I turn to watch as the bridesmaids make their way down the aisle. When the last one passes, my gaze wanders to the other side of the aisle, and I find Mary Jane in the crowd. She’s wearing a red dress with a slit that climbs all the way up the side and into inappropriateness. Our eyes lock and hers pin me, trying to make me squirm. I blink once and turn in my seat to face forward. I won’t let her get to me.
Claire is seated a few rows in front of us. She looks pretty and bright. When I catch her eye, she flashes me a warm smile. It puts me at ease.
Stacey looks beautiful and grown up. Her dress is shaped like a ball gown and stark white. I can’t imagine how she can even move in it, but she does, and gracefully at that. Her father cries during the ceremony. It’s very sweet and intimate. And short, which I appreciate.
After the bridal party recessional, the DJ announces that cocktails will be served on the terrace. There’s a buffet line set up in the reception hall. My mind goes straight to the bar, or wherever Mary Jane isn’t.
I watch as she sashays her way into the reception hall. That settles that.
I turn back around in my seat to face Jackson. “Let’s get a drink.”
He stands and offers me his hand. “You aren’t hungry?”
I take it, and he pulls me up. “We can eat later.”
His eyebrows knit together. “You should eat, Charlie. You’re too thin.”
I run my hands down his tie and sigh. I should be honest. “I don’t want to spend the next two hours making small talk with your scary ex-girlfriend.”
“She won’t be seated anywhere near us.”
“It’s Mary Jane,” I deadpan. “She will find a way to us.”
He laughs. “Point well made. But that being said, we can’t ignore her the entire night. Neither of us are that lucky.”
I stand on my tiptoes and plant a quick kiss on his lips. “Can we avoid her long enough for me to get some liquid courage?”
“Maybe,” he says. “If we get you a double.”
* * *
“How about some tequila?”
The bartender is Italian and loud, and he really loves tequila. Taylor would get along with him grandly. His name is Aldo. He’s charming and hilarious, and it’s hard to tell him no. That’s why Jackson and I have both had three shots of tequila.
“No more,” I say, holding up my hands. The bitter sting of the last shot still lingers in my mouth.
Aldo feigns hurt, clutching his hand over his heart. “No more tequila?”
I laugh. “Not for another ten minutes, anyway.”
He grins at the two of us and begins working on the couple next to us. He’s a man on a mission—to send every guest in attendance home in a cab.
A dainty hand with pink nails touches my shoulder.
I smile as I spin around, because I know who it is. “Claire.”
She puts an arm around my shoulders and squeezes. “I love your dress! You look stunning.”
“As do you.” I grin at her for a moment before my mind catches up. “Oh! Jackson’s here.” I lean back and fan my hand through the air between the two of them.
He smiles and waves. “Hey.”
She returns the smile and slips onto the bar stool beside me. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” he tells her. “And you?”
Her smile falters for a brief second, but before I can blink she’s back to her normal self. “I’ve been okay.”
They make small talk about the wedding, and I watch Jackson. Something is different about the way he interacts with her. Something in his eyes, and even his voice. A gentleness, maybe. Or pity? Regret? I’m not sure. This has been happening to me a lot lately. I’m not usually so lousy at pinning down what someone’s emotions are.
Aldo’s smiling face appears before us again. He’s holding the same bottle of golden hell. “Tequila for the beautiful couple? And their beautiful friend?”
Jackson nods, and Aldo fills four shot glasses with the amber liquid. He slides one to each of us, and we clink our glasses together in the middle. He takes this one with us.
I tip my head back and swallow. Then I swipe a juice from the counter and put it in my mouth, a desperate attempt to lessen the numbing burn.
When I turn back to Claire, she’s smiling oddly at us. “The beautiful couple?” she says, repeating Aldo’s words. “That sounds very official.”
The question makes me girlish, and I giggle. “That’s because it is very official.”
She directs her attention to Jackson and looks at him sternly. “You’d better treat her with the respect she deserves.”
“Those are my intentions.” His eyes are sincere when he answers.
Her worries vanish, and her bright smile returns. “Good.” She looks thoughtful for a minute and her smile morphs. She’s grinning about an inside joke that we aren’t in on.
“What?” I ask.
She laughs to herself and shakes her head. “Adam always said there was a spark between the two of you, and I never believed him. I thought he was just being goofy. Brotherly. I see now that he was right.”
* * *
Dinner comes to an end, and the crowd begins to migrate outside to the dance floor. We decided to skip it because, quite frankly, neither of us wanted to leave Aldo’s side. He’s too charming. Plus, Jackson is a little drunk. I’m more than a little drunk. And we don’t care about eating anymore.
Aldo lifted some dinner rolls from the caterer, because although tequila is wonderful, it does not sit well on an empty stomach. While I work on putting something of substance in my stomach, Aldo lectures Jackson on how tequila gets its color. Something about it taking the shade of the wood barrel as it ages.
“I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” I announce before slipping out of my seat.
Jackson acknowledges me with a brief nod before turning his focus back to Aldo.
I try to remain graceful in my high heels as I cross the terrace and pass the door to the reception hall, but I think I might be wobbling. The room is practically vacant now, and I realize we missed the cutting of the cake. Oh, well.
I giggle to myself for no reason while I pee. It’s probably got something to do with combining alcohol with my feel-good wedding buzz. I quickly sober when the door opens and a pair of red high heels joins me.
I see that it’s Mary Jane when I exit the stall. I act indifferent as I wash my hands, paying no attention to her as she primps herself in the full-length mirror.
“You know...I still don’t understand what Jackson thinks he sees in you,” she says casually, puckering her lips in the mirror.
I dry my hands and will myself to stay calm. “I don’t either, but it’s obviously something.”
“You think so?” Her voice is venomous.
“I would assume so.” I shrug. “Let’s not forget who he came here with.”
She laughs, but it sounds bitter. “I never forget. Do you? If I remember correctly it was me he left with some time ago.”
I want to roll my eyes. The only reason he chose her is because I pushed him to her. It was never a competition between the two of us. He couldn’t pick me, because I took that option away from him. And even bigger than any of that is the fact that Jackson must have told her about the thing we had in high school. I never told anyone. Except Taylor—she doesn’t count. I can’t believe he told Mary Jane.
I narrow my eyes but slip a polite smile onto my lips. “I won’t let him make that mistake again.” I toss my paper towel into the trash can and push through the door. “Enjoy your night, Mary Jane,” I sing cheerfully over my shoulder.
“I just had a delightful encounter with your stalker ex-girlfriend in the ladies’ room,” I tell Jackson as I slip back into my seat.
His eyes grow wary. “Oh, yeah? How
did that go?”
I look across the bar and grin sheepishly at Aldo. “It went in a way that made me want more tequila.”
Aldo retrieves three shot glasses and turns them up. “Well, tequila I can help with. But ex-girlfriends are not in my expertise.” He flips the bottle up and fills the three glasses.
He smiles apologetically at me before we down the liquor. He has kind eyes. It makes me think he’s a kind person. I can’t imagine him not being a kind person, actually. I like him, and I like his accent.
When he’s busy with another partygoer, I turn to Jackson and frown. “You told Mary Jane about what we did in high school?”
His nod is reluctant. “Yes.”
I pull my eyebrows together. “Why?”
“Because I was trying to be honest with her.”
Before I can respond, the DJ announces that they are about to toss the bouquet and beckons all the single ladies to the dance floor. I don’t want to go, because Mary Jane is there front and center, but Claire drags me by the hand.
There aren’t many of us, so I’m stuck right beside Mary Jane. Wonderful. I scowl at Jackson from my spot. He waves back and gives me a thumbs-up sign for encouragement.
Stacey looks over her shoulder, directly at me, and then tosses the bouquet of roses over her head. I have a mini panic attack, because why is she looking at me like she’s aiming for me? And why am I so freaked out by it? But then I realize the flowers are sailing through the air and I need to pay attention, because they’re coming straight for my hands. My intoxicated limbs reach out for the bouquet. It’s almost in my hands when a bony elbow hits me hard in the ribs. It sets me off balance, and I tip to the side, crashing into Claire.
For one horrific second I think I’m going to bust my ass, but just as my feet slip from underneath me a steady pair of hands find my waist and pull me up. Jackson. I reach out and steady Claire, who’s still wobbly from the collision.
I stare, red-faced and furious, at Mary Jane, who’s prancing around with the flowers like she just medaled in an Olympic sport.
I’m ready to walk the five steps that separate us and slap her when Jackson’s hands take hold of my shoulders, and his lips are at my ear. “You are better than her.”
His words calm me, and when I look at Claire, flustered and trying to smooth her hair back into place, a giggle bubbles up inside of me and I let it out.
She laughs too. “That was intense.”
“Scary, right?” I shake my head and grin. It suddenly seems silly.
Jackson moves my hair and kisses the spot beneath my ear, setting fire to my blood. My cheeks warm. It’s such an intimate gesture for such a public place.
“There’s still the garter toss,” he whispers, and I turn to see his eyes gleam. I hope he catches it. I’ve never been one to buy in to superstitions, but this is one I want to believe in.
Chapter Fourteen
“I still can’t believe you caught this thing.” I run my fingers across the garter hanging from Jackson’s wrist.
He grins. “Me neither.”
When we start laughing, the cab driver turns the music up a little like he wants us to shut up. Aldo called him for us. He bartends regularly downtown, and we’ve already made plans to drop by to see him again sometime.
I flip Jackson’s hand over and trace my fingers across the lines of his palm. I wish I knew how to read them. He has strong hands. They’re the hands of a hard worker, someone intelligent, strong—the hands of a soldier. But they are also the hands of someone gentle and caring. Vulnerable. I love these hands.
“Will you have dinner with me and my parents sometime this week?”
My fingers come to a halt with his question. His parents are polite, nice even, but intimidating. I don’t know if I’m ready for that. They liked me when I was a friend, but won’t their opinion change when I’m introduced as his girlfriend?
“Please?” he adds when I don’t answer.
“Sure.” I continue to trace his palm, and he exhales with slow relief. I hope I don’t disappoint him, or his parents for that matter.
The driver lets us out in front of the building. Melvin is on duty. He smiles as we enter. “Good evening!”
“Hey, Melvin.” I grin and wave as we pass. His rosy cheeks brighten in response.
We climb into the elevator, and the doors close. I lean my hip against the wall and watch as he punches his code into the keypad. “You really should change that, you know.”
“You think so?”
“Yes. Especially with a stalker like Mary Jane.”
He rolls his eyes, and I laugh. Honestly though, she isn’t very ingenious. A code like his is something a kindergartener would pick. That’s right up Mary Jane’s alley.
“I haven’t reset it from the default,” he admits.
I arch a brow at him. “That’s not very safe.”
“I know.”
The elevator glides to a stop, and we step into the foyer. I raise my chin a little as I look around the room. “In fact, I’m not sure I feel safe staying here tonight.”
“I’ll keep you safe.” He grins. That’s my only warning before he grabs me by the waist and throws me over his shoulder.
I yelp in surprise then slap his back. “Put me down.”
He acts like he can’t hear me the entire way up the stairs. When we get to the bedroom, he tosses me from his arms, and I land on the bed. Then he leans over my body and kisses me mid-laugh.
He straightens up and starts emptying his pockets. “Do you still feel like you’re in danger?”
Yes is my immediate reaction, because the dirty things I’m doing to him in my head right now are kind of scaring me. I wind his tie around my wrist and pull him to me. “I never feel like I’m in danger with you.” I give a little tug to bring him even closer. He smells sweet, like the bouquet of roses I almost caught. I put my mouth on the curve of his neck and kiss a trail to his jaw, right where crushed-petal scent meets the perfect musky-guy smell.
I move my hands to his shoulders and push his jacket off. Then I kiss him, and his tongue makes mine tingle like the tequila did. I work on his buttons without taking my lips off of his. When his shirt falls open, I slide my hands down his chest until my fingertips brush his belt. He leans back and watches me as I unbuckle it and slip it out from the loops. I drop it to the ground as he crawls onto the bed and covers me with his body.
I brush the tip of his nose with mine.
“You’re beautiful.” His lips graze my skin with his words. “Beautiful, smart, perfect. Everything.” His words cut straight to my core—to the place that only he can reach. From there they seep out, spreading a tingling warmth from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. He pulls away and sweeps a piece of hair behind my ear. “Are you sure you’re ready to do this again? We don’t have to.” His beautiful eyes are soft, full of affection. I feel cherished.
“I want to.”
* * *
Sometime later I lay wrapped around Jackson. My hand is on his chest, and I feel the steady beat of his heart as it slows and calms. He’s so strong—both his body and his mind.
“Were you ever scared while you were away?” I ask.
He stills beneath me. “In Iraq?”
“Yes.”
For a few long seconds I don’t think he’s going to answer me, but he finally does. “Yes.”
I brush my finger over the tuft of hair on his chest. “Of what?”
He places his hand on the back of my head and sighs. “Of not coming home.”
The thought makes everything in me feel heavy. Sad. “What else were you afraid of?”
“More than anything else I was scared for the men I served with, my brothers.”
I continue to venture. “Why?”
I t
ilt my head back to look up at him. In the light from the bedside lamp I can see how sad his eyes look. “I worried that they wouldn’t return home. In war you can’t keep everyone safe...no matter how hard you try.” He clears his throat. “You can’t keep anyone safe, for that matter.”
I’m still looking at his eyes and I wish I would just shut up. But for some reason I can’t. “You were close with them?”
He nods. “With many of them. Closer than I cared to be, but it was hard not to be once I learned their stories, listened to them talk about who they were and who waited for them at home.”
“Will you tell me about some of them?”
He smiles, almost fondly, and starts talking again. “One guy, Evan, had a dog back home. No wife, no kids, just a dog. An Australian shepherd named Beau. That’s all he ever talked about.”
I laugh, because it makes me think of Oliver and how much my dad loves him.
“Another guy—Beck—had five-year-old twin girls,” he continues. “Macey and Maggie. He talked about them a lot. Told us some of the funniest stories.
“There was a guy named Paul I spent a lot of time with. He was newly married. His wife had a baby during our tour. A boy...they named him Braden. He had green eyes and a full head of curly black hair. Poor kid looked just like his damn dad.”
Noticing a change in his voice, I move my gaze back to him and my jaw goes slack. There are tears in his eyes, actual watering tears. He closes his eyes quickly. When he opens them again they’re gone, almost as if they were never really there.
* * *
“I’m engaged!” Taylor’s voice blasts through the earpiece of my cell phone, so loud it makes my ears ring. With all the excitement of last night I’d forgotten to check my phone. Four missed calls and three text messages later, I’m finally talking to her.
I shriek and jump up and down in Jackson’s kitchen a few times. “I’m so happy for both of you!”
She’s probably doing the same thing in our kitchen. “Did you get the picture of the ring?”
“Yes! It’s gorgeous,” I gush. It really is. The stone is princess cut and it’s in a bed of smaller diamonds. It’s very Taylor. “I can’t believe you’re engaged.”
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