by Josephs, Mia
“Hey, everything okay?” he asks when he gets to me. His brow is still creased in this really cute way, and I want to run my finger over it to smooth it out.
“Yep. Just…” Just what? I have no idea. My phone buzzes in my hand, jolting me. I watch him watch me, and then our eyes float to my cell. Before I can see what alarm went off, he takes it.
Hell no. Where is his drink so I can toss it in his face for that move?
“You know what I think you need?” he says, putting my phone and his camera behind the bar, signaling to the bartender to watch them. I almost bolt around him to get it back, but he’s one step ahead, blocking me.
“No.” I cross my arms and try to grimace up at him, but my mouth seems to want to smile. “What do you think I need?”
He reaches for my hand, uncrossing my arms.
“I think you need to dance with me.”
Chapter Sixteen
Nate
“No.” She pulls away. “Nate. It just buzzed. It could be—”
Just like on the plane I push my finger over her lips. “Seriously, Brooke. Any normal person would be asleep right now. I’ve shot more pictures than they’ll ever want of their night and with each drink the bride gets a little further from Photoshop help.”
Brooke snorts, wrinkling up her tiny nose. There’s something distinctly childlike about her that makes it easier to put up with the ridiculous amount of shit she dishes out.
I take her hand and start moving to the music, still facing her and slowly scooting us back toward the dance floor. The DJ started playing some good stuff after ten, and I want to take advantage. The beat is perfect and he’s moved from one song to another, and I barely notice she’s not dancing with me until I pause because her arm isn’t moving.
I give her a smile and start dancing again as she follows me to the dance floor in small, tentative steps.
I lean into her. “What’s wrong?”
“I mean…” She stops. “I can move, but you can really…like…move.”
I step into her, wrap my arm around the small of her back and pull her to me. “Dance like you’ve been drinking all night. Like you don’t give a shit what anyone thinks. Like… Just let the music move you.”
This time I force her to come with me. Our bodies are pressed together, but it’s just Brooke and it’s not like we’re on a date or anything, so this is cool. She’s hitting the beat, but not feeling it yet. She’s still stiff and worried about letting her body shake.
“Brooke. Seriously. Stop thinking. Start moving. Feel the music instead of trying to make it perfect.” I grind against her to be a little ridiculous, but her small waist and tight sides feel better than I expected, and I pause before things down south start shifting.
Finally her arms relax and her hips start moving with mine. Her smile gets bigger, the more we move together. We’ve made it to the middle of the dance floor, and she’s actually letting go a little. Brooke. Relaxed and loose. If this were a date, I’d be thinking about doing this same thing with fewer clothes.
“We’re totally pulling a Dirty Dancing.” She laughs as she leans back, pressing our hips together more.
“What?”
“You know. The movie. Dirty Dancing when he—”
“Never seen it,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “Of course you haven’t. But you’re supposed to hold my back so I can lean over backwards and you can sway me. You know, if we were doing this for real.”
I firm up my grip on her lower back, wondering if I’ll pay for it in an awkward moment of a hard-on pressed into her thigh. She sways with me a few times as the music slows down.
“Go for it, Brooke. Have your Dirty Dancing moment. I got ya.”
She leans back a little, but I can tell she’s still worried.
Since I’m starting to feel this weird vibe with her, I decide to mess with her a little because I shouldn’t be the only one feeling like something my have shifted between us. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her to my chest and whispering in her ear. “I’ve never dropped a girl. Ever.”
She pauses and now we’re just standing on the dance floor, not moving and holding one another. I’ve never been with a girl as short and compact as her before. It feels…different, but good.
“Okay.” She steps back, looking as off as I feel. Her eyes dart around. “I don’t…”
Before giving myself time to think, I pull our hips together again, latching my arm firmly around her lower back. Of course I’ve seen Dirty Dancing. The damn thing plays on cable almost every weekend. I step from side to side a few times to a Cee-Lo song, and the music is all wrong, but as she relaxes, she starts to trust me and swings further back. And then she finally bends backwards at the waist, exposing some of her stomach and arching her head back in a way I normally only see on a girl in bed, and… The second she’s upright again, her smile is huge, and I jump away from her before my state becomes obvious.
“I’m wiped,” I say, feeling like an ass because I know she’s high from dancing and would probably stay here all night.
We’re both a little sweaty and her makeup is starting to smear. I lean toward her because this is something I can tell Brooke when I could never say it to a date. Getting us firmly back into friendship territory while things settle back into place is a very good idea. “You’re starting to get a little raccoon-eye action. Just a quick swipe.”
She stops and rubs her fingers under her eyes, but it’s still all smudged.
“Nope. Here.” I reach out with my thumbs as she looks up so I can help.
“This is supposed to be water proof. My Clinique freebies are maybe not all that awesome.” She laughs a little, which I can barely hear over the music.
I wasn’t lying when I said Brooke isn’t my type. But my body remembers the way she felt next to me, and her skin is smooth under my fingertips. My chest is doing that weird squeezing thing when our eyes catch. We have a silent moment where her gaze floats down to my lips and then my gaze floats down to hers. It’s crazy but I start to lean in for a kiss. With Brooke.
“This thing’s been buzzing constantly.” The bartender holds up Brooke’s phone and I snap my hands to my sides and step back before I do something really stupid.
I don’t even try to stop her as she darts around me because whatever passed between us was just…strange.
Instead of trying to make my way back onto the dance floor, I grab my camera and head for the door, Brooke a half step behind me, furiously typing on her phone.
“Brooke. It’s midnight. What could possibly be so important?”
“Family. Mom. It’s stupid.” Her words sound heavy and exhausted with an argument or situation that’s probably been weighing on her for a while.
It’s not stupid and I’m guessing it has something to do with whatever put a frown on her face earlier.
“Oh.” She actually pries her eyes off her phone when we step into the elevator. “How was your date with Celeste? I keep forgetting to ask, and it’s been so crazy since we got here with you trying to terrify me with horror movies…”
She obviously wants to change the subject, so I’ll play along appreciating when people do the same for me.
“It was lunch.” I shrug. “Fine, I guess. I don’t know. I didn’t need rescuing, but it wasn’t spectacular either. I don’t know…”
“Maybe you’re just not—” She snaps her mouth shut.
I’m not sure I even want to know what she’s thinking but I find the word coming out anyway. “What?”
She cringes. “Ready to date.”
I stop just outside the elevator because really, I should be ready. It’s been months. And I guess I was ready, and then the whole Darrian thing threw me. “Don’t apologize for pointing out the obvious, even if I feel like you just swiped my man-card, okay?”
Brooke and I aren’t like that, which is why we’re starting to be such good friends. Nothing more. Just friends. The dance floor thing was a fluke, and probably so was
last night. Stuff is bound to get mixed up when we’re in such close quarters.
I slide the plastic key into the door of our suite and push it open, holding it for Brooke. “Mom and Morsten are probably here by now, so I’m just going to head straight to bed. Your bedroom has its own bathroom, right?”
“Yes.” She’s doing this hilarious face like she’s trying to hold in a grin.
“What’s that look for?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing. Just thinking about how cute your mom is with her boyfriend.”
I cringe, and she laughs at me.
“Now I think you’re trying to give me nightmares.”
“Payback is a bitch sometimes.”
I wrap my arm around her shoulder for a half hug in the darkness of the living room. “I’ll see you for brunch with the family in the morning.” I plant a kiss on the side of her head without thinking.
Then I freeze wondering if she’ll notice, but she slips away from me, leaving my arms feeling weirdly empty as she walks to her room.
***
Every time I close my eyes and nearly drift off, I’m dancing again, her hard body in my arms rubbing against me in such a good way. I should have stayed at the bar when she left, danced with a few more girls—anything to make this feeling go away. Brooke turning me on is just…weird. I reach down into my boxers to relieve some of the pressure, but stop at my waistband because even this feels totally wrong unless I’m thinking about something that’s not Brooke.
I pull out my phone and drop Celeste a text asking if she’d like to grab lunch again next week, knowing she’s asleep and won’t answer until morning. She put her picture in my phone and I take another moment to study her face, perfect smile, thin lips, long, dark hair… She would be a lot of fun to photograph. She’s everything I’ve always loved in girls. I’m still not sure what to think about our lunch. She’s into art. Into photography, and had even heard of one of the guys I worked under briefly in Brooklyn. She knows my mom, gets the whole wedding planning thing… I don’t know. Maybe starting with a lunch or an easy date just doesn’t work for me because she’s nice, but I’m not dying to see her again.
Okay. Now I’m closing my eyes and going to sleep, only the beat of the music finds its way into my head with Brooke’s tight waist and loose hips. I toss off the blankets and head for the bathroom. I’m going to take a cold shower and cool off, or a hot shower and relieve the pressure. And then tomorrow morning I’m going to laugh at how ridiculous the way I’m feeling is.
***
Wedding days are exhausting. The bride has these huge, tall flower arrangements on the end of each of the rows of chairs, which is going to make it almost impossible for me to get any kind of unique shots. We hired another wedding photographer who lives in Tahoe to fill in because you never go with only one person behind the camera, but I’m once again working with a stranger. I need to fix this, but I don’t want to hire a real assistant when my job here is so temporary.
Brooke stands with professional proficiency in the back of the room, blending into the background like she’s supposed to. I never would have guessed she’d be such a natural from the mess she was on interview day. She takes a few slow steps to the door of the chapel and taps her earpiece. “Nate. The bride is almost to the door. We need you for father-daughter pictures before she hits the aisle.”
She has this perfect whisper I can hear just fine, but that I know no person around her notices. Total pro. I’m gonna have to remember to tell her. After watching her face fall last night at the bar, she could use the compliment.
I take a few more shots of the groomsmen beginning to line up and give the Tahoe photographer guy a tap so he takes over while I step out. We share a silent nod, and I follow Brooke. She’s actually easier to deal with than Mom because I can give her crap about everything she does later on. Makes her more fun to watch.
So much of this is automatic for me. Where to tell the bride to stand, how she should look at her dad, how her dad should hold his arm.
Mom fusses around the father, and Brooke tiptoes her way through each bridesmaid and their nude dresses, double-checking flowers and bouquets and alignment. She starts biting her lip when she can’t get one of the larger flowers to tilt the right way, and I snap a few pictures of her. Her hair pulled back off her face, her freckles standing out more in the light and her tight mouth, pulled down as she concentrates.
“Time,” Mom says as the wedding march starts.
This is the part where I get a little frantic because I know how important these little moments are to the bride. I snap a few photos of her father helping her put the veil over her face and Brooke presses her fingertips to the outside edges of her eyes as she watches. I remember a time when I wanted this. Or at least a simpler version of it. Now I wonder if any relationship lasts.
Brooke’s eyes meet mine just briefly as I look through the camera, and I snap a shot of her looking both prim and vulnerable at once.
I wanna tell Brooke she’ll get her day, she just needs to let go a little, but there’s no time now. I follow the bride with my camera and then step to the side so the aisle is nothing but her and her father, trailing her bridesmaids up to the front.
When I should be a hundred percent focused on my job, I take another quick glance back at Brooke. Her arms are wrapped protectively around her waist as she watches with watery eyes. I hope she never loses her hope for love because her childlike desperation for all things in her life to be organized and perfect is starting to be one of the things I like most about her. Mr. Law Student better realize how lucky he is that she picked him.
Chapter Seventeen
Brooke
I love weddings.
“Take this to table one, please,” I tell one of the servers. “The bride ordered chicken with a side of brown rice, not the white.”
The cute purple clad waitress nods and weaves through the dinner party like a champ. I smile to myself, marking off a check on Get FOB through the wedding sober! and glance up at Mr. Heubert. His champagne glass is full of sparkling cider—delivered it myself—so he’s not tempted to get shitfaced and start singing My Little Girl in a bunch of slurs. It was my top priority for this wedding, and I rocked it.
A flash goes off from the corner, and Nate pauses and adjusts before another flash. He looks sexy in his suit, shirt buttoned all the way to the top, thanks to yours truly, and his glossy purple tie swings down his torso. I wish he knew how appealing that is. Mmm.
“Brooke?” Ms. Marks says through my headset. “I need our MOH and best man to prepare for their speeches. Refill all champagne glasses for the toast in twelve minutes.”
“I’m on it.”
I’m kicking ass on this wedding. So far everything has run on time and I haven’t lost anyone’s microphone. And I look incredibly cute in my wedding assistant attire. When I put it on, I stood in front of the mirror, headset settled in my ear and I repeated, “Yes, Ms. Marks” and “It’s already been taken care of, Ms. Marks” and my personal favorite, “Nate, tuck in your shirt.” I look so legit, I’ve been goofy smiling every second I find no one looking.
I get the head caterer and everyone’s glass is filled before our best man stands and taps the edge of his. Nate moves his 35 mm to the side and pulls out the digital, adjusting the lens and works at lightning speed. I can’t help the curve of my lips as I watch him work, crouching in his suit, leaning over tables, weaving through people. Click, click, click…every shot feels like it’s on purpose, yet he’s not distracting anyone in the room—minus me.
My body flushes and tingles as I watch him work, trying not to remember the way he moved against me last night, but also trying not to forget it either. I’ve never been much of a dancer. I’ve done the girl-on-girl thing with Tasha and Morgan just to get this guy Morgan was making eyes at revved up enough to pull her away, but honestly, I just stood in the middle laughing while they grinded around me.
Nate was different. I thought dancing had a pattern
—a certain planned way of moving so it looks good. And he told me to just go with it and I kept thinking he was nuts, I’ll look like an idiot. I may have looked completely out of rhythm, but I felt incredible. He felt incredible. If we weren’t working, and this was a wedding where we were actually guests, I think I’d want to walk out on the dance floor again with him.
I shake my head and laugh to myself. Stop looking at him, Brooke. I am at work, damn it. I did not schedule time to get distracted.
I lean back on the bar, muting my headset and focus on the wedding itself. It’s so romantic with the scents in the air and the décor, I let my mind wander to that day when I’ll be the blushing bride, snuggling with my new hubby at the head table, surrounded by more people than can fit in the big hall. But when my eyes drift back to Nate, I think about what he said about Elvis and the back of a junky car, and even that sounds romantic…if it’s with the right person.
There I go watching him again. I can’t help it!
Our maid of honor wraps up the toasts, and Nate finds his way to me while everyone claps. We have exactly fifteen minutes of “wait time” before we move everyone into the ballroom.
“Did you get any special moments?” I ask, grabbing my glass of wine and taking a sip. I don’t normally drink even though Ms. Marks says I’m allowed one glass on the clock, but I need something to do with my lips.
The side of his mouth quirks up and he leans into me, smelling completely lickable. I involuntarily take a deep inhale.
“Do you want to see?”
I nod, taking another sip to hide the wide grin that has nothing to do with looking at pictures, and he pulls his camera in front of us.
He flicks through the shots, each one as brilliant as the next, and I know he’ll make them even more amazing after he works his Photoshop skills on his computer in the room later. My eyes drift from the camera, over his masculine, strong hands, up his suit covered forearm and eventually land on his profile, which is so close I can count the hairs on his lightly scruffed face. He has good cheekbones. And a strong jaw. There’s a small scar near his eye, and when he laughs at a picture it crinkles and twitches. It’s so cute I want to touch it.