Lexi
“Order. I said, please get in order—now.”
I tapped my incisors together to keep from opening my mouth on Claudia’s oh-so-painfully goddamn polite order. You’d think that since I work with toddlers, their mothers, who exhibit equivalent tendencies to want to always get their way, and low-morale employees—oops, Cuddle Masters—who shirk their shifts whenever the bar at the mall food court had an earlier than usual happy hour, my tolerance of unpleasant people would be high. It was. Had I murdered a customer yet? No. Had I decapitated a stuffed animal when the machine wouldn’t stuff it exactly how a three-year-old thought it should be? Nope.
Claudia?
I was buckteeth-gap away from losing my cool. It was a wedding, for fuck’s sake. Not a Broadway production.
“No. Did I tell you to stand to the left? Did I? Did I? Didn’t think so, dear.”
At least she wasn’t poisonously dictating to me at that moment. With all the retorts and glares I’d given her throughout the day, she must have learned I dislike her puppeteering. Maybe Jack was right. I was that expressive. Because even the dragon-soul wedding planner with Orc-like pleasantries withered under a couple of my bitchiest don’t-even-try-me faces through the entire day’s preparations.
“You mean I should be here?” Bridesmaid Three asked.
“Yes, Gina,” Bev bitched from further back in the vestibule where we all awaited our cue—probably via another hijacked crucifix pointer—to enter in the procession. “As in on one side of the aisle. Not humping and shoving your tongue down the groomsman’s throat.”
Talk about another dragon. No, a monster. Bev could test my patience on the best of days. Still, I loved her like a sister. Hours of having to worship the damn ground she stood on, though? Nothing doing. Yes, she was getting married. It was a gloriously, marvelously spectacular event to cherish and revere until the end of all ages across all the continents. But the insanities behind the scenes?
Apparently, I was the biggest party pooper in all of humanity because I refused to go along with a fourth take of a Mannequin Challenge in the bridal suite so the videographer could get the best footage. God forbid I refused to contort my face into a, quote, smile of watery joy, as the bridesmaids all looked at Bev looking at herself in the mirror.
“Not teary enough!” Claudia had bitched. It was like I’d fallen into Alice’s hole of prenuptial torture. What’d that damn photog expect? I could just turn on emotions like a tap? Never mind the ensuing argument that I’d gotten into with Claudia that I wasn’t “embracing my role.” Role? I was Bev’s cousin. A minor little bridesmaid stuck at the back of the lineup so Bev’s sorority sisters could have the fanfare. Again, not a Broadway production, people. Fuck’s sake, yes, of course, I was happy for Bev to wed Paul, but I sure as shit would be happier after the insanity was done and over with.
A whole day was wasted in that air-conditioned freezer of a suite—to refrigerate us from actually sweating a bead of sweat, I guessed. Couple of hours was all I’d estimated for. The usual shower, makeup, hairdo sorts of clean up and then the primping and fussing with Bev. Ha. Try all that plus the entourage of a documentary staff. Participation I could do. Monopolization of my existence for an entire day? Thank God there was alcohol in the room.
Which I luckily didn’t over-indulge in like the other bridesmaids of our troop. Namely, the blondie who’d made me at the rehearsal dinner. I doubted she’d snap to Bev or Claudia’s instructions to stand upright for the procession, or keep her hands off Paul’s buddy she was partnered with.
Speaking of partners, mine hadn’t arrived yet and I couldn’t wait to see him, if for no other reason than the fact he was a normal person who wouldn’t squee at bazillion kissy selfies or immediately try to touch my hair and tame it to stay up. Gravity, folks, it had never been conquered in the war with my hair. Give it up. And kindly get your fingers away from my face.
I hadn’t had even a single minute to think about him or over-analyze every word he’d said to me, or what fifty-nine different interpretations I could have for each of his actions. Had I been free to leave the room or even go on my phone—social media updates on #BevandPaulgethitched were acceptable, the rest of reality was not—I would’ve texted Carly and at least told her that Jack was the naked model. Even if I had time to mentally escape the bridal prep, I couldn’t have. By sleeping with Jack last night—not like that!—I hadn’t had a chance to plug in my phone.
God, I still couldn’t erase my first sight of Jack from my mind. All that bronze skin and just-right muscles, I’d been inches from it all. On a bed! And I just fell asleep. Not that I was in any frame of mind to jump him. But if and when I could spend time with him again, it would be nice to actually get to know him more. To see what else there was to him other than Bev’s rumors of his womanizing. And torture myself with knowing his hotness wasn’t for me to—
“You survived.”
I spun to face him after his husky whisper in my ear. Goosebumps ran up my arms and I winked. “Barely.” I peered past him as Claudia headed toward the chapel. “You know, I kinda thought I’d be the one who’d be running late. Was that Paul?”
“Yeah. He had a, uh, an incident with his hand.”
I cocked my head to the side, assuming he’d continue, but he seemed distracted by my dress. As far as bridesmaids dresses went, it wasn’t hideously ruffled, skankily too-tight, or the shade of a nasty piece of strawberry taffy. The designer called it a lemonade mermaid with a modest neck. In other words, a light rose color, with a snug skirt that made my ass look more like J-Lo’s than Dumbo’s, and a sweetheart collar. Best of all—it had pockets! Bev probably thought ahead to arm us with spaces to hold anything she’d need, like servants in the Middle Ages. Jack’s dark stare was more riveted to the neckline along my collarbones. But I bet even he’d be impressed with pockets. Who wouldn’t!
“And yeah,” he said with a sigh when he tore his attention to my face. “Your brother and I had a bet going how late you’d be.”
I crossed my arms and glared. Ha. They both lost. “Claudia’s assistant forbade me from leaving the suite.”
He smirked. “But you don’t follow orders.”
“She bodily blocked me from exiting the door. And booby-trapped the doorknob with super glue.”
He did a half of a wince and adjusted his bowtie, getting it even more lopsided. I reached to make it at least symmetrical again. God knew how Bev was about everything having to be just so.
“For fuck’s sake, stand up! Eyes to the front!” Claudia hissed as she rushed past me. She was gone before I could even open my mouth.
Making me want to drag my knuckles and walk like a cavewoman here…
Jack took my arm and leaned closer. “You do look beautiful, by the way.”
Inside, I gushed at his words and didn’t even want to wonder if they were sincere. I opened my eyes wide and looked back and forth. “Shh. Don’t let Bev hear you.”
I could feel his chuckle at my side. “She’s that bad, huh?”
“Even worse. But thank you. You look awfully sexy yourself.” I smoothed away an imaginary wrinkle from his jacket sleeve.
“You’re still picturing me naked, though, aren’t you?”
I swallowed quickly. Now that you mention it… I shook my head. “Actually, I wasn’t. But I’ll just take a trip down memory lane here, anyway…”
“Funny,” he whispered and narrowed his eyes.
“One, two.” Claudia ran on her heels through the vestibule. “One! Two! Now! You two lovesick fools. You. Now!”
“For the love of Varda,” I muttered under my breath.
Jack turned to me with one brow quirked and a small smile teasing his lips before he walked out with me.
Even though it was just a chapel, that aisle was a long-ass walk that could rival a journey to Mordor. Minus the orcs and wars. And Gollum and— Okay. It wasn’t that bad. But unless I was moderately intoxicated and in my zone of serenading like a rock star i
n front of a karaoke screen, I did not do the whole performing in public. Which, again, this wasn’t a Broadway production, but Jesus, did being in front of two hundred people get to me. Jack secured me tighter to his ribs, probably thinking I was hyperventilating at the emotions of this perfect wedding. But being that much closer to get a whiff of his cologne, mmm, not bad. Pressed that much nearer to his firm abs and muscled arm…by George, what a nice distraction. I’d have to thank him later.
All eyes were on us as we one, twoed our asses toward Paul waiting next to the priest, but it felt like it was just the two of us being so snug together. Will Smith’s song came to mind and I had to coach myself from busting out and getting jiggy. Not in the script, I was sure. When Jack spoke, it made it feel even more intimate.
“I can’t believe you fell asleep on me last night.”
As opposed to…doing what? I wondered.
“Baseball’s more effective than any dosage of Ambien.”
He huffed, but I saw he was still smiling from the corner of my eye. “I’m sorry, too. I would’ve liked to get to know you a little more.”
“You’re saying we still can’t?” he asked when the altar was only yards in front of us.
Sure, we could, but I didn’t reply because I lacked a reason to understand why we should. I scrambled for something to say before more separation from this trooper who I was more curious about than I should have been. But intrigued or not, what was the point? After this weekend, we’d never see each other again. Weekend flings and one-night stands never had been my thing. I wasn’t supposed to be seeking a guy anyway. Unless he planned to come model again—
“See you after,” he whispered before we had to part and walk across from each other.
Nice. Now I’d just keep on wondering and he’d think I was rejecting him with my non-answer.
Given the tipsy state of the other bridesmaids, I was surprised when no one tripped or giggled like they’d just left a silent fart bomb in their wake when the rest of the procession one-twoed up the aisle. Bev’s nerves and frantic freak-outs were absent as she smiled radiantly and took her spot facing Paul. There was an odd ball on his finger—was it swollen? How the hell was Bev supposed to slide a ring on a finger with a knuckle the size of a golf ball and bent backward at that angle? They must have doped him up on something, though, because he didn’t look like he was in a bit of pain as Bev held his hands. Maybe because he was so overwhelmed to notice bodily injury, so overcome with…Bev’s beauty in her wedding gown. Aww. Go me for not rolling my eyes at my own pathetic sappy jokes.
Giddiness stole over me as I realized the wedding was cruising along smoothly and quickly. But there was always a twist of karma, and someone somewhere was sticking forks into the voodoo doll of this wedding. Because when it came time for Bev to read her “personal” vows…they were missing.
Instead of the maid of honor automatically handing Bev the pearly-pink notecard she’d copied the vows I wrote for her, the redhead just smiled brighter when everyone focused on her. Still…nothing.
“Darcy?” Bev smiled as she hissed at her.
Darcy rubbed Bev’s shoulder. “This is such a breathtaking moment, Bevs.”
“The vows.” Bev’s lips didn’t lower from her grin but the growl in her words would’ve made even Claudia piss her panties.
“Oh!” Darcy then gasped. “I um, I was supposed to have them?”
“What?”
Darcy giggled once. “I didn’t know. I thought that was the contact info for that hot football guy you used to date.”
Bev scoffed, “He was from, like, five years ago!”
“Beverly?” the priest prompted, not quite near enough to us girls to get the gist of this epic fuckup.
My cousin turned to smile and nod at the holy man and Paul before twisting to face Darcy again. “You don’t have my motherfucking vows?”
Okay, she was totally taking the cake on swearing in a holy place. I was good.
Darcy still smiled as she mouthed, “Nope.”
In the background, Claudia’s stern visage popped up from behind the groomsmen across from us, pulling a Sean Spencer in the bushes. Her glare blasted us girls for daring to allow a glitch in the productio—uh, ceremony.
“Uh…” I held up a finger to Bev. I still had the original composition in my pocket, since Bev copied it onto her pretty paper earlier in the day. Stepping in front of the other four, I handed the stock card to Bev.
She took it and whipped back to face Paul. Gee, no thanks. I wasn’t tickled with annoyance, though. It was an awfully tense moment in the spotlight. I wouldn’t have wanted to come up short with “personalized” vows at my wedding either. God, speaking vows in front of a herd of people? Hell to the uh uh. If I ever tied the knot, I’d nod or shake my head. Speaking in public wouldn’t be my superpower even with the euphoria of getting married.
I was tormented with holding in laughter a few seconds later. Now it made sense why Bev rejected my document. I’d written the vows on a Cuddly Creation postcard ad—showing everyone in the chapel the glittery, neon cartoon of a stuffed, chubby pink pig wearing a disco ’fro as a Halloween costume. Perhaps a little inappropriate. Especially since I’d been bored with a call from a rep last week and killed time with a Sharpie. I’d doodled a bikini, a moustache, and an outrageously humongous smoking cigar to the image. Plus a speech bubble that said, do me, Kermie. And I’d written the vows around the print on the card, so when Bev read the words, she had to spin the sheet in a circle, following the lines in a spiral. Almost looked like she was trying to do the carwash moves.
A cough broke my attention from Bev reading my—her—words. Jack. He looked seconds from cracking up. I widened my eyes at him to can it. Any second now and Bev would lose her roll from a damned good line of romanticism. Did he not know Claudia was behind the guys?
Never minding the vows hiccup, or the fact Bev needed the priest’s assistance to actually slide Paul’s wedding band onto her new man’s unusually deformed finger, the perfect couple said I do, sealed it with a church-safe yet sloppy kiss, and then finally pranced down the aisle.
After we exited, I expected Jack to sneak me off to the side in the lobby space where we were arranged like props on a set—not that I let Claudia put her hands on me to shepherd me like she aimed to. Since the vows were read, he’d kept his attention riveted to me, like he couldn’t wait to finish a joke. But positioned we were, and guests fled the chapel. There wasn’t time for any line of small talk with the hunk next to me because we were preoccupied with nodding, smiling, saying hello and thanks, and shaking hands. Good God, I couldn’t wait to find some hand sanitizer.
Guests and family passed by, mingled, and eventually trickled out of the space of our lineup. Flashes still blasted in the brick lobby and the videographer lurked around the wedding party like a paparazzo’s apprentice. With fewer people in the crowd, and Claudia helping the photographer to pose Paul with his parents, I felt off duty for the moment. Jack chatted with Bev’s dad a few feet away, but Bev approached me.
“You made it.” I smiled and accepted her hug.
“Fucking barely. Goddamn Darcy,” she said in my ear.
I released her and held her at arm’s length. “But, you made it. Congrats, Mrs. Manning.”
“Thanks to you, cuz.”
“Sorry about the paper—”
She snorted. “Hey, even I’ll appreciate the humor. In…twenty years.”
I deadpanned.
Bev danced her head side to side and sighed. “Seriously. Thanks for the save. So you and Jack, huh?”
Disregarding the fact I’d been in the same suite with Bev since the ass crack of dawn, and within inches of her for conversation, she’d truly been in her own universe and high-strung in wedding anticipation. She hadn’t asked or ribbed me about being in Jack’s room this morning. Until now.
“It’s not what it seems.”
“Come on. You gotta have a more original line than that. All I can say is he
sure worked fast.”
“No. Nothing was worked. Or ridden.” Or licked, or kissed, or stroked, or—
“That time of the month?” Bev winced. “Bummer.”
“No. We just hung out.”
She gaped like a fish. “You hung out with O’Connor. In his room. All night long?”
“No.”
“Aha.”
“I fell asleep on him.” Freaking baseball.
She crossed her arms under the beaded corset of her gown. “He’s that bad? Jesus, for the number of women he bangs, coulda fooled me.” She huffed.
“But does he bang them all?” I really wanted to believe Jack was a decent guy. Getting my hopes up high that Jack could be a catch was stupid. Really idiotic and not at all in sync with my independent woman theme song of the last week. Yet, the more I thought on it, how would Bev know the deets of Jack’s sex life? Unless she’d rigged a sex cam in his bedroom, I could be rational enough to beware she was assuming an awful lot of her coworker. And hopeful…maybe. You know, info to store away for someday. Not right now. Too soon.
Bev scoffed, “Um, yeah. Women flock to him.”
Because he was good-looking.
“And he’s so…freaking charismatic.”
Not necessarily a sexual tool.
“He’s never been with the same woman for more than three dates.”
Maybe he’s picky?
When I didn’t speak, she smirked. “Hell, maybe he’s not. Just be careful and don’t expect too much from him.”
“Even though you wanted to hook me up with him for this wedding.”
Jack strolled over then, within a close enough distance to hear my last words.
“I actually tried to match you guys up at my birthday party last year,” Bev admitted. “But neither of you guys even came…”
“I had to work,” Jack and I said in unison.
She flipped her hand to dismiss our reasons. “I just thought you guys would hit it off. Make a cute couple.”
Before I could reject her wishes and state my need for singledom at the moment, Jack asked, “How come?”
Across From You Page 9