An NSB Wedding

by Alyson Santos

  “Case, man, he was right there. Right there,” he says, pointing to the last stool at the bar.

  “Okay, calm down. Walk me through this.”

  “Right, so we came here.” He stops by the large, open entrance to the bar area and spreads his arms. His face scrunches into thought before he slides about three inches to the right. “Maybe it was here. Wait… no.”

  “So not that much detail. What happened after you got to bar?”

  He seems uncertain about leaving the exact starting location unresolved when he swings toward the bar. “Well, it was roped off, right? Wasn’t open. We ducked under the rope—” he demonstrates ducking—“then I helped him onto this stool. Dude had to sit on a stool too. Insisted. Something about Korea.”

  “Korea?”

  “Maybe it was Cambodia. Or Croatia.”

  “None of those makes sense.”

  “Okay, well I don’t know. There was a reason. Had to be this stool too.” He kicks the base, which earns him an annoyed look from the patron currently inhabiting said stool.

  “Sorry,” I mutter to the guy who turns back to his drink. “Then what?” I say to Derrick, pulling him away before he assaults any other innocent bystanders.

  “That’s the last I saw him. When I came back, the stool was empty. Well, empty of Uncle N. That guy was there.” He casts a cold glare at the stranger as if it’s his fault my uncle ran off. I see Derrick’s brain working and it scares me.

  “Well, I think we can be pretty confident that ‘that dude’ has nothing to do with Nestor’s disappearance.”

  “But how do you know?” Derrick whisper-hisses, all conspiratorial. His eyes, usually curious and round, now look almost beady as they dart to the guy in Nestor’s stool.

  “Call it Nephew Intuition.”

  He nods gravely like I didn’t just make that up.

  “Look, you’ve spent the most time with him over the last couple of days. What seemed to interest him about the hotel? Did he mention anything he wanted to do? He doesn’t have a car or trust public transportation so he’s probably still on the premises.”

  Derrick rubs his chin and resumes pacing. For the briefest of seconds, he almost looks scholarly. Then he says, “how do you feel about lobsters?”

  ∞∞∞

  Apparently Derrick has a debilitating fear of lobsters, which is why he refused to take the older couple to view the tanks at the hotel steakhouse yesterday. His current theory is that the bar story was an elaborate ploy by Nestor to sneak away and check out those suckers on his own. Sadly, it’s as likely a possibility as any, so here I am, trying to convince the host I don’t want a table, just a quick peek at the crustacean tank.

  “Sir?”

  “I know. Just, I’m looking for my uncle and think he might be here.”

  “At the lobster tank?”

  I strain for a look behind him, hoping I can see the tank from this vantage point. No luck.

  “Maybe?”

  I feel the man’s skepticism, even share it, but after this past week, I’m in no mood to be thwarted no matter how stupid my mission.

  We stare each other down until finally he steps back and waves me in with clear disapproval. I’m not sure what kind of mischief he fears at two in the afternoon, but alas, I swallow my pride and scan the restaurant for any sign of a cranky old man and/or lobsters.

  After a brief search, I find the lobsters but no old man. “Is that the only lobster tank?” I ask a passing server.

  “Yup.”

  “Thanks,” I say, defeated. The server eyes me and my disappointment with suspicion. “My uncle loves lobsters,” I explain to make it worse.

  She nods, kind of polite. “We have the best in town.”

  “Oh no, not to eat them. Just to look.”

  She nods again, not as polite. “I see.”

  “Right. Um, thanks.” I beeline for the exit and Derrick’s waiting distress.

  “Did you find the lobsters?” he asks the second I come into view.

  “Yeah, but no Nestor.”

  “Damn,” he mutters, genuinely surprised. “Thought for sure it’d be the lobsters. Do they have other shellfish tanks?”

  I shake my head and start walking. “Let’s go. Where else? Think.”

  Okay, now it’s starting to look painful for him.

  “I’m such an idiot! What if we never find him?”

  I can’t believe I’m comforting someone over the loss of my uncle. With a pat on the arm, I reassure him that there’s no chance that a lucid adult could be lost in a hotel for all of eternity. I pull away and start moving again before he can hug me.

  “Wait!”

  I freeze at Derrick’s cry and watch his face light up with all-the-thoughts.

  “You’ve got something?” I encourage when he hesitates.

  He seems to reconsider under the pressure. “Yeah but he’s allergic to pine nuts so never mind.”

  I don’t ask.

  My phone buzzes, and I glance down. Molly.

  Crap.

  “’Sup, sis?”

  “Casey, um. I’m sorry to bother you but Nate’s not picking up.”

  “What is it?”

  “Well…” She pauses, and I hear the echoes of shouts in the background.

  “You okay?” I press.

  “Me? Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just… can you come down to the indoor pool area?”

  Fuck. “Right now? I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

  “I know, but it’s an emergency. I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important. It’s about Uncle Nestor.”

  “On my way.”

  I grab Derrick’s arm and drag him toward the elevators.

  ∞∞∞

  For the love of all things holy.

  Families rush from the pool room, parents still shielding their children’s eyes and muttering horrified protests. I feel the need to do the same when I see why.

  “Fuck, Uncle Nestor. What are you doing?”

  I grab a stack of towels and rush toward the hot tub at the far left wall. Derrick’s right behind me, gasping and huffing.

  “Dude, he’s bare-ass naked!”

  ”I’m aware of that, Derrick,” I growl. “Here, hold these up.” I toss him a few of the towels and together we form a protective barrier for the rest of humanity. You’re welcome, human race.

  “What are you all huffy-puff about?” the old man snaps.

  “Gee, I don’t know. How could you think any of this would be okay?”

  “Well, I fancied a soak. You didn’t say to pack swim trunks on the invitation.” His gaze narrows sharply to hammer home the fact that this is my fault.

  “I really didn’t think I needed to. Will you get out of the tub before I get arrested for a second time this weekend?”

  Molly stands guard at the entrance, nibbling her fingernails and looking less amused than she was by the fruit-fight the other day. “Will you hurry up? Get him out before we get caught,” she fires over at me. Again, because this is my fault?

  “Now, Uncle Nestor,” I say, ready to wade into the water and drag him out.

  “Please, Uncle N?” Derrick is more conciliatory, even crouching down by the ledge to plead with him at eye level. Something changes in the hard, old man, and he swats the water in defeat.

  “Oh, fine,” he grumbles, pushing up and sloshing toward the stairs. I avert my gaze to the ceiling, hoping I never have to see my uncle naked again.

  “Where are your clothes?” I ask, glancing around the room.

  He’s quiet as Derrick wraps several towels around him, turning him into a bitter, hairy mummy.

  “You,” I say to Derrick when I get no response from Nestor. “Can I trust you to get him back to his room?”

  “What about his clothes?”

  “We’ll figure that out later. Or better yet, have Reece and Jay help you look. But Derrick.”

  “Yeah?”

  “If you call me again with an Uncle Nestor emergency, I’ll be kick
ing you off the tour, got it?”

  His eyes go round, big and alarmed as he nods slowly.

  I’m not even joking. I know for a fact that Jay is also an excellent drummer.

  Molly has her fingers laced over her head when I turn back. She watches the strange parade with the same skepticism I feel.

  “How are we related to him?” she mutters.

  I almost laugh. “You kidding? That’ll be us in fifty years.”

  She groans and covers her face. “Don’t tell me that.”

  I’m not ready to let her off the hook. “So where’s Eli? Trouble in paradise?”

  She doesn’t appreciate my humor. “I don’t think it’s going to work out.”

  “No? Why’s that?” Partly I’m curious. Mostly I like hearing how right I am about shit.

  With a huff, she crosses her arms, though I can tell there’s some pent-up steam just waiting to blow. She’s not so mad that I asked. “Because…” She shakes her head. Ready. Aim. Fire!

  “Oh my gosh! We went for Italian and, Casey, he asked for two extra knives. Know why?”

  “I’m going to guess not to butter lots of bread?”

  “No. He wanted to use them like chopsticks to eat his spaghetti. He said that’s how they do it in Italy.”

  “Huh.” A smile tugs at my lips the longer I let my brain work on that image.

  “Yeah, and then he said he was pretty sure Lithuania and Lichtenstein were the same country. He didn’t even know Andorra existed. Haven’t you guys toured Europe, like, a million times?”

  “Not quite a million.”

  “Oh! And he asked for half a glass of water, no ice, then used it to rinse his fork before eating something else. Who does that?”

  “Eli.”

  “And who asks the server if she’s single while on a date with another woman?”

  “Eli.”

  “And then orders a pizza to go for later with the guys?”

  “Eli.”

  “And doesn’t even say anything when we get back to the hotel? Just gives the peace sign and walks off with his stupid pizza?”

  “Eli.”

  This huff is more aggressive, and I work to suppress my amusement.

  “So not marriage material?” I ask, somehow managing to keep a straight face.

  Molly responds with a mic-drop glare she must have learned from Callie.

  25: SATURDAY 3:59PM

  Turns out finding Uncle Nestor skinny-dipping in a public pool was just the beginning of my nightmare afternoon. I’d no sooner gotten Derrick refocused on Nestor duty when more rumors from Aunt Norma started a queue of panic on my phone.

  No, I haven’t run off to South America.

  Yes, Callie and I are married for real; this isn’t a hoax.

  No, she’s not pregnant with someone else’s baby; not mine either; damn it, she’s not pregnant! Yes I’m sure!

  My mom wanted—needed—family pictures right now, no buts, she gave birth to me after all and doesn’t that earn her a silly picture? Nothing could dissuade her. Not even the fact that the rest of the family was missing, and after spending forty-five minutes trying to round them up from around the resort, she finally settled for a selfie with me. Tomorrow’s a better day for pictures anyway, according to her.

  Uncle Alan decided to check out early. Why’s that my problem? Why wouldn’t it be? Everything’s my fucking problem, apparently, including the issue he had with his bill. Required my direct attention, and after much debate, came down to a misunderstanding about how room service works. Also Blanche dumped him, which explains why he’s extra ornery.

  As if all of that wasn’t enough, at some point that afternoon Uncle N and Ms. Hawthorne also broke up. Then they reconciled, broke up, and reconciled again. This required my attention as well—mostly for Derrick who needed crisis counseling at the prospect of his favorite non-relatives’ near split.

  By the time I trudge back to my room, my heart is as sluggish as my body. We’re a minute away from our original ceremony time and I’d wanted to do something special with Callie to acknowledge it. Instead, I’ll be lucky if she doesn’t slug me for abandoning her moments after getting married.

  Slipping my key in the door, I move inside, wondering if she’s still asleep. The lights are dimmed but not off like they were when I left. Something else is different as well. The smell maybe? Not quite as sickeningly floral. A quick scan of the foyer and I realize it’s been cleared of all flower vomit. Guess Callie got as fed up with the forest as I was.

  “Sorry, babe. It’s been a nightmare of an afternoon. I didn’t mean to be gone—”

  I freeze.

  Stretched out on the bed in some silky black contraption is an angel. Scratch that—a goddess. She’s magnificent lying there, watching me with a mischievous look I want to lick off her face. Is she trying to kill me?

  “Don’t think I forgot it’s our wedding night,” Callie says with all the sass that barely there lace requires.

  I swallow, still trying to catch my breath. She looks serious, determined even, but after this week, I trust nothing. Her finger moves in enticing arcs, encouraging me forward. I only make it a few steps before she’s slinking off the bed, prowling toward me.

  “Don’t,” she says, when I reach for the hem of my shirt.

  My hand stalls and lowers at her warning look.

  “You’ve spent the last week taking care of everyone else, Casey Barrett.” Her tone is stern; her gaze, fixed. “It’s time for someone to take care of you.”

  Damn.

  My blood thumps loudly in my veins, my body already hard and tense. Her fingers lift the edge of my t-shirt above the waist of my jeans, just enough to make my breath hitch. Maybe there’s a small groan when she traces the exposed skin over my abs. She’s killing me. Damn near destroying me right now.

  Her hands match the aggression in her eyes as she pushes her palms up my chest, dragging my shirt with them. Yanking it over my head, she uses it to lock my arms behind me. Hell yeah, I let her shove me to the bed. My body has been splashed on covers and websites around the world but only one woman gets access. And my girl? Full VIP privileges.

  I wait, propped up on my elbows, not daring to move. I’ve never seen her look so hungry, so intent. The dim lighting is enough to highlight every perfect curve of her body as she moves toward me. Slowly. Watching. Tracing every line of my chest with lust.

  “You are so hot,” she whispers, and yeah, that makes me grin. “And your smile…” She shakes her head as she climbs onto the bed. Straddling my hips, she sinks hard, forcing a hiss from me. “And you’re so talented. So good and sweet and…”

  I close my eyes, trying to stay balanced with her fingers sinking into my skin, massaging, tempting, taking what they want. Her left hand snakes around my neck and twists into my hair.

  She pulls my head back. “Look at me.”

  I do, my gaze locked on hers.

  “I’m so lucky,” she says quietly, tracing my lips with her other hand. Yeah, I officially became a mess four seductions ago. Now? I’m her captive. A toy in her hands. Hers to have, hold, and enjoy because heaven knows it doesn’t get any better than this.

  Her hips circle hard and slow on my dick, and I gasp in a breath. And I’m sorry. I can’t hold back anymore.

  I slide out of the shirt and grip her face in my hands, forcing her kisses to collide with mine. Have you ever wanted to consume someone? Pull them into your soul and hold them there until their beauty shines out of you too? That’s Callie for me. Has been since the day we met. Will be until the day I die because this, right here, isn’t sex. This is love, trust, loyalty, friendship, selflessness, compassion, and every good thing about being human. This is happiness.

  And this is what happens when you find your dream and marry the shit out of her.

  26: SUNDAY 7:35AM

  I wake to the sweetest smile inches from mine. It’s almost painful how it burrows into my heart.

  “Morning, Mrs. Barrett,” I
mumble, my own lips twisting into a smile.

  “Morning, Mr. Barrett.”

  She turns so I can tuck her against me. Autopilot, this maneuver. I close my eyes again, so content I could probably sleep for another five hours like this. And yeah, maybe I’m still tired from last night because damn that was epic. Making love was just the beginning of Callie’s plans for me. A sensual massage and another heated round of couples-play later, we were finally sated enough for the real party: battling it out with killer insects in the new Atomic Titans game. Yes, my goddess had arranged to have my gaming system set up and spent the rest of the night allowing me to teach her how to play the newest release of my favorite series. Not that I ever doubted our love for a second, but after hours of watching her adorable pout while attempting to blow up alien insects, it’s pretty much cemented for all of eternity. Callie Roland Barrett is the queen of my heart—even if she’s not the greatest Arachnid Slayer of all time.

  “I still can’t believe Holland and Luke are pregnant,” she says now, just as awed as the eighteen times she said it last night. Once our own baby-making had died down, it was all about Holland and Luke. Apparently, Holland had stopped by during my Nestor hunt the previous afternoon to share the news. Yep, there’s nothing like talking baby showers and registries when you’re elbow deep in insect guts. “Did you know that’s why she hasn’t been able to eat broccoli lately?” By her tone, this information solves at least half the world’s mysteries.

  “I didn’t know she hasn’t been eating broccoli lately.”

  “Well, she hasn’t. And also, she said she can’t be in the same room as cottage cheese.”

  “Hmm… neither can I. Maybe I’m pregnant too?”

  Callie shoves me, and I wrestle her against me to prevent a second attack. Okay, so that’s not the only reason. She settles into my embrace, and maybe a small, tiny part of my brain starts to imagine her pregnant with my baby one day.

  “What time’s brunch again?” I ask, hoping the answer is never. I’d also take: let’s have sex ten more times.