, “What’s your birth date?”

  “Oh, no. I’m not going to contribute any further to this delinquency.”

  “Like hell,” Jordan interrupted before promptly ratting her out and telling Amanda that her birthday was April 2.

  “Good, thank you.” Amanda smiled triumphantly and placed a chip on the numbers four and two.

  Petulantly, Claire made a face at Jordan. Could she not get away with anything since she’d fessed up about her crush on Amanda? Well, crush wasn’t exactly the right word. It was more like a fondness and a mild attraction, or maybe a friendly attraction. A passionate friendship? Whatever the phrase, it was harmless and under control, innocent and certainly nothing for Jordan or anyone else to make a big deal about. And yet a tiny part of her felt guilty, like she held a provocative secret or had been caught doing something illicit, like the time she and her best friend had played house underneath her bed on her seventh birthday, kissing clumsily in their own rendition of being husband and wife. A guilty pleasure, that’s what this was.

  Amanda brushed against her in the excitement of the roulette wheel nearing the end of its spin. Oh, God, Claire thought with a pulse of her own excitement that started in her crotch and shot straight to her throat. Okay, so maybe it’s a little more than a mild attraction, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Jordan would tell her she simply needed to get laid, that her hormones were flaring up because she’d not had regular sex in such a long time. Well, that might be true, but she was not about to do the one-night stand thing again, nor was she interested in dating anyone—especially not a young woman who was her best friend’s niece. So for now, she was stuck with this sudden and unwanted awakening of her libido. And if it would not go back to sleep, well then perhaps she’d better get busy with herself, and soon.

  Claire’s heart continued to pound and she dared not speak because her voice would surely come out tight and high-pitched like a little girl’s, giving away the fact that she was putty in Amanda’s hands. When the little ball and the wheel finally came to a stop, Amanda let out a squeal and squeezed Claire’s arm until it hurt. The winning number was two—Claire’s birthday.

  “I knew it!” Amanda yelled, hopping around in a little victory dance. “I knew you would be my lucky charm!”

  She’d bet two dollars on Claire’s birthday and now the dealer slid a pile of chips worth seventy dollars her way.

  “How about sharing a little of that luck,” Heather suggested hopefully. “In fact, screw Dani and Shannon’s lucky numbers. What are your other lucky numbers, Claire?”

  “No way,” Claire protested. “I’m not going to be responsible for your winning or losing, thank you very much!”

  Shannon joined in by announcing that Claire’s jersey number from her hockey playing days had been seventeen. Claire tried for a withering look, but Shannon looked so damned excited and happy in those silly pink handcuffs, so she shrugged her resignation instead.

  “Seventeen it is,” Heather announced, and they all towered a bunch of one-dollar chips on the number, except for Claire, who accepted a glass of wine from the young waitress making the rounds. She was drinking a lot this week. More than she’d probably drunk in quite a while, but what the hell. What was Vegas without a little alcohol after all? And a little gambling, much as she hated to admit it. The business of winning had some merit to it. Who knew it could almost be fun.

  Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when seventeen hit for the win. The group shrieked and carried on like they’d just won millions.

  “Oh my God, Claire, you’re a natural!” Jordan enthused. “Who would have thought you were the reckless type?”

  “It’s always the quiet ones you have to watch out for,” Dani interjected. “You should know that by now, Jordan.”

  “You’re right,” Jordan said, slipping a wink to Claire. “It’s always the innocent looking ones who are full of trouble. Right Claire?”

  She caught Amanda looking at her like she wanted Claire to mix up a little one-on-one trouble with her. Oh Jesus, Amanda, you have to stop looking at me like that or your aunt’s going to catch on. She swallowed the desire in her throat. “You’re not going to become a gambler now to finance your way through college, are you?” Claire wasn’t entirely kidding. Amanda was smart, sensible, had a good head on her shoulders, but if she was going to be seduced by gambling after this little experiment, Claire was going to bloody well kill Jordan.

  “No.” Amanda laughed reassuringly, touching her arm again in that pleasing, affectionate way she had. “But I am enjoying this little windfall. In fact, I’m enjoying a lot of things about this week. It’s been full of surprises.” She turned soft, shining eyes on Claire. “Wonderful surprises, as it turns out.”

  Claire felt naked in a room full of clothed people, sure that everyone could see the sparks between them. She especially didn’t want Shannon to notice anything. God, what would Shannon think of this . . . this thing between us? It was taboo, both the age difference and the fact that Amanda was Shannon’s niece. And while forbidden relationships could be thrilling and seductive, it wasn’t that way for Claire. She wasn’t trying to be a rebel.
She connected with Amanda, loved spending time with her, because spending time with her was so effortless and so natural. Joyful too. They had a great time whenever they were together. In fact, Claire couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this light, this free of the burden of grief she’d been carrying around for so long, as if she might have permanent imprints from it. There was nothing inappropriate about this bond, and yet, she couldn’t help but feel naughty whenever she positioned herself for Amanda to touch her, as she did now, or when she’d welcomed the hug in the car and her body had responded with a mind of its own. It was absolutely prohibited that her hormones should do a happy dance whenever she and Amanda touched, and yet, she couldn’t not touch Amanda or be touched by her, and she couldn’t not respond. She was the moth to Amanda’s flame, the blossom reaching out to her sunshine. She was young and alive and full of spirit whenever she was around Amanda. She sighed in frustration, unsure and unwilling to stop all this, but unwilling to fully accept it all too.

  An hour or so later, she was caught totally off guard in the hot tub when Shannon, slipping into the water beside her, leaned close and whispered, “Claire, do you think Amanda is happy?”

  Claire blinked stupidly. “What?” Amanda was still in the change room and Dani, handcuffed to Shannon, chatted loudly and obliviously to Heather on the other side of her.

  “She told me today that she married her girlfriend in California, but it didn’t work out and now they’re trying to get divorced.”

  Good, Claire thought, instantly proud of Amanda for having gone through with it, but she played dumb for Shannon’s benefit. “Wow. That’s pretty surprising news. How do you feel about that?”

  “You mean after I got over the shock? I was hurt she hadn’t told me sooner, but it’s her life. She’s a big girl who can make her own decisions, and she’s mature enough to handle it when those decisions don’t work out. I just want her to be happy. You’ve spent a lot of time with her this week—a lot more than I have. Do you think she’s happy?”

  How does anybody really know whether someone else is happy? It was a loaded question, but Amanda certainly seemed happy in her company this week. She’d been through a lot the last couple of years, and before that with her mother’s death, and so it was understandable that Shannon was concerned about her. “Yes,” she answered simply. “I think she’s reasonably happy.”

  “I hope so. She deserves to be, you know?”

  Yes, Claire thought, I do know.

  “And so do you,” was Shannon’s stern admonition.

  “I’ll take that under advisement.” God damn, was that some kind of permission she’d just been given? Was she trying to say it was okay for the two of them to be happy together? Or was it just a coincidental juxtaposition?

  “I’ll tell you something,” Shannon said, a menacing edge to her voice. “The next woman who hurts her, I’ll kick her ass.”

  Claire wanted to laugh, relieved because she knew it would never be herself hurting Amanda. She would never hurt Amanda.

  The wine was making her introspective, but when Amanda emerged and walked gracefully—sexily—to the hot tub, all introspection went down the drain. The sight before her rendered Claire completely speechless and paralyzed. For all she knew her mouth was hanging open and drool was spilling down her chin and into the hot rushing water. Amanda wore an emerald green two-piece bathing suit Claire had never seen before, and it was especially revealing and singularly sexy. The fabric was shiny and smooth over her luscious breasts, which swelled in firm twin mounds Claire itched to put her hands on. Her stomach was tight and slender—ah, youth!—and the bikini bottom dipped low and provocatively over her hips and into her nether regions. Claire sucked in her breath when Amanda chose the spot on the other side of her to sit down, and she wondered crazily if Amanda had worn this bathing suit just for her. Well, if she had, she’d surely gotten Claire’s attention and she’d surely noticed Claire’s eyes following her so closely.

  “Goddamn,” Heather whined loudly. “If I had your body Amanda, I sure as hell wouldn’t be sitting in a hot tub right now with a bunch of old hags!”

  “Hey!” Jordan protested. “Speak for yourself! Not all old hags are created equal, you know.”

  “All right, all right,” Shannon chided before turning to Claire. “Claire, I think you might need to be Amanda’s bodyguard tonight, or at least for as long as she’s wearing that . . . that . . . God, does it even qualify as a bathing suit, Amanda?”

  “Yes, Aunt Shannon, it does, I promise.”

  Jordan was shooting Claire all kinds of shit-eating grins and her eyebrows were dancing on her forehead like they were in the middle of a disco competition. Great. Jordan could be such an ass sometimes—crude, exasperating, ill behaved. But no matter what her antics, she’d forever endeared herself to Claire after Ann’s death, when she’d offered to take the boxes of Ann’s clothes and give them to charity when Claire didn’t have the strength to deal with them. Other things she’d done for Claire too—helped her write notes to people after the funeral, made sure her cupboards were full of groceries. And so she wasn’t truly peeved at Jordan now, she just hoped she’d keep her mouth shut.

  Claire closed her eyes, let the warm churning water soothe her skin, and luxuriated in the warmth of Amanda’s bare shoulder and thigh that were warm and soft against hers. Soon her skin was on fire. She let her mind wander. It was the wine and champagne—she was half drunk—so it wasn’t really her fault that she wanted Amanda’s hand on her leg. Wanted that hand to possessively, lovingly, run up and down her thigh and then, feather light, come to rest between her legs. Oh, God! One touch like that, she imagined, and she would probably come right there against Amanda’s hand. Her every nerve ending was on fire, and only Amanda’s touch could put out the flames. It was never going to happen of course, not in a million years, but for now, her head lolled back against the hot tub and her eyes firmly closed, she imagined a different truth—one where she and Amanda could indulge in what their bodies hinted at and ached for. No consequences, nothing forbidden, just love and lust all rolled into the sweetest, deepest orgasm ever.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jordan

  Jordan was having way more fun than she’d expected. Being a lovesick idiot should have left her miserable, but the alcohol and the antics of the bachelor party had done their magic and lifted her spirits. She’d made herculean efforts to shove thoughts of Dez to the very outer limits of her mind and simply enjoy the evening and the company of her friends. She felt almost normal again. Almost.

  She’d purposely kept the party fairly tame. Until now that is, she thought wickedly. The final coup de grace for the evening would be a visit to a gay and lesbian dance club. Well, that part wasn’t going to be the pinnacle—the exotic dancer hired to do a lap dance for the brides was going to be the crowning glory. Wait til they get a load of that, they’re going to die!

  Jordan made sure Dani and Shannon were seated comfortably at a small table. They were completely unaware, like lambs before the slaughter, and she smirked to herself as she waited for the song “Naughty Girl” to start, which was the cue for Jessie, the bra-bursting, spectacular-looking blonde she’d hired for the job. Oh yeah, it was going to be so much fun unleashing Jessie on the unsuspecting wedding party, and Jessie, she was sure, would be more than worth the two hundred bucks she’d paid her for the little show.

  Beyonce and L’il Kim’s duet began blasting from the speakers when Jessie strode purposefully up to Dani and Shannon, trailing her little whip behind her. She was dressed in black fishnet stockings and a little leather bra and matching thong. She wore a red leather cape that matched her scarlet lips, and she stood tall and menacingly before the group, black stilettos spread apart in a challenge.

  Oh yeah, this is going to be good!

  She saw the amusement flash across Dani’s face—Dani knew a good time when she saw it—and a look of subtle surprise settle on Shannon. Dani and Shannon were cool and would t
ake it in stride. Heather, party girl that she was, predictably whooped and cheered on the dancer. She would undoubtedly whip herself into a frenzy pretty soon. Claire—poor Claire!—was trying her best to shrink into invisibility, horror widening her eyes. Well, Claire could act horrified and disgusted all she wanted, but she was as much a sexual being as the rest of them. She needed to loosen up a little, let herself experience the world around her a little more, take people for what they were and worry less about the consequences and the judgment people were quick to cruelly dole out. Jordan’s glance flicked to Amanda, who calmly and somewhat drunkenly smiled and sat back to appraise the little show. Amanda was the cautious type who thought carefully before she spoke or acted. Or so it seemed. But there was a tendril of wildness in the young woman that indicated she knew how to live, knew how to take the occasional chance in life. She’d probably be a good influence on Claire, if Claire would let her.

  The dancer shook her cape loose and twirled it to the floor. Her hips gyrated in time to the music, the thin leather whip cascaded seductively around her legs, and a full pout swelled her scarlet lips. She blew kisses at the wedding party, then, one by one, snaked her whip around each of the women’s shoulders. Dani and Shannon played along, good sports that they were, and laughed loudly at all the appropriate moments. Heather bounced in her seat like she was raring to join Jessie in the dance. Claire was taking a different tact now, trying hard to look nonchalant, as though she were used to this sort of thing—that this was nothing. Amanda’s eyes flicked curiously between Claire and the dancer; she was sizing up the situation, seeing how much Claire could handle, Jordan guessed. A good-natured crowd began forming around them, laughing, clapping, encouraging. Jordan had cleared the little dance job with the bar’s management, since it was a regular nightclub and not a strip joint. She’d even greased the manager’s palm with a couple of hundred dollars to seal the deal. It was just one song and one dance and she wasn’t going to get completely naked. What harm could it cause?