Wet

by Ruth Clampett

What the hell is this? I text.

  We’ve been drinking and voting on the tackiest wedding gifts Stella and Brandon have gotten so far. She has some distant relatives that apparently have a sense of humor.

  So is this the winner?

  It gets my vote, she replies.

  Damn, I need to find my receipt. I got them the same thing. Do you think they could use two?

  She doesn’t reply immediately, but when she does her response is golden.

  Bwahaha! I just read your text to the girls and Stella spit up her Cosmo.

  I grin as I text back.

  Girls that I can make laugh and spit up Cosmos are my kind of girls. This wedding is going to be a blast.

  Another minute passes and a picture shows up on my phone of a group of women laughing and holding up martini glasses like they’re toasting me. The blonde in the middle holding the wicker frog must be the bride, Stella. I scan the faces until I see Elle and she’s blowing me a kiss.

  Damn, I love that girl.

  But then Thursday night she provokes me by sending a picture with the group of them in front of one of those male stripper shows on Santa Monica Boulevard. It’s followed by a shot of her grinning and holding up a bunch of crisp five dollar bills.

  Waiting to go in! she texts.

  I grind my teeth for a minute before I can calm down enough to respond. If she’s going to provoke me, I’m giving it back.

  Okay. See you inside.

  Oh yeah?

  Didn’t I tell you? I’m part of the show.

  Then I’ll make sure and save some fives for you.

  Okay, but don’t expect special treatment or anything. I’ll be working all sides of the stage.

  Is that so? I bet you’re popular.

  Well I don’t want to brag or anything.

  You know what? I don’t want all these horny women crawling all over you.

  Really? I promise to keep my G-string on.

  Oh hell no. Put your loose jeans on and get your butt home.

  I love that she sounds jealous.

  All right, but you don’t know what you’re missing.

  That’s the thing, I do.

  It’s radio silence Friday and I try not to let my stupid imagination go wild. Saturday morning she texts asking me to pick her up at 5:30 for the wedding, and I’m amped to know I’ll be seeing her within hours.

  I can’t believe it’s been over a week. I surrender to the fact that I didn’t figure anything out in our time apart, and I’m giving up trying. I’m as lost as I was the first time I set my eyes on her.

  I take my run in the early afternoon and come home to shower and figure out the tux. It’s a long time since I’ve worn one but I have to admit, my last glance in the mirror before I set out to get Elle is pretty satisfying. I look damn good if I do say so myself.

  I grab the flowers I bought this morning. I’m not sure if they’re the right thing to be giving her considering our ambiguous status, but can you really go wrong with red roses? They’re the essence of romance and women love that shit.

  I’m nervous as all hell when I ring her doorbell, and damn if she doesn’t answer. It really would’ve been nice for once not to troll through her side yard. Glancing at my watch, I realize I’m twenty minutes early. I guess I was more distracted than I realized. I decide to go in the back and hope the French doors are open so I can wait inside.

  When I step in her house I can hear Elle singing—wailing really, at the top of her lungs. I vaguely recognize an old Annie Lenox song and she’s into it. I laugh to myself when she misses a high note but owns it anyway.

  When there’s a pause in the song I call out her name but she doesn’t answer and starts in on the song again. My gut tells me that I really should let her know I’m here, and enjoying her noteworthy performance. Hopefully she won’t be too horrified to know she’s had an audience.

  I approach the bedroom suite since that’s where the singing is coming from and when I reach the entrance to the bathroom hallway I can’t take another step. Hell, I can barely breathe, and my grip tightens on the bouquet of roses.

  She’s turned away from me, and swaying her hips as she sings. A second later she rests her foot on the edge of the bathtub and slowly smooths lotion over her leg in long strokes.

  I swallow thickly as I watch. If it weren’t for the tiny pale lace bra and panties she’s wearing, she’d be nude, and my carnal reaction is similar to when she sent that white bikini selfie from Hawaii. I’m so instantly aroused that I’m almost disoriented. Reaching out, I rest my hand against the hall doorjamb to steady myself.

  I watch her run her lotion-filled hands up her neck in slow motion, down her arms and over her hips. I wish it were my hands sliding over the soft skin of those curves. She stops singing and now hums as she turns to the mirror, and pulls a clip out of her hair so that it cascades around her shoulders.

  I’m overcome with the most powerful jolt as I realize that seeing her like this in the flesh is more than I can handle. It’s pushing me off my cliff. All of these weeks I’ve been dangling from the edge with my fingers slipping and losing their grip, my legs wildly waving try to find a toehold in the jagged rock of our friendship—but I can’t fight it anymore. I’m not even sure when I finally let go, what direction I’m going to fall.

  I tilt back against the doorjamb, trying to catch my breath, and silently watch her. When she looks up and sees my reflection in the mirror, her lips part. My heart is thundering so hard that I can barely hear her gasp.

  She half turns and looks back at me over her shoulder. She doesn’t act embarrassed or try to hide. She studies me with a curious expression but I sense from the hunger in her eyes that she’s as turned on to see me as I am to watch her. It’s incredibly sexy that she’s so comfortable in her own skin.

  The corners of her mouth edge up just slightly. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Not long enough.”

  Her eyes grow wide as her gaze moves down my body. “Wow.”

  “What?” I ask.

  Her cheeks are tinged pink and her eyes narrow. “Look at you. You’re so handsome.”

  I straighten up. “You like the tux?”

  “I like you in it. You wear it well.”

  I nod toward her state of undress as I pull on my lapels. “I’m feeling really overdressed. Maybe I should take the tux off.”

  “Is that so?” she says in a low voice with an arched brow.

  I notice her nipples are hard as I think of all the ways I’d like to touch her, starting there. As she watches me I don’t know if she can tell how aroused I am, but from the way the flush has moved down her neck, and how rapidly her chest is rising and falling, I’m guessing she’s getting worked up, too.

  I nod. “Look at you. I could be as bare as you in a matter of seconds.”

  Please say yes. I’m aching for this.

  “So now you’re teasing me? We’re supposed to leave in fifteen minutes or we’ll be late for the photos.”

  My mouth is dry as she places her hands on her hips. The swell of her ass holds my attention as she pivots. I want to take a bite of that perfection.

  “We don’t really have to go, do we?” I reach up, wanting to loosen my tie.

  For a long pause she looks like she’s going to come to me, but then she shakes her head and steps back instead. “Yes, this is one instance where bailing is not an option. Stella would never speak to me again, so please stop provoking me. You’re making me crazy with want for the very thing I can’t have right now.” She picks up a silk robe that’s draped on the edge of the counter and pulls it on, tying it shut with a defiant stare.

  Damn.

  She walks toward me. “Are those roses for me?”

  I hold them up for her and she takes them with a smile. “They’re beautiful, thank you.”

  “Are you sure about this?” I can almost hear the pleading in my voice.

  She pushes my shoulder. “Quit toying with me, big boy. Go make you
rself busy while I pull myself together.”

  I nod and back out of the room, but damn it’s hard to finally take my eyes off her.

  A few minutes later she joins me in the den. Her long, dark grey dress accentuates all her best assets, including her curvy hips and full breasts. I let out a low whistle.

  Smiling, she turns for me. “You like?”

  I give her an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Now that I see you in that dress, I’m extra glad you aren’t a bridesmaid.”

  “Believe me, me too.”

  “Honestly though, I preferred what you were wearing a few minutes ago. But this is a close second.”

  “What’s gotten into you? A week away from me and suddenly you’re amped up with all this flirty, sexy talk.” She waves her hand. “Not that I’m complaining or anything.”

  “Yeah, I missed you.”

  Her expression softens. “I missed you, too. But we’ve got the night ahead to have fun.”

  I stand up and straighten out my jacket. “Let’s do it!”

  When we pull up to the Ebell Club off Wilshire Boulevard, the valet takes the car. Elle links her arm through mine as we walk through the Mediterranean courtyard looking for the wedding group. The coordinator approaches us and explains to Elle where the bridal party is with Stella. She also lets me know that some of the men are at the bar.

  “You don’t mind if I leave you for a while? They want to get pictures of us helping Stella get ready.”

  “Yeah, you told me about that. No problem. I’ll hang with the guys.”

  As I search for the bar I wonder if I’ll find her ex, Daniel, there. Of course he doesn’t need to know who I am in relation to Elle . . . not yet, at least. I plan to show him later in a very vivid way.

  But apparently Daniel and some other friend are helping the groom get ready, so I get a beer and chill with Jack and Erik. These dudes aren’t as happy to be here as I am, and they’re taking away my mojo with all of their complaints about wearing tuxes and that they’re missing some movie screening. I’m relieved when Elle finally comes to find me, and the energy from the party starts amping up as more and more guests arrive.

  “Isn’t this place cool?” Elle asks as she takes my hand and pulls me into one of the empty ballrooms with the carved ceilings, huge arched windows, and antique chandeliers.

  “Yeah, very cool. I looked it up the other day. It was built in the twenties as a social and philanthropic club. The architectural style is impressive.”

  “And I’m finally free to enjoy it with you,” she says.

  “So what were you girls doing all that time?”

  “Oh you know girls, we like to make a big production of these things. We fawned over her make-up and hair, and helped her get dressed. We may have had some champagne.”

  I smile at her. “You seem a little buzzed.”

  “It was Cristal.”

  “Fancy.”

  She steps closer to me and pulls at my lapels. “So are you going to dance with me later?”

  “I’ll dance with you now.” Grasping her hand, I lift it up and guide her so that she slowly twirls full circle.

  “Ooo,” she gasps as I pull her back into my arms.

  “Where did you learn that?”

  “Ma. She told us that all young men should know how to dance. She taught Patrick, too.”

  She presses her hand to her cheek. “That’s so sweet.”

  “She intended to raise fine gentlemen.”

  “Well I think she succeeded.”

  While being serenaded by the faint melody from the ballroom next door, I take Elle for several spins around the room. We move smoothly together like we were meant to be in each other’s arms and dance. I don’t say anything as I look at her, but something about being here with her to watch two people get married makes me want to tell her everything. I want her to understand how she’s turned my life right-side up, and how I’ve never been happier than when I’m with her.

  Maybe tonight she’ll agree to more with me and we could finally start writing our own dramatic romance novel. Our prologue would be part comedy, part tragedy, crossed-wires, friends to lovers, and everything in-between. I’m sure the main part of the book will be full of steamy erotica and obsessive devotion. Finally, I’ll make sure we finish our novel our way, with a happily ever after.

  When the music fades we wander back into the smaller room that is set up for the ceremony with large overflowing flower arrangements and ornate candelabras. This shindig is fancy as all hell. People are starting to take their seats so we do the same. When the minister, groom, and best man file in I get a firm elbow in the side.

  Elle didn’t need to alert me. She should’ve figured out by now that meeting her ex was near the top of my list for reasons to come to this wedding. I’m disappointed as I study him and realize there isn’t a whole hell of a lot to make fun of with the man I’ve been calling an idiot. He’s good looking and has that confident air. What an asshole for being more impressive than I’d been counting on.

  I mean come on, universe, give me something to work with here: ears that stick out, acne scars, a soft jawline, or at the very least he could be bowlegged. But no. I’ve got nothing but Mr. Tall, Dark, and look at me, I’m handsome.

  I glance over at Elle as she watches him with narrow eyes while pretending not to. When his gaze starts to scan the seated guests she turns toward me and takes my hand.

  “That’s him, right?” I whisper.

  She nods. It bothers me that she looks nervous. Where’s the pissed off Elle who never said anything nice about the guy?

  I give her a smile and squeeze her hand. “You okay?”

  She shrugs. “This is really awkward for me. I may be drinking a lot later.”

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  “Can you imagine if you hadn’t come with me? I’d be a wreck.”

  My eyes grow wide. “I don’t even want to think about that.”

  The ceremony is okay if you don’t mind a bride that looks more like a Vegas showgirl. Her dress has so much sparkly shit on it that she’s blinding as she wades through the rose petals littering the aisle. I’m half expecting her to slip and land on her ass, but her dad is holding onto her tight. I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing.

  Meanwhile I’m willing to bet money that the bride’s tits are going to make an appearance. The sparkly dress probably weighs so much with all that fancy crap on it that it can’t help but droop down bit by bit with each step until the girls are almost clear to break free.

  Good thing Ma isn’t here as she went off at my cousin’s weddings about her sagging dress. I overheard her drilling into my sister that there’s a reason for straps on bras. Have wedding dress designers lost sight of that?

  Meanwhile the groom looks scared out of his mind. Well I would too between my bride’s tits about to flash our entire posse, and being bedazzled by her damn dress. This is no way to start a marriage.

  Like church services, I pretty much tune out the vows. Instead I watch Elle as she listens. The way she reacts to everything is fascinating, her expression shifting one moment to the next from sad to happy, and inspired to confused. I guess girls really pay attention to this stuff.

  After the kiss, which goes on so long there are cat-calls and whistles, the happy couple leaves the room and we file out behind them for cocktails and hor d’oeuvres on the patio. I’ve just stuffed an oversized meatball in my mouth when Dashing Daniel, the ex, and his poor replacement for Elle, step up to us. I decide to refer to him from now on as DD. His woman looks like she’d rather be at the bar getting a lemon to suck on.

  “Elle,” DD says with a fake smile.

  Elle lifts her hand and gives him a little feeble wave. “Hi, Daniel.”

  I can’t help but be irritated. Come on, Elle! For fucks sake, you can do better than that.

  “I’d like you to meet Veronica.” The woman with the tight smile nods her head and gives Elle the once over. All I can think of is that she reminds me
of the Veronica in the Archie Comics that my sister used to read.

  “Nice to meet you,” Elle says with a false sincerity. I suspect that she’d secretly like to push the sour-faced bitch who just hooked her arm through DD’s into the fountain right behind them.

  Dashing Daniel holds out his hand to shake mine. “And you are?”

  “Paul McNeill, Elle’s boyfriend.” I shake his hand firmly—really firmly.

  I don’t even need to turn to Elle, I can feel the delight come off her in waves. She loops her arm through mine. “Paul’s a landscape architect,” she states proudly.

  Yup. Sprinkler man has left the building for good.

  DD pulls a card out of his tuxedo pocket and hands it to me. “Excellent. I do property development and I have a project coming up that may interest you.”

  Veronica nods her head and her helmet hair nods with it. “Sycamore Falls?” she asks. DD nods briskly.

  What an ass. Who brings business cards to a wedding? I take the card, smile and nod too. “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”

  Just when I’m at a loss what to say next, another douchebag guy interrupts us to tell DD that there’s someone he wants him to meet. They excuse themselves and move across the courtyard.

  Elle let’s out a deep breath and pulls her arm out of mine. “Thank you,” she says.

  “For what?”

  “All of it. Saying you’re my boyfriend. Being gorgeous and classy. Not saying what I know you wanted to.”

  “Yeah, and what’s that?”

  “I’m guessing that the word idiot would be involved.”

  I grin at her. “You know me so well.”

  I notice she’s chewing on her thumbnail.

  “So do you think she’s pretty?” she asks in a soft voice.

  “Veronica?”

  She nods. For some reason Elle looks a little insecure.

  “She’s all right I guess, if you like the pinched face look.”

  Elle lets out such a loud guffaw that some wine splashes out of her glass. Luckily I dodge the wave of cabernet.

  Pleased to see her enjoy my response, I share my other reference for her ex’s girlfriend. “You know, when I was young and got bored I used to read my sister’s Archie Comics, about that group of kids in high school. I thought Veronica was an uptight bitch. I’d pretty much say the same about this Veronica.”