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How To Ruin Your Ex's Wedding: A Romantic Comedy

Page 23

by Denise Wells


  “Will you guys come with me?”

  “Of course,” Angela says. “But if shit gets all touchy-feely between you two, I’m out of there.”

  “Ditto,” Crystal says.

  I laugh.

  Maisey gets a text. “Gregor says he’ll meet us at the ferry dock if we want, but that he’s not telling Pax what you are doing.”

  “Is it better if it’s a surprise?” I ask.

  “Yes,” the girls say in unison.

  And with that, we head out. Three badass chicks and a jilted bride, all dressed to the nines and on a mission to get the guy for the girl.

  32

  Pax

  The ferry ride back to Seattle took a hell of a lot longer than the allotted twenty minutes they claim, I’m sure of it. I’m also certain full years of my life passed before we reached land. Then I still had to wait for the ferry to take me in the other direction to Port Orchard. Fucking waterlogged state with no bridges. Normal places have bridges. Washington has ferries.

  I pace the walkway, waiting to dock.

  Once we dock, I pace the terminal, waiting to board.

  Then I go back to pacing a different walkway, waiting to dock again somewhere else.

  Because sometimes life is just one big vicious circle while you try to get to your destination. Not that I have anywhere to be. I don’t even have plans for when I get home. I figure I’ll sit on my deck with a bottle of Macallan and my camera and see if I can’t make sense of things for a while. Or at least until the Macallan dulls life enough to force me to sleep.

  It’s not like she said no.

  This is what I tell myself so I don’t jump overboard into the icy waters of the North Pacific Ocean. She said she needed space.

  So why am I so distraught over this? It wasn’t a no. It was a not right now. What kind of man am I that I can’t wait a couple of days to see what my woman wants?

  She may not be your woman.

  Of course she’s my woman.

  Maybe she’s her own woman.

  That’s bullshit. We belong together.

  Doesn’t mean she’ll come back to you.

  I tell myself to fuck off so I can stop the argument ping-ponging back and forth in my head. And spend the rest of the ferry ride reciting Seabirds stats to myself to stay occupied.

  10-6-0, 2nd NFC division. Lost Wild Card to Dallas 22-24. 26.8 points. 353.3 yards. 193.3 pass yards. 160 rush yards.

  This is bullshit. It doesn’t matter what I do to try and keep my brain occupied, underneath it all will still be Tabatha trying to break through to the forefront of my thoughts.

  Stay positive.

  I’ll give her a few days and maybe give her a call, see where she’s at with everything.

  My phone buzzes with a text.

  My heart leaps.

  Please be Tabby. Please be Tabby.

  It’s Gregor.

  G-MAN: Hey, Maisey bailed on me to be with the girls. I was thinking I’d come over. Cool?

  ME: Me casa es su casa, my friend.

  G-MAN: See you soon.

  I don’t know what I’m going to do when football season starts again. It happens to me every year. I get used to Gregor during the offseason. Then, come August, I lose him for another seven months or so. Now I know how military spouses feel when the other is deployed.

  Because G is as close to a wife as you’ll ever have again.

  Fuck off, self.

  I board the ferry to take me to Port Orchard, where I can finally head home. My house isn’t far from the ferry terminal. Maybe a ten-minute drive at most. So, before I know it, I’ll be home and I can get rid of this monkey suit and indulge in some hardcore self-pity for the evening.

  The west-facing side of my house is my favorite. Not only do I have multiple decks that overlook the sound, but on the main level, I have two sliding glass doors that are barely a foot apart and almost act as a disappearing glass wall. An abundance of trees on either side gives me all the privacy I could ever want.

  It’s a big house, too big for one person, but I love it anyway. The main floor hosts the living, dining, and kitchen spaces on one end, with a big master suite on the other. One floor below are two guest rooms and an office, and just below that, my darkroom and studio. Technically it’s three stories, but it doesn’t always feel that way because I only bother myself with two floors—the top and the bottom. The whole building is set into a hill making the stories really more like gentle declines with steps. But every floor has a large deck with access to the big backyard below, and a phenomenal view of the sound.

  I can usually count on the view to cheer me up when I’m feeling down. But today seems to be the exception, I’m realizing, as I sit on the upper deck, cigar in one hand, scotch in the other. I didn’t even change out of my suit, just plopped my ass down and started letting my thoughts wander to random places.

  The weather is perfect, I’m guessing the temperature is somewhere in the mid-seventies. A slight breeze whispers through the tree leaves, the rustling sound acting as a perfect complement to the gentle waves lapping at the shore.

  Gregor strolls onto the deck.

  “Hey,” I say. “Pull up a chair. I’ve got a cigar here for you, we can work our way through this bottle of scotch together.”

  “That upset, huh?” he asks.

  “You know, I think I just got the wind knocked out of my sails, so to speak. I got carried away by the big rush of momentum and emotion and excitement. And Tabby wanted to slow it down. And if I want her, then I have to be okay with that.”

  He raises his glass toward me in acknowledgment.

  “It doesn’t mean I’m not going to drown my sorrows in scotch and cigars tonight though,” I add.

  Gregor sits back in the extra-large deck chair that we special ordered just for him and puffs a few times on his stick. “Okay,” he says. “So, you see her again, what do you say?”

  I think on it for a moment. “Well, first I apologize for trying to rush things and ‘highjack her wedding’ as she called it. Then I tell her that I’m willing to wait, as long as it takes. That I want us to avoid making the same mistakes, and I just want to work toward a future with her.”

  “That’s real sweet, man.” He smiles big at me.

  “Aw, thanks, G.” I smile back, feeling good for the first time since I left Tabby at the Cascadian House.

  He pats at his jacket pocket, then his pants pocket. “Uh-oh,” he says.

  “What?”

  “I think I left my cell phone in your guest room with my other stuff. I’m supposed to text Maisey.”

  “Have you guys even been on a real date yet?”

  “Nope.”

  “And she’s got you this wrapped around her finger?”

  “I’m just being polite,” he says defensively. “But, yes, she does have me this wrapped around her finger.” He grins sheepishly.

  I puff on my cigar. “Are you going to go get it?” I ask, blowing smoke into the air, literally.

  “Would you get it for me?”

  “Me? Why? You’re a grown ass man who, last I checked, is capable of maneuvering his body into spaces to collect things.”

  “Yeah, I tweaked my knee at the gym earlier this week, PT wants me to avoid stairs when possible.”

  “Oh shit, man, I didn’t know.” I stand. “Sorry. You going to be okay for the start of the season?”

  “Oh yeah.” He waves his hand dismissively. “I just have to rest it for a while.”

  “I’ll get it for you, G. No sweat, be right back.”

  I head into the house and down the stairs to the guest room with the king bed, as that’s the one Gregor usually stays in. I open the door, and head for the nightstand, where I’m assuming his phone will be. Empty. I check the other nightstand, but it too is empty. In fact, I don’t see any of his things in here. I turn to go check the other guest room and watch in shock as Tabatha comes in and shuts the door behind her.

  “Tabs? What are you doing here?” I
swallow thickly, my throat suddenly dry as fuck. She looks amazing. She’s still in her wedding dress, but her shoes are off and in her hand. Her hair still mostly up, her makeup intact, but her eyes are red-rimmed.

  “I was hoping we could talk for a minute.”

  “Okay. Of course. Sure. Have a seat.” I gesture to the foot of the bed next to where I sit down. Her gown rustles slightly as she moves toward me and settles in, sitting close enough that our thighs are touching.

  “I’m sorry,” she starts.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for,” I say.

  “I ruined it because I was being stupid.”

  “You weren’t.” I caress her cheek and hold her gaze in mine. “Not even a little bit. I was impatient and anxious.”

  “You were romantic.”

  “Agree to disagree,” I say, smiling.

  She reaches up to run her fingers along the scruff on the side of my face. “I want us to be together. Starting now. If you still want that too.”

  “More than anything,” I say.

  “Kiss me?”

  I lean in and touch my lips to hers. Not soft, but not hard either. I want to remember this moment when she agreed to once again be mine and I was able to touch her freely. I move to take the kiss deeper but stop at a knock on the door.

  “This better be good,” I groan to Tabs then say louder, “Yeah?”

  The door opens and Gregor pops his head in. “Uh, hey man, I found my phone. Oh, hi, Tabatha.” He waves and smiles. She does the same. I have a feeling he already knew she was here and the phone request was just a ruse to get me downstairs. “So, the girls are here too, we’re gonna run to the store and grab some steaks to grill for dinner. I’m gonna use your car.” He holds up my keys and jingles them. “Should be gone half an hour?” He looks at me when he says this, one brow raised as though it’s a question.

  I chuckle. “You could be gone as long as forty-five minutes to an hour,” I say. He gives me a thumbs up in return and closes the door behind him.

  Tabatha giggles. “What do you think you need an hour for?”

  “This.”

  33

  Tabatha

  Pax pulls me onto his lap and together we attempt to situate my dress so it’s not so in the way. He leans forward to touch his forehead to mine. “Hi,” he says.

  “Hi.” I smile. I can smell the cigar and scotch on him. Even though I’m not a scotch drinker, I love the taste of scotch on Pax’s tongue. Always have. Especially after he smokes a cigar.

  His eyes hold mine and I’m caught in his stare. I want so badly to kiss him and at the same time I want this moment—right before the kiss, where I know it’s going to happen and everything in my life is about to change and the anticipation drives me wild—to last forever. Because I remember what it’s like to kiss Pax. The brief interlude at the Cascadian House aside, he has a way of moving his lips against mine that makes me want to keep them interlocked incessantly.

  He runs his nose along the side of mine, breathing me in, and I whimper in response. “Fucking love the sounds that come from your mouth.” His voice is low and gravelly, making me wiggle against him, searching out that hard length that I know is beneath our layers of clothing. Finally, his lips whisper across mine for a second before claiming them in a kiss both soft and loving, yet hard and unforgiving.

  His tongue seeks entrance, punishing in its pursuit as my body melts into his.

  More.

  I need more, want more. Pushing at his suit coat, I’m trying to get it off so I can rip at his shirt. I miss his hands on me the minute he moves them to help me remove his clothes. But at last I have his bare chest in front of me. His beautiful bronze chest that belies his profession, making him appear more like an athlete.

  I run my hands across his skin, fascinated by the muscles quivering underneath my fingertips. He pushes the straps to my gown down my arms, I shake them off and the top falls to my waist. My nipples harden as his chest hair brushes against them. My panties flood. I need the skirt away from my body.

  Now.

  “Help,” I say. “Help me with the zipper.”

  Pax reaches behind me and tugs it down, we stand so I can push it off. He removes his shoes and slacks at the same time, then pulls a condom from his wallet and quickly puts it on, his hands shaking as he moves. Until, finally, we are bare in front of one another. I drink him in—tall, lean, muscled, beautiful. His long, thick cock stands at attention, pointing toward the sky. I want it in me. My pussy, my mouth, my hands. I reach for him, but he stops me.

  His gaze scorches my body as it travels up and down. “My god, Tabs. You are so beautiful. I just want to look at you. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed this.” He reaches up with both hands and they travel slowly down the sides of my head to my shoulders, down my arms, to my thighs and back up again. “I want to worship every inch of you.” He leans down and plants a kiss atop my right breast, then my left, his hands still touching me everywhere at once. I can’t help but shiver. I’m scared and excited, turned on more than I’ve ever been.

  “Please, Pax,” I moan.

  He pulls me against his body and we come together in a war of arms and legs, lips and tongues, moans and cries. Forced against the wall, I wrap my legs around his waist, instinct taking over as he grinds his hips against mine. His length slides back and forth against my clit, my own juices acting as lubrication. He’s so hard and the friction dizzying. I use his shoulders as leverage and twist my hands in his hair, the pressure building until I explode. Burying my cries in his neck, biting down hard when the pleasure becomes too intense, clutching at him to keep me from melting to the floor.

  My body lax and muscles spent, I drop my head to his chest as he works his hand under my ass from behind, pushing a finger inside of me. Excitement rears anew.

  “Oh god, Pax. That’s so good.”

  He sinks another finger in, scissoring, readying me for his cock. Blood roars through my body, my brain a fusion of hyperactivity and enamor. I’ve missed this more than I want to admit. This. Him. The feeling of losing control and not being able to stop it. Knowing he wants me so much, that he’s wild for me, is intoxicating.

  I want to whimper at the loss when he pulls them out, but the promise of more closely follows. “I can’t wait, Tabs.” He aligns the tip of his cock with my core and plunges inside me with one thrust.

  “Oh shit,” I cry out. “Pax!” My eyes roll to the back of my head. I’m going to die from sexual pleasure. It’s that good. Pax fills me in a way I’ve not experienced since him. Sensually, emotionally, physically. The feel of his balls slapping against me as he sinks all the way in. I want to thank the universe for bringing him back to me.

  He pauses for a moment to let me adjust to his size.

  I don’t want to adjust.

  I want to be fucked.

  “I need you to move. Please,” I beg.

  “What, baby? Like this?” He pulls out to the tip, then thrusts into me again, fast and hard, his fingers digging into my ass as he holds me in place. “Is that what you want?” he asks, grunting.

  I nod, unable to speak. He does it again. And again. I’m so close to coming all I can do is cry out with every thrust. It’s so hot. I’m so turned on, I have no choice but to climax again. A long and all-encompassing orgasm that just keeps going and going. As though my body has been starved for release and it’s finally being served. Everything he does—the way he touches me, how he knows exactly what I need right as I need it, the ferocity with which he needs to possess me—is overwhelming.

  “Jesus, Pax.” I exhale. But he isn’t done.

  He pounds into me, mercilessly, pulling out completely and driving back in, over and over. I wrap my arms around his neck, trailing kisses from one side to the other. Breathing him in, my body comes back to life with each beautiful thrust between us.

  How have I lived without this? Without him? I can’t go without him again.

  “I love you,” I whisper in his ear.
/>   “Fuuuck!” He draws the word out and comes with a roar. “My god, Tabs. I love you. I love you so much.” His forehead rests against mine and we try to catch our breath.

  Slowly, I lower my legs to the ground, my stance still shaky. He brings me over to the bed and we lay down, him pulling me into his arms. I hook one leg over his thigh and an arm across his chest, my head over his heart. His pulse is still racing, his breathing still deep. I wipe the sweat from my brow, and notice belatedly, that I’m still wearing Hunter’s ring.

  I wait for the shame to fill me as I remember today was the day I was promising myself to someone else. But it doesn’t come.

  “Is it wrong that I don’t feel bad about today?”

  “Which part?” Pax asks, turning and kissing my temple.

  “All of it. Hunter leaving, ditching the wedding, sleeping with you.”

  “You shouldn’t feel bad about any of that, baby. Life is messy, we can’t control it. And you can’t blame yourself for things you can’t control.”

  I wiggle my fingers in front of his face, showing him the ring.

  “You’re lucky I’m still reeling from the best fucking orgasm of my life, woman. Otherwise, I might take offense at you still wearing the other guy’s ring still.”

  I pull it off and toss it over onto the nightstand. “I’m sorry. I forgot it was on. I was so intent on finding you, and then—”

  He puts his finger against my lips to silence me. “It’s okay. I’m not upset. I know what was supposed to go down today, why that ring was on your finger, why that dress is on the floor. I don’t care about any of that. I’ve got what I want right here in my arms. The rest of it? Yeah, it’s going to be difficult and trying to deal with. You’ve got baggage, babe. But when we tackle it together? Tabs, we are unstoppable.” He kisses my temple and pulls me tighter to him. And in that moment, I do feel unstoppable. Invincible.

  And yeah, it’s not ideal that Hunter left me at the altar, or that I left all those people at the Cascadian House. I don’t know what will happen with the fallout of this, but I do know that one day I will thank Hunter for leaving me today. For having the guts to do what I couldn’t, for ending a bad match before it began. Whatever his reasons.

 

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