by Melissa Blue
“You would notice.” Abigail smiled back at him. “Congratulations. Can’t wait to meet the lucky woman.”
“You’d rather get your toenails pulled out with pliers.” He chuckled. “I can promise you’ll hate her down to her Chanel pearls, but I love her, Abby. I adore her down to her Chanel pearls.”
There it is. The knot eased in her gut. Maybe guilt played a little part in her coming to the wedding. When you break someone’s heart into a million unidentifiable pieces, you worry about them. One might even feel like crap, too, for having done the breaking. One might think, maybe, I’ll be the one who screws him up for the rest of the world.
So, Abigail might have skewed him. She had that effect on men, but he was fine. She let out a quiet breath. “She put that look on your face. I like her already,” and the words were sincere.
The music grew louder and he turned his head to the front. Drew met his cousin’s gaze and tapped his watch. Greg stood. “That’s my cue.” He started to leave and stopped to lean over the pew. In a whisper, he added, “Watch out for my mom.”
“Already alert.” He raised one hand in good-bye and then walked away without turning around. “That was so adult of me,” she said to her friends.
“It was,” Emma agreed.
Abigail nodded. “So you know what that means?”
“You have to get incredibly drunk at the reception?” Sasha asked.
“It’s the only way to balance the scales.” The hairs along Abigail’s arms stood up.
Her gaze went straight to the front of the church. Instead of latching onto Greg, her gaze went to Drew. A slow smile started at the corner of his mouth. It seemed to promise debauchery and many, many sinful things she should not be thinking about her ex-fiancé’s cousin. Her heart skipped at the silent promise. He winked as the smile widened.
Abigail blinked. “Bad idea.”
“But we’re professionals at those,” Sasha said.
Abigail tore her gaze from the smile. One bad idea she wouldn’t try a veni vedi vici method. Not even she was that masochistic.
*****
The male maturity noose was the first to go. Drew hated the things. He set the tie down next to the silver charger plate that held barely palatable breaded chicken. Yvonne, the bride, belted it down, but the reason could be how much the food cost and how long she’d probably went without eating to fit into the wedding gown.
The designer’s name had been bandied about like she was an actual relative coming to the wedding. Yvonne’s usually coiffed ebony hair was curled in tight spiral loops around her face. A grimace marred her beautiful face when she noticed his stare. Drew could feel the threat of polite conversation. He cleared his throat, about to speak, when a crush of people stood and headed to the back of the rented hall.
“The wet bar is open,” he said in relief.
Greg swallowed his champagne before he spoke, “Go for it, man. You still have to be eloquent and poignant for the speech.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Look at it this way, I’ll never disown you if you screw it up.”
Drew took in the room, half filled with their relatives who considered him the family fuck up. He wasn’t a doctor or a lawyer. Most didn’t know what he did. With his background, they probably assumed he made money through crime.
The last thought made him smile. In a way he was a con man. He sold advice to advertisement companies. Probably, indirectly, even had sold ice to an Eskimo. He was the black sheep, but everyone dressed in formal wear, degrees lining the walls of their corner offices and initials added to their names, were herding like sheep to the wet bar. Like he was about to. Life always came down to common denominators.
“Yeah, well, you’re the only one worth the trouble,” Drew said.
The champagne glass stopped at Greg’s lips. “Are we having a Kodak moment?”
“You wish, you softie.”
Drew kept back the questions about Abby. He’d seen the exchange before the ceremony. There hadn’t been tears. Abigail wouldn’t make a spectacle of herself to begin with, but he’d expected a lot more emotion from the woman facing the man she walked away from. Instead, she’d looked happy. When their gazes met she looked disturbed and a little irritated. Without meaning to, he searched for her in the crowd. He found her halfway from the front of the line.
“Duty calls.” Drew shed his jacket.
The sudden freedom had his limbs loose and made it child’s play for the smile to charm his way right behind Abby, but then an idea took hold. Direct contact was too easy to get a rise out of her.
He slid behind the redhead and whispered in her ear, “Can I get you a drink?”
“Drew,” the redhead said. “Right?”
A man had to be dead in order to not feel a punch to his gut when in this woman’s sights. “Right. So, what are you drinking?”
“Nothing you have to offer. You cut in line,” Abigail stated the obvious.
Drew tsked. “I’m speaking to her.” He placed himself between them and put his back to Abby, which wasn’t the smartest thing to do when she had murder in mind. “And you are?”
The woman’s hazel eyes sparkled up at him. “It’s Sasha.”
“Oh. Russian origin and usually reserved for a man’s nickname.” He sucked in a telling breath. “But, you are definitely not a man.”
Crooking her finger, she motioned for him to lean down. Kissable lips fluttered against his ear. “She’s going to gut you for that.”
Drew laughed as he pulled back. “Hoping for it.”
“Really?” Her brows arched in interest.
“How long do you think it’s going to take?”
Ruby-red stained lips pursed. “You might have a minute.” She placed a hand on his chest. “Get me a bourbon.” She moved her warm hand and pointed to a table where the other friend sat. “Bring it there.” Leaning forward again, she whispered, “I’m getting the hell out of dodge.”
“You so much as watch her walk away I will poke your eyes out,” Abigail said behind him.
To add fuel to the fire, Drew cupped his hands in front of his chest when he faced her. “She’s a grown woman.”
The line moved forward and he went with it. Abigail snatched his wrist and yanked down his hand. “That’s my friend. She’s nice. She’s smart. She’s not your type.”
He covered the scowl with a smile. “And what is my type, Abby?”
She blew out a puff of air and started to scout the room. The wedding colors of burnt-orange and silver decorated the walls. Some of the orchid arrangements placed in the middle of the tables made conversations hard unless you were willing to lean to the side and chat. There were more people at the reception than the ceremony, at least three hundred. Still, it took her a full five seconds to find what she believed was his type.
“There,” she said.
Drew already knew which woman she’d point at before Abby’s head notched to the front of the bar. If it were possible to wear less clothes and still be decent, Drew couldn’t imagine it.
“Cute,” he bit out.
“I know, she is. Not bad, Carter.”
“No, your choice is cute.” A thread of tension leaked out in his words. “I wouldn’t date her in a million years.”
“No one said anything about dating.”
He snorted. “Doesn’t change the fact I wouldn’t.”
She crossed her arms. “So, what’s your type?”
He met her gaze and said without any hesitation, “Smart. Sexy and knows it and flaunts it tastefully.”
“You think G-strings are tasteful. Surprising.”
He let it slide, because the coup de grace was next. “I have a thing for short women with sharp chins and chocolate-brown eyes. It’s my weakness.”
“Oh.” She scouted the room again, and from the way Abby said the single word, the connection was lost on her.
Of course, them, together would never cross her mind. If for whatever reason his cousin wasn’t
the perfect man, Drew damn sure wouldn’t make the ticket. And from the type of woman she’d picked, his former reputation preceded him. The notion dug under his skin and turned his mouth sour. He placed his hands on her shoulder and turned Abigail to the table where the friends sat, watching.
“There. The one with the broken-heart necklace. Sharp chin. She’s smart. Sexy as hell and she whispered in my ear.” He groaned softly. “And I liked it.”
As though trying to feed an infant vegetable goo from a jar, Abby shook her head adamantly. “Sasha’s off limits.”
“Ok.” He forced an affable tone into his voice. “The one next to her. The women that look sweet and quiet are—”
“I will rip out your tongue if you finish that sentence.”
“Such violence.” His cock tightened at the passion in her voice. “One would think you like me.”
“I love my friends.”
And there was his in. “You will do anything for them?”
“Absolutely,” she said without hesitation. “And the sweet, quiet one is engaged to a former cop.”
A laugh burst from him. She thought he was a criminal. His reputation rolled out a red carpet of misinformation. Absolutely wonderful. “Definitely not my type then.” He made a sound of disappointment and met her gaze. She probably had no idea how much desire filled her brown irises when she looked at him like that. “What exactly do you think I do for money?”
“You’re rolling in it, so nothing honest, I’m sure.” She shrugged one shoulder, but kept her body turned toward him.
“Define honest.” He stepped forward and she moved too, without noticing the telling action.
“Something your family knows you do.” She ticked off a finger. “Something that requires you to file your taxes. Something that isn’t a sales pitch that ruins people’s lives.”
“Huh.” He considered the last one and asked as if he didn’t know. “Still an ad executive?”
She blinked. “Accounts. Yes.”
“Isn’t that what you do? How many men have suffered a heart attack using some of your clients’ products?”
Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know what I do?”
He scoffed. “You latch onto that fact?”
“What you’re saying about my job is deflecting and absolutely irrelevant.”
But her eyes had widened with guilt. Drew tutted. “Irrelevant because you decided to play catch in your glass house. Let’s end this line of arguing because you’ll be insensitive just to spite me.”
She parted her lips to speak, and he quieted her with a finger. Her mouth was warm and soft and much more kissable than Sasha’s could ever be to him. With regret Drew placed his hand down at his side.
“So your next comment wasn’t going to be along the lines of the inability to get it up doesn’t ruin anyone’s life?” He did his best imitation of her self righteous tone. “Or, only you would think not being able to have sex is the closest thing to death.” He raised his brows in question.
She licked her lips. “I wasn’t going to say something insensitive about men with erectile dysfunction.”
“No?” he asked in disbelief.
“I was going to call you a man-whore because you were pissing me off.”
“A man-whore? New one. Think I like it.” He gestured to the front with his chin, fighting the smile. “What’s your poison? I’ll get it for you and bring it to your table.”
“Don’t you have a speech you’re supposed to make sometime soon? And aren’t you supposed to sit in the front with the rest of the bridal party?”
“That’s the rumor.” The line dwindled again, bringing them closer. “But I would rather sit with three beautiful women vying for my charm.”
She pointed to her friends. “Engaged. Off limits.” She pointed to herself. “No way in hell. Though this exchange has been extremely amusing.”
“Something we can agree on, but you are forgetting one thing.” He waited.
She huffed. “And that is?”
“The only thing keeping the security guards from tossing you out on your nice tush is me. You’re my date remember?” Her lush lips worked to form words. He cut her off. “Now, now. Be nice and I won’t hit on your friends.” He glanced to his right where Nadine had her gaze fixed on them. “And look like you adore me. We’re being watched.”
She cursed under her breath, but slid closer to him, tossing a tight smile in Nadine’s direction. The deep musk of her perfume saturated his senses for a moment. He sighed with contentment. He had to give it to his cousin and the new wife. This would be the best damn wedding reception ever.
Chapter Three
Drew could figure out a way to get the four drinks to the table. Abigail left him in the line to warn her friends. They straightened when she plopped into her chair and snapped up a napkin to wipe her lips.
“Here’s the thing,” she said. “He’s supposed to be my date for this shindig. We’ll play nice when someone else is around, but if it’s only us, all bets are off.” She let out an irritated breath. “I should be getting an Oscar for this.”
“Wow,” Sasha said.
Emma’s gaze widened. “What exactly did he do in two minutes to get that sort of passion?”
“Vehemence.” Abigail tossed down the napkin, but she could still taste Drew’s finger. His skin was exactly what she imagined debauchery would taste like—wanton and addictive. “There’s a difference, but he had the nerve to say my work ruins lives. Male enhancement drugs are one of the fastest growing industries. And it’s not my only client. And I so wanted the St. Jude’s account. Marcus had a stellar record and he came to me for help.” She stopped the flow of speech. “Oh, gawd. I’m ranting.”
She sought Drew out to confirm he was the sod she knew him to be. He’d propped his arms up on the bar, and flirted with a female server. “He’s so not worth a rant. And I told him I would break off his arm if he so much as touches you.” She directed her comment at Sasha.
“He’s cute.” Sasha shrugged. “He can flirt with me.”
Abigail could only blink at her friend for a moment. “Cute?”
“He’s got those dreamy eyes. Nice arms and pecs. A ladies man…I’ll bet money he has very strong legs. He could be a male model that poses for nude portraits. Just my type.”
“The type you’re swearing off. Why are you swearing them off?” Abigail leaned forward intent on getting her point across.
Sasha laughed. “I did swear them off, but my vow of celibacy doesn’t mean I can’t flirt.”
Abigail answered the question for her friend. “Because they’re usually no good.”
Emma cleared her throat. “If you’re looking for a longtime mate.” She spread her hands over the table. “But if you haven’t had your itch scratched in quite awhile, he’s the perfect guy. No hard feelings when you kick him out your bed. He’s probably thinking of a way to head for the hills anyway.”
Sometimes she was slow on the uptake. Apparently it was one of those times. “I can see straight through you two. Not going to happen.”
“Took you awhile,” Emma said with a smile. “Had to be the earlier rant slowing you down.”
Abigail picked up and then tossed the napkin at her friend. Shaking her head, she turned to the front of the room. They’d been banished to the straggler/pariah table closer to the exit than the bathrooms. Since it was only the three of them, Abigail could guess they’d only invited close family and friends. Knowing Nadine, she’d probably specifically had the table set up for them, but really who could blame the woman? Her own mother’s reaction to the situation would have been to pull out a switch blade and pray for forgiveness later.
“What a day,” she said.
“It’s only getting started, Sweetheart.” Drew slid into the seat beside her. A quiet, male server followed him with a tray of their drinks. Drew moved to tip the man, but the wait staff shook his head and left. “So, has she told you of all my sterling qualities yet?”
“No
.” Emma took a sip of her drink to try to cover the smile. “She was too busy…giving us a background.”
“All lies.” He smiled. “What would you like to know?”
“What do you do?” Sasha played with the rim of her glass, a flirtatious light in her gaze.
“I sell stuff and get paid an ungodly amount of money doing it.” He managed to make lounging look easy in the stiff-backed chair.
“Your speech,” Abigail reminded him in hopes it would make him look less delectable.
She could see why women fell at his feet. His profile suckered her in. The strong jawline. The thick brows and lips. He had the type of composition that would make an ad exec, who primarily sold products to women, weep at the perfection of his face.
Drew tapped his head. “It’s ready to go. Has been since Greg asked me to be his best man.”
Surprise and curiosity forced her to lean closer to him. “Really? What’s in the speech?”
“Keggers, strippers,” Drew said easily. “You know, the usual.”
Sasha pursed her lips. “You and Greg have been close all your life?”
“My best pick-up buddy. Might have to find a new one now since he’s got hitched.”
“Greg never went trolling for dates.” Abigail lifted her chin.
“Really?” The lazy smile crept over his mouth. “How’d you guys meet again?”
She knew he was baiting her because he’d been there. And, dammit, she couldn’t help but bite. “A book signing.”
He pointed at her with his drink. “A female poet’s book signing.”
“And that means what?” Abigail huffed.
Drew sighed and exasperation flitted across his face for a moment. She could always see past his bluster. Abigail stifled the urge to smile, because she knew his secret. Drew was definitely a playboy, but he played up the role with relish.
He waited a beat and then answered, “Two grown men, who don’t even own a poetry book, at an event where there will be lots of women? Come on now. If that’s not a definition of trolling, I don’t know what is.” He nodded his head sagely. “Ah, you thought those types of things only happen at the grocery store or night clubs.”