by Karina Halle
“You could just sleep with him?” Tiffany muses, stabbing a vegetable with a fork as if it had done something to her. “Forget marrying or dating the guy. Just have a one-night stand. Who says he would want anything more anyway.”
Ouch. But good point.
“I need more wine,” I tell her, reaching for the bottle. “Let’s talk about something else.”
It’s always a trip when you let Tiffany dictate the conversation. She launches into a tirade about people who dress their dogs in tiny raincoats.
But as dinner goes on, I continue to stuff my face with food as if that will bury the swirling emotions inside and when I’m bloated and ever-so thankful that my dress has an empire waist, I continue with the wine.
Looking around the tables at all the happy couples, I’m getting pulled down into that desperation spiral, the hopeless (and predictable) “what’s wrong with me?” phase of the evening that happens at every wedding. And it’s not even that everyone here is paired off, of course there are some single people. I see Casey, a guy I work with who would be okay if he wasn’t such an inappropriate creeper and if he didn’t look like Joaquin Phoenix during his hobo phase. I’m pretty sure he’s single for good reason though.
There’s a few other single guys and girls from work, then of course all the other people. I know being single isn’t a disease or a tragedy by any means and I would way rather live by myself forever than settle for someone who isn’t right for me. But at the same time, you start to worry if you’ll ever really find that one who gets you for you. I know I’m a handful–what are the odds that I’ll find a man that I love who wants to put up with all that?
“How are you holding up?” Jackie asks as she sits down next to me to take off her wedding shoes and slip on a pair of white flip-flops. I’ve been watching her dance with Will and her father but when it came time for everyone else to dance, I conveniently disappeared to the washroom.
“How are you holding up?” I ask her. “You still look beautiful, by the way.”
She smiles shyly. “That’s good. I’m good. I just feel so bad, so many people want to talk to me, they’re practically standing in line. I feel like a cast member at Disneyland. Meanwhile I just want to pull a Ty and go pass out in the coatroom.”
I laugh. “He’s got the right idea. Will you think it’s cute when I do it later?”
She looks me over. “You don’t seem that drunk yet.”
“Oh, just watch me,” I warn her.
A tall presence looms behind me. Both Jackie and I twist in our seats to look up at Emmett as he grins down at us.
“Jackie,” he says to her. “I was wondering if I could steal your maid of honor for a dance.”
Jackie tries not to smile as she looks at me. “Are you sure? I think she needs a few more drinks before she’s remotely enjoyable.”
“Then I’ll make our first stop the bar,” Emmett says, holding out his hand for me.
I stare at it for a moment. It’s a nice hand. Large, tanned. Slightly weathered, as if he’s outside a lot building cars or something in his spare time.
I should probably refuse but Jackie looks way too happy at the thought of me dancing with Emmett, so I give him a polite smile and put my hand in his. He brings me to my feet with ease.
“How are you doing, blondie?” he asks me as we skirt around the edges of the dance floor. I notice that he hasn’t let go of my hand yet, which is kind of nice and kind of not.
“Obviously I’m not drunk enough,” I tell him, though when we stop at the bar I realize I’m a few drinks away from being too drunk. It’s a fine line to tread.
“We’ll fix that. What will you have?” he asks.
“Surprise me,” I tell him.
“You’ll let me order for you? That’s a bold move.”
“I’m a bold gal,” I tell him, meeting his eyes.
They crinkle at the corners when he smiles and when he smiles I feel the air leave my lungs.
It’s a famous smile and its impact in person is pretty remarkable.
Tiffany was right.
What a fucking babe.
He turns to the bartender. “I’ll get two Manhattans.”
“Manhattan,” I remark when he looks back to me, leaning casually against the bar. “No wonder you’re friends with Will. He orders Old-Fashioneds all the time. I actually have a minibar in my office specifically for Ted and Will’s daily drinks.”
Emmett laughs which shoots all sorts of lightning down my spine. “That doesn’t surprise me. I was wondering what it would be like to work for those two.”
“They’re a barrel of monkeys,” I tell him. “They at least keep you on your toes, even if they make running things harder sometimes.”
“They said the place would fall apart without you,” he says. “You must be pretty important.”
I shrug. The fact is, as nice as it is to hear that second hand from them, I don’t feel important at my job. I’m an office manager and have been for a long time now. I know I shouldn’t complain about my job when it’s a pretty good one. Easy. Reliable. But sometimes I lie awake at night thinking about where it could all go. I don’t really have an interest in visual effects or animation so it’s not like there’s any advancement for me in those areas. It’s like job-wise I’ve peaked and I know that most people are happy having a dependable job that pays well and they don’t hate but sometimes I…well, I have to wonder if this is it? Is this really the rest of my life?
The fact is, I have dreams. Small dreams that fester in the depths of my heart, dreams I push aside. But my dreams require money and a lot of risk and I just can’t spare any of those at the moment. I’m not sure when I ever will be able to.
“I’m pretty good at keeping people in line,” I finally admit.
“I can see that,” Emmett says, looking me up and down. “How can someone be so soft and prickly at the same time?”
I glare at him. “I assure you I have no soft spots.”
His mouth quirks up, his eyes dancing with a heat that’s hard to ignore. “I can see plenty of soft spots right now.”
My eyes narrow even more. “I realize you’re talking about my breasts now.”
“Breasts, ass, thighs,” he says casually. “All places I’d like to sink my teeth into.”
Oh my god.
Did he really just say that?
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask him, feeling flushed all over.
But he doesn’t look ashamed at all. Just flashes me that panty-dropping smile again. Luckily, I didn’t wear panties today, so it doesn’t work on me.
“Oh, blondie, there is plenty wrong with me,” he says, taking the drinks from the bartender as he passes them over. He hands me mine which I reluctantly take while he shoves a fifty-dollar bill into the tip jar. “There’s a reason they warned me to stay away from you, remember?”
“Right. The corruptible part. I’m starting to think they were right.”
Then he grabs my hand again and leads me to the corner of the room where the wedding presents are piled. “And I’m starting to think that you aren’t easily corrupted.”
“Does being this sleazy usually work for you?” I ask.
He looks at me in surprise and for a moment he almost looks hurt. Then it fades into a cunning smile again. “Yes. It does.”
“The perks of being a famous actor,” I tell him just as he takes out his phone and glances at it, frowning. “Popular, too,” I nod at his phone. “Is it your girlfriend of the week?”
He gives me a loaded stare. “My publicist,” he says after a moment. “Who, no, isn’t my girlfriend.”
“What does she want?” I shouldn’t pry but I’m so curious.
He sighs, putting his phone away and having a large swallow of his drink. I can’t help but stare at his tanned throat as he does so. “You don’t follow any gossip sites?”
“Sometimes. I like Perez now that he’s not so bitchy anymore.”
Emmett nods. “I got into trouble la
st night.”
“Oh really.” I swear he looks ashamed for a moment. “And what did you do this time?”
“Some fuckhead was filming me on his Instagram, harassing me, goading me to do something crazy.”
“And did you?” For all that I’ve heard about Emmett recently, crazy could be a number of things. I really hope that he didn’t punch anyone in the face though, because I’m not too fond of brutish violence.
“I took his phone and smashed it,” he admits, looking down into his drink as if he’s consulting the Manhattan as to whether he made the right choice or not. I’m not sure what the drink whispers back because then he nods and says, “He completely deserved it. I don’t feel bad in the slightest.”
“Fair enough,” I comment. “Though you’d think you’d learn to control your temper at this point.”
He stiffens and his eyes blaze darkly as he looks at me. I’ve touched a nerve. “Control my temper?” he repeats, then shakes his head and looks over my head at the dance floor. “You have no idea.”
“Try me,” I tell him. “Half the people here at this wedding work with me. Take a good look. Most are potheads and drunks and I have to handle them. Have you ever had to answer questions like ‘how do I make a copy?’ and ‘why isn’t my internet working?’ day after day? Believe me. I don’t have the patience of a saint but I have to control myself. For my job.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were lecturing me,” he says, his words sharp. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be me?”
I roll my eyes. “Oh woe is me, huh? I bet having all that money is a fair enough trade for being tabloid fodder. There’s nothing worse than a privileged celebrity complaining about this kind of shit. Do you ever stop for a moment and realize the rest of the world would kill to have your problems, especially when you’re bringing all of this on yourself?”
Emmett’s eyes never leave mine as he finishes the rest of his drink. Totally. Intense.
“You’re not as nice as I thought you were.”
“Because I’m telling you the truth and people hate that. Believe me. Especially men who think they have their shit together.”
He raises his brows. “Wow. Is the alcohol making you worse or better? I can’t really tell.”
I give him a quick smile. “I’m always like this. Prickly, remember?”
“I think I’d rather focus on the soft bits again. Finish your drink.” He nods at it. “Let’s dance.”
I don’t like being told what to do. And though I love dancing, I’m not a fan of slow dancing, especially with someone I don’t really know.
But there’s a dare in his eyes. He thinks I won’t do it.
I drink the rest back and place it on a high table. “Fine.”
He breaks into that grin of his, the one he’s famous for, that makes him look absolutely boyish.
Fuckin’ babe.
Wish it didn’t cause that ache between my legs but fuck, I’m pretty sure he knows it.
He grabs my hand, squeezing it tight as he leads me to the dance floor then pulls me close to him, wrapping his arms around me.
Holy crow. It’s like being held against a brick wall. We’re dancing way too close to each other than we should be and yet even if I felt like putting distance between us I don’t think I could. That iron grip from earlier is back but this time it’s holding every part of me.
And just as I suspected, the man can dance. His movements are fluid, graceful. We don’t just rock back and forth like kids in a high school gym, we glide.
I close my eyes briefly and can’t help but breathe him in. He smells delicious.
“Have a good whiff?”
I open my eyes and look up, our faces inches apart as he gazes down at me, lips twitching in amusement.
“It’s okay,” he goes on, his breath smelling cherry sweet, “I’m used to fans trying to smell me.”
I don’t give him the satisfaction of acting embarrassed. “I’m not a fan of yours. Believe me.”
“You say that,” he says, lowering his mouth to my ear. He whispers. “But I bet if you give me two minutes, I can change your mind.”
I try to ignore the wave of shivers rushing down my spine. “Do I dare ask how you plan to do that?” I ask but my voice is uneven.
“I think you know,” he murmurs, one of his large hands slowly slipping down the small of my back and over my ass where he gives me a subtle grab.
My eyes widen and I look around, wondering if anyone is watching us.
Actually someone is.
Fucking Casey. He’s dancing with a woman called Mona, staring at us openly as he does so. His forehead is lined in surprise. I glare at him until he looks away.
“I’m more of a show, don’t tell, kinda guy,” Emmett adds.
“You’re so full of yourself,” I manage to say, bringing my attention back to him.
“With good reason,” he says, his voice becoming husky as lips brush against my neck. “Just what I thought. You taste sweet. Only your attitude is sour.”
“Excuse me?” I say to him, pulling back to glare at him.
“It’s okay, I’m starting to like it.”
“You’re earning it.”
“You’re earning this,” he says, pressing himself against my hip. My god. He has a fucking erection. “Earning every single inch.”
Part of me is horrified. I mean, who the hell does he think he is? What makes him think he can just shove his cock against me and I’ll be okay with it? If he does this all the time, it’s no wonder he gets in fights with people. Cocks aren’t hugs you can just go around handing out.
But then the other part of me is insanely curious and, yeah, turned-on. Because he feels fucking divine. Even just like this, I can feel his entire hard length and it’s beyond impressive. And the fact that it’s because of me is something I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around.
“You still want to take that bet?” he asks. “Two minutes to change your mind about me.”
I swallow hard and give him a pointed look. “Two minutes isn’t very long.”
“I’m a realist,” he says, glancing over my shoulder. “I’ve got my boat right down there.”
“No thanks,” I tell him quickly before I can be tempted. I’ve had my fair share of one-night stands and hook-ups and lord knows I need to get laid by someone who knows what he’s doing and with his cock and his strength and the way he moves, I have no doubt he’d be a sure bet. But sleeping with Emmett would be a mistake and one I’d probably hate myself for tomorrow.
Even though he would, no doubt, be the most gorgeous man I’d ever be with.
Luckily, the song ends and I manage to pull myself away from him. “I think I need another drink.”
I take off toward the bar, hoping I leave Emmett behind me.
Chapter 4
Emmett
Shit. Alyssa is stubborn as hell.
And I’m standing in the middle of the dance floor, watching her fine ass as it goes to the bar.
I breathe in deep through my nose and adjust my pants while flashing a smile at the tiny senior couple dancing next to me as the next song starts up.
She can’t lose me that fast, though.
I stride over to the bar and just as she’s about to put her order in to the bartender, I place my hand on her shoulder and intercept.
“Two Manhattans,” I tell him smoothly, “and hold the liquor.”
The bartender gives us a look and then shrugs.
“I don’t get you,” Alyssa says to me. “One minute you’re trying to get me drunk, the next you’re ordering me a non-alcoholic drink.”
“It’s not a real Manhattan unless it’s made with Crown Royal. Which this bar doesn’t have.” I grin at the bartender. “No offense, of course. I’m sure the groom made sure to stock all of his favorites.”
“And you snuck your own booze into a wedding?” she asks me.
“You’ve never been here before, have you?”
She shakes her head. “Does it look like I get wined and dined by the yachtie set?”
“Hey I’m the yachtie set.”
“You’re something all right.”
Fuck. I can’t stop staring at her lips. I could watch her throw sass my way all night.
When the bartender hands me our drinks, I take both and motion with my head for Alyssa to follow me. “Come on.”
She doesn’t move. “Where are you going?”
“To get the booze. Come on.”
“Alyssa,” Tiffany says, seeming to appear out of nowhere. She’s drunk again, stumbling a bit but smiling. “Where have you been?”
“Hey hot non-blonde,” I tell her which makes Tiffany’s eyes light up. “How did you get drunk so fast? Again?”
“She can’t hold her liquor,” Alyssa explains.
“The Asian curse,” Tiffany says with a laugh.
“Not a curse, a blessing,” I tell her. “Your friend would be a lot easier to seduce if she was a lightweight.”
Alyssa smacks me across the arm. “Shut up. You’re the one who just ordered me a Manhattan with no booze.”
“Oh Alyssa is super easy to seduce,” Tiffany says. “You should see how many guys she sleeps with.”
A ragged gasp falls from Alyssa’s mouth and I laugh.
“Tiffany!” she exclaims.
“What?” says Tiffany, oblivious. “I only know this because you tell me every single detail from your dates. You always said there’s no shame in just getting fucking laid when you need it. So you should probably take Emmett up on his offer so I can hear about it.”
“Two minutes,” I playfully remind Alyssa, wagging my brows.
“Fuck you,” she says to me, and then looks at Tiffany. “And fuck you too.”
Then she storms off.
I look at Tiffany in surprise. “Man, she is hard to read.”
Tiffany shrugs. “She’s simple when you get to know her. You must not be used to women giving you the brush off.”
Considering the amount of wedding guests who’ve approached me for an autograph tonight, she’s right.