Sam wanted to scream. Andrea’s new cause was getting her appropriately hooked up with one of Kyle Sommerfield’s buddies.
“Absolutely not. I swear if you pull any of that bridezilla shit and start playing matchmaker, I will tell Kyle about Mr. Davenport.”
Andrea shot upright and gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
The name, and her friend’s shocked response, hung in the air for a long minute before they dissolved into a fit of giggles. Mr. Davenport was the name Andrea had given her first vibrator. From the moment she discovered the power of a low hum, Andi Frank was the self-proclaimed Mistress of Vibrators. She had a bunch of ‘em and felt no shame in using explosive detail to describe the pros and cons of every mechanical sex toy on the market.
No wonder Kyle always looked so pleased.
Wiping away the teary evidence of their giggle-fest, Sam wagged her finger and laid down the law. There was no way on god’s green earth she was going to be a wedding guest statistic. Didn’t matter how right her friend was about getting laid. If that was what it came to, then she’d do it on her own terms and in her own way. Not as some desperate guy’s piece of ass at a desperate singles’ wedding reception free-for-all.
“I swear, babe. If the words a friend of Kyle’s come out of your mouth, it’s an immediate cold shoulder. Do I make myself clear?”
Thinking she had her friend in a corner, Sam was surprised by the amused twinkle in Andi’s eyes. Saluting her with mock sincerity, her friend grumbled, “Understood. No friends.”
While they’d been talking, Lisa, Tara, and Kelly had drifted from the table and were driving Julie crazy as she tried to keep up her end of a phone call. As usual, the second the call was over, Julie started shrieking and chasing them around as the others laughed and ran away.
“I didn’t know Tara could run,” Andrea commented. Her dry but witty tone and the way she rolled her eyes went down easy along with a hefty swig of icy margarita.
“Bet your business partner would love to take on a few of your groom’s buds.”
A shadow swept across her friend’s expression. “Kyle won’t have it. He thinks she’s a succubus.”
“What the hell did she do to deserve such a harsh call? Shit, Andi. No one knows better than me what a bitch Tara can be, but a succubus?”
The woman at her side sighed and turned. Sam was a little surprised at the expression on her face. “Let’s just say she tried and failed with the wrong guy. Kyle reacted, um. . .badly. I’d normally defend her, but this time, she stepped in it.”
Wow. Andi generally didn’t have a negative thing to say about anybody. When her friend’s gaze pinned Sam to the spot, she froze. Poker-faced when she had to be, the sheer volume of alcohol flowing through her made facial expressions hard to control. Andi’s hard stare made Sam’s stomach flutter.
“I can’t wait for you to meet Kyle’s family.” For the briefest flash, her friend looked like someone who won the lottery—then she blinked and all Sam saw was laughter. “His mom is a hoot. She makes jewelry. You know those little beaded earrings I have? She made them.”
“Wow, sweetie. That’s actually really cool. I can’t wait to meet them too.”
Andi chuckled and looked at her triumphantly. “I’m counting on you to stick close. That’s what maids of honor do.”
“No problem, chicky. Promise. I know what I signed on for.”
The other four women were coming back to their table arm-in-arm and laughing. Just before they descended, Andi looked at Sam and said, “Planning to hold you to it.”
Andi’s words hit her like a bolt of electricity riveting Sam to the spot. Excitement pulsed in every corner of her being.
She shivered and wondered, What the hell?
“What are you so jumpy about?”
“Oh dear lord, Sam. Did you see my mother this afternoon? Would have been real friggin’ nice if she’d bothered to be civil to Steve. Shit. My poor stepdad. He looked so sad.”
Sam yanked the zipper up on Andi’s dress and struggled with the impossibly awkward button and loop at the dress’s neckline. “Steve looked fine to me. Matter of fact, I saw him eyeing Kyle’s publicist. The one with the huge rack and hair extensions.”
“Shut up,” the nervous bride muttered.
She shrugged. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”
Sam watched as her friend swung back and forth in front of the mirror, examining her outfit from every angle.
“Do I look fat in this? I do, don’t I?”
Sighing, she kept her thoughts to herself. Took a week but now that the wedding was just days away, Andi’s hidden bridezilla was picking up steam. Only, in her friend’s case, instead of being a bitchy nightmare, what Sam had to deal with was a whiny, insecure teenager with a sullen pout.
“Babe. Seriously. You look like a million bucks. And last time I checked, Kyle likes your Marilyn Monroe curves. Flaunt what you got, sister. I’d personally kill for your badonkadonk.”
With sparkling eyes, Andi grinned. The corners of her mouth quivered as humor overtook her; she wagged her brows suggestively and saucily replied, “Girl, my ass would look like a surgical procedure on your stick figure.”
“Ouch.” Sam snickered with both hands over her heart as though she’d been wounded. “Not everybody gets a beauty queen figure. And I seriously wouldn’t mind having a bit more game in the butt department.”
Apparently satisfied that she wasn’t turning into the Bride of Frankenstein, Andi turned away from the mirror and folded her arms.
“Guys do like butt.” Andi was laughing gently and eyeing Sam critically. “I’ve told you a million times what to do. Let the girls roam free. Nothing but skin from chin to chest. Got it?”
She nodded and tried not to laugh. Chin to chest. Shit. That was really funny.
“And shorten your skirt. With those legs, you should be flaunting them, not covering them up.”
“Legs don’t flaunt,” Sam swiftly replied.
“Um, yes, they do. Low-cut clingy red top and a short black skirt? Add a pair of killer heels and every guy in the room will fantasize about having your stems wrapped around his neck. Flaunt what ya got, girl.”
Hmph. As if her closet contained anything remotely like what her friend described. Not when her entire wardrobe consisted of boxy, functional business suits. Sam never cared all that much about clothes. Not like Andi, Lisa, and Julie had when they were all teens. Her job demanded sensible clothes, so that was what she had for choices. Monotone skirts and blouses. Sensible. Bland. Invisible.
“Don’t suppose you have anything like that laying around?”
Andi eyeballed her for a long moment and then grabbed her hand and pulled her along as she made for the bedroom of her suite.
“Take off whatever the hell it is that you have on. I’ll be right back.”
And with that, her friend disappeared into the massive walk-in wardrobe crammed with her wedding dress and honeymoon outfits.
Toeing off a pair of low chunky heels, Sam kicked them aside and made quick work of wriggling out of a drab gray skirt and lightweight peplum jacket. When Andi came back with an outfit draped over her arm, her friend stopped abruptly and gestured at Sam’s underwear. “What the hell is that?”
She looked down. “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “A bra and shapewear pants?”
“You are a hot mess, Samantha Evers.” Putting down the clothing she’d brought out, Andi shook her head and tsk’ed. “How the hell do you expect to get lucky wearing underwear your mom has?”
Sam was barely able to keep the laughter from her voice. “Sorry but getting lucky wasn’t on my agenda until five minutes ago. Before that, I had this crazy bride to babysit.”
“Well, the crazy bride hates your K-Mart underwear and demands you change into something more appropriate.”
Sam started to say something, but Andi was one step ahead. “There’s a whole section of still-with-the-tags-on lingerie in the closet. Matter of fact, there’s a lace
bra that’s all stretchy and sexy. It will be perfect for the dress I picked out. So grab that and then pick out some panties that match. Lace. Red or black.”
“Anything else?” she snidely asked before heading into the closet.
“Yes,” Andi barked as she passed by. “Shoes. Luckily, we’re the same size. I’d go for the black Jimmy Choos.”
Mumbling, Sam picked through her friend’s impressive collection of daring lingerie. “All this stuff is so impractical.”
Finding the red stretch lace, she eyed it dispassionately and managed not to roll her eyes. Sam might have an unremarkable figure, but she did have boobs. Boobs that she kept strapped in and underwired at all times. Letting the fleshy mounds jostle freely with no support in a daring shimmery lace bralette wasn’t something she was entirely comfortable with.
Same for panties. Snorting with disbelief at the sheer number of minuscule thongs her BFF had, she spent several minutes digging through the pile to find something within the realm of reason. It seemed like a stroke of luck when she found an almost matching pair of stretchy lace boy shorts. Not much better but a lot more coverage.
“Will these do?” she asked waving both in her friend’s face after rejoining her in the bedroom.
Andi was busily tapping away on her cell phone and did nothing more than briefly glance her way. “Perfect,” she said with an approving nod. “Now get dressed. And hurry! Kyle and his best man are waiting for us on the terrace by the waterfall. “
Dismissed, she heard Andi laughing quietly as she wandered away. Kyle was the last to arrive, so this would be the first time she’d see her bridegroom in more than a week. Sam was happy for them. Andi and her golf pro hottie were the perfect couple. They shared the same goofy sense of humor, and Kyle clearly thought his fiancée walked on clouds of pixie dust. He’d take good care of her, and that was what really mattered.
Fifteen minutes later, she stood in front of the full-length mirror and stared at her reflection. Completely made up in an outfit only Andi would choose, she wore a sleeveless cocktail dress with a gold sequin bodice and a short pleated chiffon skirt. The open cut-out back and black satin bow barely covered the useless bra. A pair of strappy Jimmy Choo sandals completed the look.
The image of a young but far-from-innocent woman stared back at her. Quite a change from the dependable, no-nonsense visual she was used to.
Biting her lip, Sam studied the high-heeled sandals. Damn, these things are sweet. Mimicking every show-offy runway trick she could think of, she pirouetted and posed until nearly out-of-breath with excitement.
Andi strolled in just as Sam was stuffing a few necessities into a tiny clutch purse. The flabbergasted expression on her dear friend’s face bolstered her confidence better than a room full of magic mirrors. Though the bride was the fairest of them all, her maid of honor came in a close second.
“Samantha May Evers. You look gorgeous.”
Andi twirled a finger. Sam laughed and did a klutzy spin, ending with a boom-shaka-laka-laka gyration. Licking her finger, she touched her ass and made a hissing sound. “Hot!”
The boisterous laughter and applause from her friend filled Sam with delight.
“Honey,” Andi drawled—nobody had a better snarky purr—“you might be too hot to handle. Those long legs of yours make the skirt look shorter than it is. Girlfriend”—she chuckled—“you need to dress like this more often!”
“Don’t think I have the energy. The hair, the face, the lingerie, the shoes. When do you find time to breathe?”
Andi took her arm and started them toward the suite’s doors. With a surprisingly wistful sigh, she hugged her tighter and said, “I breathe when Kyle sees me, and I feel the rawness in his gaze, Sam. There’s no other sensation like it. It’s like his heart beats for me.”
Sam was startled when she felt a shudder roll through her friend.
“That’s what I want for you too, babe. A man who looks at you and sees. Sees the real you. The you who wants, at last, to be seen.”
Her words would be cryptic to anyone else, but Sam knew exactly what Andi was getting at. They wore masks. Every day. Had to. It was how the world functioned. No one really gave a shit about you as an individual. Hard fact but a real thing. She and Andi were realists. Always had been. Whatever it took to be successful. To be secure. To be a functioning adult in a fast-paced world.
All the real you stuff happened in private. And the sad truth for Sam was that as time went on, the private held less and less sway. She was on the sidelines because somewhere along the line, she stopped caring about the real you stuff.
“Until you found Kyle, I started to wonder if those types of guys really existed.”
Andi snorted. “Pfft. Word. It’s like you need special glasses to pick out the carefully camouflaged alphas. They don’t like to show themselves, which is why they’re so damn hard to find.”
She smiled. Andi loved that word, alpha. The way her friend said it, you’d think she was being risqué. Or talking dirty.
“I’d be happy with a real life m-a-n. Not a boy or a toy. A red-blooded, manly man with hair on his chest and no waxing kit in sight. The alpha thing would be nice,” she offered with a lazy shrug, “but I don’t think a scheduler for an event company, driving a sensible car, living in a matchbox-size house in Burbank who barely scratches by and looks like every other non-surgically enhanced brunette on the planet would hold much interest for that elusive breed of male.”
Clearing the suite, they made it into the elevator and were drifting to the lower floors before Sam realized Andi was silent.
“So tell me about this best man. Is he on the pro circuit with Kyle?
“Oh,” Andi murmured. “Didn’t I tell you? Sorry. So much on my mind.”
She snickered and gave her friend an elbow in the side. “No problem.”
“Damnit, Sami,” her friend grumbled. “I hate that you live so far away.”
The living so far apart commentary she was used to. Her friend pounded out a steady drumbeat when it came to demanding she abandon the left coast and move closer to home. It was the pained use of her childhood name that got Sam’s attention. Only Pop Pop ever called her Sami, and Andi knew what using the reference would do to Sam’s composure.
“Unfair,” she muttered.
“No,” Andi answered with a subtle rebuke in her voice. “What’s unfair is you scraping by in Los Angeles for no good reason besides your ego and the rest of us—me, your family—constantly worrying about you from the other side of the country.”
Sheesh. Sam cringed at the no-nonsense way her friend delivered the scolding. Calling out her clinging to life in Hollywood as an act of ego hit close to home. It was. Moving to L.A. was a knee-jerk fuck you to Rich after their breakup. He’d called her uninspiring. Said she lacked excitement. Her reaction was to set up house in the glamorous entertainment mecca.
Before that, she’d been a busy, overworked admin assistant for the director of a museum and art gallery. She’d loved that job. Being around creative people was Samantha’s personal form of crack. Her forte was creating the right environments. Like when she facilitated the transformation of an abandoned warehouse loft into an artist’s work studio. What a rush that project had been!
But hearing herself described as uninspiring ticked Sam off. Instead of sticking with something she enjoyed, her stupid asshole ex-boyfriend’s cutting remarks led to a life change that started with her running away to take a lackluster job in Tinseltown. Here, it was two years later, and the only thing she’d proved was that she could survive. Places like Los Angeles ate foolish dreams for breakfast and shit out the devoured empty shells left behind for lunch.
Stepping from the elevator, Sam turned to Andi and took her elbow to bring her close. She might as well tell her what was going on behind-the-scenes where her very unglamorous and work-a-day existence in the Golden State was concerned.
“I’m only telling you this because I love you, Ms. Frank, but I swear on all t
hat’s holy if you repeat this to my mom or worse, yours, I will personally cut you. Understood?”
Andi’s eyes grew big with surprise. She nodded enthusiastically and whispered, “Have you finally had enough of that crazy town?”
Sam sighed. “The better way to phrase it would be that the crazy town has had enough of me.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means, simply put, that I’m pretty sure when I get back, my job will be hanging by a very tenuous thread. Now that the owner is retiring, his jack-off kids are circling like vultures. When I left to come here, the word around the office was that Bob’s son was taking over, and he intended to fill all the lead positions with friends and family. Chop, chop,” she murmured. “My head’s on the block.”
“Well, fuck,” Andi exclaimed quietly. “Why haven’t you said anything before now?”
She arched an eyebrow at her old friend and snorted in disbelief. “Seriously? You’ve looked in the mirror lately, yes?”
“Oh, right.” Andi chuckled. “Crazy bride aces personal drama. Sorry, sweetie. Now, I feel like shit. But Sam,” she drawled with perfect dryness, “next time you keep something big like this from me, I will kick your skinny ass. Understood?”
A surge of relief rushed through her. It was good to finally tell someone what was going on. But tonight wasn’t about Sam and her dismantling life. She was still in maid-of-honor mode and switched gears with practiced ease.
“Right. So back to the moment at hand. You so horny and Kyle is just down the path. I believe you were about to tell me who my counterpart is. Your hunky fiancé have a caddie holding his hand?”
Andi’s snort of amused laughter sounded as they started walking again. The tap-tap-tapping of their heels on the walkway picked up speed. Suddenly, the Hawaiian night was infused with her friend’s excitement as she hurried to see her bridegroom.
“His caddie has a wife, so no worries there. I’m so excited you finally get to meet Kyle’s cousin. Ryan. Ryan Sommerfield.” Andi laughed merrily. “Ky and Ry is how his parents explained their closeness. They grew up together.”
The Wedding Affair (The Affair Series Book 2) Page 2