Kyle slowed the cart as they made the last turn that would lead them back to the clubhouse.
“Caught off guard, the director had to do some fancy footwork to clean up the mess she was making. Two more minutes and the staff would have had plenty to gossip about.”
“Would this gossip include someone on her knees?”
“Oh, absolutely.” Kyle snorted. “But before it got that far, the amused cackle brought her to a screeching halt. She’d apparently forgotten an appointment with the designer of the club’s interior.”
Ryan held in a laugh and tried to appear as though he wasn’t mentally mocking Ky.
“While Ms. Wanna-Be-A-Celebrity-WAG was eyeing up my junk for her lunch, the designer was waiting patiently in the room’s seating area. With a fly on the wall view of the proceedings, I might add.”
“Holy shit, man.”
“Wait”—Kyle snickered—“it gets better. In the span of a few seconds, I went from cocky jackass to stunned fool. Seriously, Ry.” He chuckled. “It was like a goddamn scene from a movie. Out of the shadows came this snickering enchantress with a wicked twinkle in her eye and a sexy swagger that almost sent me to my knees.”
“Andi?”
“In all her snarky, stuck-up glory. She looked at me like I was bubblegum on a hot summer day stuck to her best Jimmy Choos. There I was, trying to act all cool and studly, and she basically dismissed me. Shot through the heart, man. That fast.”
“Cue the Bon Jovi?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
“Is there a moral to this story?”
“Yeah, ya dumb fuck. Read between the lines, would ya? Sometimes, it just happens that way. One look, one word, one smile, and wham.”
“Wham.”
Kyle pulled the golf cart to a slow stop and turned to look at him. “Not to be confused with wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am. Understand the difference, Ry. With someone like Samantha Evers? She’s the ultimate girl next door. Whatever worked before her will not work now.”
“Word.” He snorted. Swinging out of the cart, Ryan nodded in the direction of their fathers as they pulled in behind them. “Let’s keep this between us, okay?”
Kyle’s rich laugh made Ryan grin. Mimicking the universal gesture for jerking off, his best friend and cousin sneered before slapping him on the back. “Dude,” he drawled, “the minute they see you two in the same room, they’ll know.”
“Well, then tonight ought to be interesting.”
“Tell you what. Because I’m a good guy, I’ll keep the spotlight on my bride and me. Maybe a nauseating make-out session to get everyone groaning. That way, you won’t be blinded by a parental unit, tag team inquiry.”
“Any pointers you’d like to offer? Unless I’m missing something, we have a bit of a logistics and timing problem. In less than a hundred hours hours, Samantha flies to California, and I head home to St. Augustine. Not a lot of time to figure out what the hell all this means.”
Kyle doubled over laughing. “Oh, my god! You dumb fuck. Newsflash, Ry. You never figure out what any of it means. That’s what love is. You really can’t define it. There are no parameters. It’s the most terrifying and exhilarating ride of your life. Just buckle up, man. ‘Cause no matter what—you’re in for a jolt.”
A dribble of sweat was slowly making its way from Sam’s hairline to behind her ear and down the back of her neck. And it wasn’t even hot.
Anxious tension had her insides in a knot. Whatever skills she’d picked up along the way, dealing with celebrity quirks and demands, wasn’t helping her at all. Not with this group. My lord—a room full of prankish high schoolers was easier to handle than a mischievous bridal party coupled with a first-contact encounter between the Sommerfield women and Andi’s stick-up-her-butt mother.
A part of her wanted to throttle Dolores for being such a shit because poor Andi was showing definite signs of an impending meltdown.
It didn’t help things at all that Kyle’s mother, Melanie, was playing the Southern grand dame role to perfection—only with a countrified Reba flair. Right down to the red hair. Having a built-in backup in the form of her sister-in-law, Hannah, who was Ryan’s mom, didn’t help.
When she wasn’t worrying about whatever happened next, Sam studied the sisters-in-law. Next to her and Andi, Melanie and Hannah were pros at bringing the laughs.
Irreverent with a ladylike edge, their long history made them comically formidable as a team. The addition of the unexpected superstar author, who played her role of pot-stirring daughter and niece to perfection, gave the Sommerfields a distinct advantage.
Not that an advantage was necessary. Dolores Carmichael was a one-trick pony, and her only move was utter disdain. The woman had a long history of disturbing points-of-view. A card-carrying homophobe wrapped in a cloak of ignorance, Sam once heard her tell the guy who did her hair that she wouldn’t be tipping him for his efforts because she didn’t condone his lifestyle. He wasn’t even gay. Apparently, for Dolores, certain jobs, like being a male nurse, were automatic qualifiers.
She also had quite a lot to say about unmarried women. What a joke considering who was talking. Andi’s father bolted from her holier-than-thou ways, and now, Dolores’s second husband, the jovial Steve Carmichael, had thrown in the towel. Foolish woman ought to keep her mouth shut.
And then there was the endless bitching about doing things right and her constant bemoaning of today’s culture being coarse, vulgar, and crass.
Enter Ali Morgan. One of the reigning superstars who ranked at the top of the romance boom market. Her first book, Discipline for Hire, shot off the charts due in no short measure to the lady-porn aspect of the story.
Dolores nearly shit in her bloomers when Ali’s alter-identity was revealed. Sam knew the foolish woman sensed an opening advantage for her brand of crazy—and she wasn’t wrong.
It started with mumbled comments. Some carefully aimed put-downs. A pro at being a sanctimonious live-wire, Andi’s mom knew how to edge like a champ and then back away before a line was crossed.
Julie made an effort to deflect her aunt’s venom with no success. She and the cousin who’d been a part of Sam and Andi’s world since memory began exchanged several eye rolls.
When the opportunity presented, she took it. Getting quickly to her feet, Sam trailed after Dolores as she made her way to the ladies’ room. In her thoughts, she remembered an expression her mom had used. Kindness and a soft approach usually work.
Finding her target in the lavishly tropical ladies’ lounge area, she made a snap decision and prayed she wasn’t just handing Andi’s mom more ammunition.
“Mrs. Carmichael,” she exclaimed in an animated voice, “I love what you did with your hair! Smart move for winning the battle of the ocean breeze.”
Tall and methodically graceful, the woman she regarded as an archenemy to Andi’s happiness lifted a bony hand to a helmet of hair lacquered to the nines that would need an industrial wind machine to move.
“I’m surprised by how casual everyone is,” she replied with her trademark contemptuous sneer.
Sam waged a mighty internal battle as she fought to keep a neutral expression on her face. Luckily, she’d had decades of experience when it came to running interference between Andi and her mother.
With a playful face, she went for cute and bubbly as her best defense against the forces of darkness. “Well, this is Maui, Mrs. C. Isn’t casual on the letterhead?”
Running her fingers under a trickle of water, Dolores sighed loudly before responding. When Sam glanced at the woman’s reflection in the mirror above the sink, she bit off a snort of amusement when the image flashing in her mind was an awful lot like Disney’s legendary evil queen. Because she wore dark purple, the only thing missing was a gold crown and a poisoned apple.
“I just thought that as the mother of the bride, I would have more say. I mean, that is the traditional way things are done.”
“Well, Kyle is a golf celebrity, and the sports media
will be covering the wedding.” Sam shrugged and offered a smile. “Andi thinks a little suburban church crammed with people you didn’t know wasn’t going to be very practical. Coming here meant their special day would be family and close friends.”
Damn. As soon as she said the word family, Sam could see Dolores’s next salvo loading. Time to unleash the affable cheerleader.
Pretending to primp in the mirror, she threw the meddling woman a bone and hoped she caught it with her teeth.
“You know, Andi is pretty stressed out. All this is a lot. The pictures. The interviews.”
She paused and let the words sink in before reeling Dolores Carmichael in.
“I’m so glad you’re here now, Mrs. C. Andi needs her mom. She was just saying the other day how she was anxious for you to arrive.”
Sam hoped the gates of hell didn’t choose that moment to open up and swallow her whole for the outrageous white lies and half-truths coming from her mouth. Andi had been anxious about her mom arriving but not in a good way.
But Dolores fell for it.
Relieved, Sam felt some of the tension seep from her shoulders.
A satisfied gleam and smug sneer lit up the mother-of-the-bride’s otherwise pinched-looking face.
And then. . .of course, it became about her.
“It wasn’t easy being a single parent.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake. Cue the pity party.
“Andrea’s wedding day is something I clung to when the tough times hit.”
What a crock. Sam knew if she didn’t redirect the conversation, they’d be stuck in a river of mud courtesy of Dolores’s rewriting of history. The tough times she spoke of existed only in her head, and no one believed for a second that the brittle bitch gave a shit about Andi’s wedding. Then or now.
“And you did a great job,” she lied. “Andi’s the bomb! Successful. Smart. A winning combination. Kyle is a lucky man.”
The evil queen’s lipstick sneer was as close to a smile as Sam could hope for.
“Andi says they can’t wait to have kids! You’ll probably be a grandma sooner than later.”
Dolores somehow arched a Botox brow.
“Bet their honeymoon will be steamy, huh?” Sam wagged her brows suggestively.
Dolores’s face fell. Suggesting Andi and Kyle got their freak on or using the word ‘grandmother’ was guaranteed to set the ice machine masquerading as a mother to high.
Ah, the juicy sweetness of a well-played counterblow. She really hoped the remark made her uncomfortable. The women deserved that and so much more.
“The Sommerfield’s are thrilled,” she added as they started for the door together. “They can’t wait to spoil a bunch of little angels.”
Dolores Frank Carmichael—a woman who never missed an opportunity to have the last word or deliver a bitchified comment—threw Sam a look of malevolent triumph. “I wouldn’t expect anything less of that family. Golfer and a baby-maker. Sounds like a plan.”
Trailing behind as they returned to the lively group of lunching ladies, she conjured up a dozen payback scenarios worthy of Dolores’s venom but knew she’d never act on any of them.
Andi looked her way as they approached. Her face appeared tightly drawn from anxiety.
Sam smiled and gave a quick wink. The thumbs-up she flashed her friend turned into a rude gesture directed at the woman she was following. It was enough to break some of the tension.
A minute or two after taking her seat and sipping some ice water, she caught Hannah Sommerfield studying her. The hair on Sam’s neck stood at attention and a shocking sensation—somewhere between an icy chill and a thunderbolt—slithered down her neck into her spine.
She had the same eyes as her son. Curious. Intense. Thoughtful.
Ryan’s handsome face lit up her mind. This was the woman who taught him his manners, and according to him, was the reason why he hadn’t pressed any sort of advantage last night.
Samantha gulped.
Andi put her arm on the back of Sam’s chair and leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Thank you, Sami. You’re the only one who can do anything about her.”
She swiveled to face her friend directly. About to say something, Sam ended up making a pained grimace at what Andi had admitted. “I wish your mom was here.”
She and Andi were already bosom buddies by the time her father took off. Afterward, Dolores, who had always been a handful, got worse. Andi’s refuge was the Evers’ house where Sam’s mom, Judy, had treated her like a second daughter. The two were close, and the only reason her parents weren’t part of Andi’s wedding was a fluke of terrible timing.
Her parents were in the middle of a two-month European tour, something they’d booked long before a wedding was in the picture. This week, John and Judy Evers were aboard a riverboat cruise on the Danube traveling from Budapest to Nuremberg.
“We’ll video chat with my folks tomorrow, remember?” Sam’s heart was breaking for her friend. It was one thing to grow up with a cold fish as a mother and quite another thing entirely to be facing the most important decision and day of her life without a family. Andi’s father was permanently M.I.A., and Dolores was more burden than parent. Judy was the parental unit touchstone Andi always turned to. It sucked the way this whole thing was playing out.
She patted Andi on the knee. “You’re not alone, Andrea Eleanor. I’m always here for you.”
“No, you’re not,” Andi bit out. The uncharacteristically harsh scolding made Sam cringe. “You’re in a different time zone.”
“Hey,” she murmured. “Look at me.”
Andi had tears in her eyes where there should be nothing but joy and happiness. She was marrying a great guy. Her future was bright. As maid of honor and the bride’s best friend, it was up to her to blunt the effects of Andi’s stupid mother’s nasty mood.
“Forget about Dolores. That cause was lost before it began. Think about Kyle and all the beautiful Sommerfield babies you two are going to make.”
Andi started to smile, and then Sam began to giggle. “Oh, my god, girlfriend,” she wheezed as amusement seized her and squeezed. “Your mother’s face when I taunted her about the grandmother thing was priceless.”
“Do tell,” Andi drawled as comical skepticism edged her expression.
“Now, you did say a honeymoon baby was the plan, right?”
“Hoping for, yeah.”
So. Freakin’. Perfect. “Ya know that saying happiness is the best revenge?”
A grunt and a nod from Andi and she continued. “I’d say a honeymoon bun in the oven and a grandkid she’ll barely ever know qualifies, don’t you?”
Andi’s barked laugh settled Sam’s nerves. Sitting back in her seat, she reached for her water and found Hannah Sommerfield still staring at her. She froze and then the woman smiled and nodded her head slightly. When she reached for her glass and saluted Sam with it, she blushed in return but acknowledged the gesture.
There were plenty of things worse than being a loyal friend.
“Julie,” a loud voice boomed as a ripple of manly laughter rang out.
“Settle down, Joe,” Kyle drawled. “We all know she’s your wife. You’ve said it enough times. Right, guys?”
A sea of heads nodded in agreement.
“The idea of the picture flashcards was so everyone will know who she is. Give this group of cretins a chance to answer, okay?”
Ryan was enjoying this pre-dinner prep that the groom insisted the men participate in. It was pre-gaming only without booze and everyone on their best behavior.
“All right, guys. Here’s the clue. Don’t yell out until I show the picture. Ready?”
Watching Kyle’s ludicrous attempt to prime his groomsmen with a basic knowledge of the ladies in the wedding party, Ryan reached for a bowl of Macadamia nuts and chuckled quietly at the antics of the other guys.
Chuck Salter, Kyle’s longtime caddy, was an amateur caricature artist. Even though some of his technique was crude, he did an amusing
job of mocking the golfers in the room. The first thing the guy did as everyone started gathering was to grab a stack of napkins off the drink cart and start drawing. For lack of a more polite way of putting it, he basically drew the golfers at play. Only instead of clubs and irons, they wielded their cocks in some fantastical ways. Ryan especially liked the one where the curved cartoon cock became some place to hang a golf towel.
As Kyle struggled to carry on, Chuck would hold a napkin drawing above his head from time to time to the howling delight of the others. Right this second, he was displaying a raunchy cartoon of Kyle placing a tee on a green and offering his ass to a gallery of wagging penises.
Chewing a mouthful of the soft, crunchy nuts, Ryan battled the hunger gnawing at his stomach and tried to join in.
Giving up the next clue, Kyle gravely intoned, “She knows where the skeletons are buried.”
No one called out.
The gentlemen conferred. There were some muttering, some chuckles, and a few grunts. Finally, Joe answered for the group.
“They need the picture, I’m afraid.”
“Really, you guys? Are you trying to make me nuts? Y’know, it’s not too late to call in some strippers and a mobile bar. Your women would love finding all of you drunk as skunks and reeking of bachelor party pussy.”
Sneering coldly, Kyle tapped on his phone and showed the group of snickering men who was the keeper of the skeletons.
“Told you it was Lisa,” Stan DiNardo said. “She’s the one who has the tattoo on her shoulder with her kids’ birthdates.” He made a sneer worthy of an Elvis contest and drawled, “JoBeth took one look at it and said she was getting one.”
Another of Kyle’s closest pals on the circuit weighed in. “What’s the four-one-one on that Tara chick? My wife thinks she needs an ass kicking.”
Kyle glanced at Ryan and gave a half eye roll.
Smacking nut remnants and salt off his hands, Ryan took the lead on this one and answered Miguel’s question. No use in shining these guys on. Chuck, Stan, and Miguel Santos were on the circuit with Kyle and knew all about the type of woman Tara Donner was.
The Wedding Affair (The Affair Series Book 2) Page 8