The Underdogs: The Complete Series

by Stewart , Kate

  “Laney,” a short brunette calls, rolling through the door of the party with a suitcase in hand, eyes darting around in panic.

  “That’s Sarah, one of the bridesmaids. She’s runnin’ late.” Laney looks back to me apologetically. “I have to run through the ceremony with her. It shouldn’t take long. Will you wait?”

  I grip one of her hands and slide my thumb along the top of it. Her lips part. “You know I will.”

  She grabs my drink from the bar and finishes it as I lean in and whisper. “You’ve got this.”

  When I pull away her eyes close, goosebumps covering her chest. In this moment I would move heaven and Earth to have her alone. Cursing the timing, she murmurs a, “Thank you,” to me before she walks away.

  Laney: I’m so sorry, it took longer than I expected. They should be serving dessert. When you’re done, I’ll be in reception, it’s just down the hall.

  Theo: Got it. Want anything?

  Laney: No. I won’t fit in my dress tomorrow. It’s already too tight.

  Theo: Strawberry shortcake?

  Laney: Damn you, Houseman. Yes, please.

  Theo: On it.

  Laney: You are the bees-knees.

  Laney’s dessert in one hand and my fourth cocktail in the other, I pad down the quiet half of the country club as the wedding guests sound noisily at the entrance, buzzing after the night’s festivities while waiting on their cars. Soft country music drifts from the room down the hall. Soundlessly, I open the door and spot Laney at a large eight-top on the other side of the massive room. Heels kicked to the side, she sways—barefoot—back and forth to the music, smelling the half dozen roses in her hand. Holding the door with my foot so I don’t alert her to my presence, I lean against it watching as she dances around, cutting stem after stem of fully bloomed pink roses and laying them on a table covered in crystal vases. She sings along to the song, her long hair moving in the opposite direction of the sway of her hips. I’m totally drunk on the sight of her this way. And it has nothing to do with the whiskey warming my insides. Guitar music fills the air as she spins in a melodic circle before tossing a few roses into a vase. She lifts a pitcher of water, pouring it onto the freshly cut stems and spots me, her eyes lighting up.

  “You were watching me?”

  “Yes,” I say unapologetically, moving toward her because there’s no way in hell I can’t.

  “This one has got me feelin’ all kind of romantic,” she says as I approach. “Alabama.”

  “What?”

  “The song, it’s Alabama. Old school country.”

  “Ah.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “Do you like it?”

  “I like that you like it.”

  She sighs, lifting the pitcher and dividing the water into the vases. “I’ll never convert you.”

  “No, you won’t, but I’ll listen to it if it makes you happy.”

  She pauses her pour, her eyes lifting to mine. “What a sweet thing to say.”

  “Speaking of sweets,” I smile, lifting her dessert. “Take a load off and eat this. It’s incredible.”

  “I know. I’m the one who made sure it was on the menu.” She darts her eyes around the hall. “I’ve still got so much to do.”

  “Laney, I’ll stay until it’s done.” I set her dessert and my drink down on the table and gesture for her to sit.

  She stutters on nervously. “I just, I was gonna get the bridesmaids to help a little, but Devin is a hot mess express and well—”

  “Laney, I’ll stay.”

  “I can handle it, I just—”

  “Ask me for help, Laney.”

  She looks up at me pensively. “What?”

  “Ask. Me. For. Help.”

  She blows out a harsh breath through lush lips. “Will you help me?”

  “Yes, now,” I pull out the chair in front of her, “sit.”

  “Gah,” she says, ogling her dessert. “This looks so good.”

  I tug her into the chair and cut into the dessert, bringing the fork to her mouth. She takes the offered bite, and as soon as it hits her tongue, her eyes close. “Exactly,” I murmur, leaning in. I catch the goosebumps that spread on her skin as I scoot her chair closer to the table.

  “T-thank you.”

  Moving to the other side of the table, I sit behind the waiting pile of sachets. “So, I’m taking it we’re replacing the insides of these with this?” I raise an insulated bag full of filler.

  “Exactly, but the ribbon is hard to—” she gapes at me as I untie the ribbon without ruining its integrity. “How in the hell did you figure that out?”

  “I helped with one of my sister’s friends when they got married. I was stuck doing the bitch work.”

  “It’s not bitch work.”

  “You know what I mean. It’s tedious work for a guy, and you know how my sisters love to torture me.”

  I quickly swap out the sachets as she forks in her dessert in record time.

  “You eat like you’re in the military,” I chuckle. Her cheeks heat, and I guffaw. “You’re embarrassed? I’ve seen you eat seven tacos in five minutes.”

  “Way to make me feel like a pig, Houseman.”

  “I love the way you eat, it’s adorable.”

  “Well, I promised Max we’d cut back,” she says around a mouthful, “two months ago.”

  “You’re perfect,” I declare, carefully fastening another ribbon around the sachets that will no doubt be discarded into the trash this time tomorrow. “It’s such a waste. All this work and no one will really remember it.”

  When she doesn’t answer, I look up to see her staring at me.

  She clears her throat. “I disagree. I remember the details, and I think that’s what makes these things special.”

  “If you say so,” I say, waving a sachet in her direction.

  “I like busy work.” She stands and begins to clear thorns and leaves from a few roses in record time using simple kitchen shears.

  “Where did you learn to do that?”

  “Job number eight. It was my favorite. I wasn’t fired from that one, either. They closed down, went bankrupt. I don’t know why I didn’t try to find a job as a florist anywhere else, I loved it. A hell of a lot more than repo.”

  “So, go back to it.”

  “I might,” she says thoughtfully. “I really do love it. Look,” she measures the flower length against the vase. “See, you have to measure the stem against the container, so it hangs slightly over the lip and then cut them longer moving inward. That’s what helps the presentation. Too much off and you don’t have enough stem to work with. It’s the cut that makes all the difference. Most people don’t know that.”

  “Fascinatin’.”

  “Smart ass.”

  “You love it.”

  “I do,” she says softly. “I really do.”

  Our eyes meet, and I see that same blush creep up her neck.

  “Some people think flowers are a waste of money, but I think they are a real gift. They have these short life spans where they brighten up everything around them.”

  “What’s your favorite?”

  She hesitates. “Ah, can’t decide. Don’t you smile at me!”

  I raise my palms in surrender. “It’s just not surprising.”

  “I know. What can I say? It’s my one true weakness.”

  “Speaking of indecision, the next time you feel like texting me to ask me to Target, or Walmart, or anywhere money for product is exchanged, the answer is no. Forever.”

  She waves a rose in my direction. “I saw the tears in your eyes last time we were in electronics. But I suspect it was because they were playing Finding Nemo.” She sniffs a flower to try and hide her smile.

  I point an accusing finger her way. “I have allergies.”

  “I know. Okay. Okay, I know how bad it is shopping with me,” she grumbles.

  “Don’t get upset, I was mostly kidding. Well no, I mean the part about not going shopping with you ever again. I real
ly mean that.”

  “Shut up,” she says in false aggravation. “Let’s get to work, Houseman.”

  “I’m all yours.” I watch her carefully and love the way my statement blankets her.

  Three hours later, I’m cracking my neck as she finishes the details on each table, fidgeting with her arrangements before wiping off any fallen debris from the crisp white linens. I stand in the center of the dance floor and check out her work.

  “It’s perfect.”

  “Really?” She asks, looking around wistfully.

  “Yeah, really. Come here.”

  She walks toward my offered hand and grabs it when she reaches me, and I pull her to me in declaration, kicking any amount of respectable friend-zone space to the fucking curb.

  “See,” I slide my arm around her back, lifting our entwined hands into position before I begin swaying to a smooth, feminine cover of “Wicked Game”. “This will be their view.”

  “It’s awesome,” she murmurs.

  “It really is.”

  “I’m…”

  “What?” I whisper, loving the feel of her in my arms.

  “I’m proud.” There’s a smile in her voice. “For a second there, I was worried I wouldn’t pull it off.”

  “You did. This looks pro.”

  “Wow,” she says giddily. “I hope they think so too.”

  “They will.”

  She turns to stare up at me. “Thank you. I would have been here twice as long without your help.”

  “My pleasure, Ms. Cox.”

  “You aren’t a bad dancer.”

  “I’m an excellent dancer.”

  She grins up at me. “And so modest.”

  “That too.”

  “You could use another slice of humble pie.”

  “Got my fork ready, where’s it at?”

  I see it then, her intent. She’s giving me the window, and I’m about to jump through it with both feet.

  “Laney!” A voice calls from the entrance of the hall, and we both glare in the direction of the interruption.

  “Devin snuck some shooters into her purse somehow. She’s in her dress, drunk, on the balcony, singing “Bohemian Rhapsody” at the top of her lungs.”

  Laney looks to me perplexed.

  “Go,” I say, hanging my head. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I still haven’t let go of her, and she hasn’t moved either.

  “It’s okay if you—”

  “Go. It’s Devin. I was quite fond of her until a minute ago. See you tomorrow.”

  She smiles. “Okay.”

  Reluctantly I pull my arm away from around her and step away, kissing the back of her hand.

  “Night, Laney.”

  “Night, Theo.”

  #lastnightasasinglelady #shesgoingoutwithabang #dontdrinkandIdo #policeweresummoned #handcuffswerestolen #donttrythisathome #mybestfriendswedding #livingmyrealestlife

  Grannism—If he’s paying attention to the right things, you’ll rarely ever have to give directions.

  Theo

  “By the power vested in me by the great state of Texas, I now pronounce you man and wife. Chase, you may kiss your bride.”

  “Ahhhh,” Laney shouts out enthusiastically when they kiss, which earns her a few laughs, mine included. Laney tosses her flowers up in the air, and the rest of the bridesmaids follow just as the photographer clicks the shutter. Her infectious excitement for her best friend is both audible and palpable.

  I’m so fucked.

  The minute she stepped into view down the aisle in her pink tulle dress and shiny new boots, the feeling in my chest overwhelmed me. And then she’d searched the sea of faces until she found mine, her smile beaming brighter as she winked at me. It was when she reached the rest of the waiting bridal party that I noticed the best man ogling her with clear intent. Immediately, I wanted to wipe the smug smirk off his lips with the way he was objectifying her.

  I could hardly blame him, she was radiant; her hair in soft curls, half up, half down, pink gems and diamonds glittering around her neck, resting on her flawless olive skin. And those lips, dear God, those shiny pink lips. But it was the light in her amber eyes when she spotted me that kept the lump in my throat through the entire ceremony.

  The need to go to her, to claim her, is blinding me. I’ve always considered myself a level-headed guy, but as of this moment, I can’t fathom a good enough reason not to go to her with all the confessions waiting on my tongue.

  Swallowing, I do my best to keep idle when she starts her retreat down the aisle. When she gets to where I stand, she stops, holding her arm out, for me and I gravitate towards her, and wrap her arm around mine, making the rest of the trip down with her. When we’re past the threshold of the double doors, she turns to me, lifting on her heels, eyes piercing mine before kissing my cheek. I’m just about to speak when she bolts, running to tackle Chase and Devin into a group hug.

  “I love you guys so much!” She squeals as they hug her tightly before backing away. And then she’s back to business and barking orders. “Go, you have about ten minutes before the photographer finds you.” She grabs Devin’s bouquet and turns to the bridesmaids. “Okay ladies, line up and look alive. It’s picture time.”

  I stand to the side as they all file out and Laney looks back to me, jerking her head toward the open door. “You coming?”

  “I’ll wait here.”

  She frowns. “Sure?”

  “Of course. Go.”

  “K. See you in a bit.”

  That ‘bit’ turns into an hour or more as the reception goes from a classy cocktail hour to a free-for-all. Everyone in attendance seems to have brought their all-nighter ‘A’ game. The whole of the party is buzzing, overly affectionate and dancing like they’re in a night club. It’s easily the best wedding I’ve ever been to.

  I’ve only seen Laney a few times, and each time our eyes connect, it’s lightning to the chest, a crackle of energy passing between us that I will no longer ignore. She looks so fucking beautiful that I’m constantly searching for her, only able to steal glimpses of everything I want, and just as quickly she’s gone. When the space is too much to take, I crane my neck searching the raging party for any sign of her. Relief comes when the DJ starts the wail of a siren to introduce the groomsmen. They all bound in from the double doors, lining up at the side of the groom who stands waiting on the floor. Grinning, because I know what’s coming from watching countless years of videos, I lift my camera to the entrance when Fergie’s “London Bridge” starts to ring out, the heavy bass thrumming throughout the ballroom.

  “This should be good,” Mark—a close friend of the groom’s family—that I’ve been chatting with says, just as his hater date chimes in. “This is so overdone.” The double doors open, and I see Devin with her bridesmaids in V formation behind her. I’m nervous for all of them, until they collectively take their first few steps, causing every jaw in the room to drop.

  Devin owns the floor, mouthing the dirty lyrics to her groom, her eyes only for him, her dress lifted slightly as she shakes her ass, making her way toward him. She looks stunning, and I can only imagine how he’s feeling watching her.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, Mrs. Chase Hart!”

  The crowd goes apeshit as Laney comes into better view behind her, and they all dance in sync like they’ve been doing it for years. She looks sexy as hell manipulating her body left and right, jutting her boots out to carry her sway. My heart painfully pounds in my chest as I watch them all dance like it’s their fucking job.

  “Okay, I’ll admit, this is good,” Hatorade says next to me.

  “Yeah, it is,” I whisper, unable to rip my eyes off the sexy wet dream in boots. The only girl in the world as far as I’m concerned.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the maid of honor, Elaine Renee Cox!”

  I grin because I know she hates her full name, but it doesn’t seem to bother her as she shimmies in step with the rest of the bridal party as their names are called ou
t one by one.

  When Devin finally makes it to Chase, he’s waiting with open arms, and she dives into them. He devours her mouth, leading the rest of the room to cheers while something inside me snaps and I make a beeline for the maid of honor.

  Laney sees me just before I reach her, and I grab her hand, leading her toward the exit.

  “Oh my God, my dress is tucked in my panties, isn’t it? I thought I felt too much air down there,” she says, fumbling behind to keep up with me.

  Unable to manage a word, I drag her through the endless crowd of buzzing Texans.

  “Theo, where are we going, what’s wrong?”

  Outside the reception, in the hall, I pin her against the wall, grip her chin, and hear her breath catch just before I crush my mouth to hers. It’s a bold statement, and I’m making it in front of the drunker half of the wedding with zero fucks to give. As far as I’m concerned, the minute our lips touch nothing can touch us.

  Capturing her surprise and using it, I slide my tongue against hers, and she opens, letting me have full access while she fists the top of my jacket, to pull me in. Relief covers me briefly, and I kiss her my confession. I kiss her long and hard to show her everything I’ve been hiding, everything I’m feeling. I kiss her so deeply, I’m unsure if I’ll ever be able to tear myself away. She clings to me, going limp as I plunge my tongue in again, and again, my heart soaring, my head surprisingly calm as I grow unbearably hard. She rips at my hair, kissing me back with equal fervor as I hoist up her leg a little grinding into her to show her just how much I want her.

  When I finally pull away, I brave a look down at her and see wide-eyed wonder.

  “I won’t apologize for doing that.”

  “No apology necessary,” she says, her voice raspy, filled with lust.

  “I should have done that a long time ago.”

  “I wanted you to, really.” She darts a nervous glance over my shoulder. “I’m glad you did it when you did.”

  I bend my head so we’re eye level, my gaze intent on hers. “I’m sensing a but—”