Just the Tip of the Iceberg: Mile High Matched Books 1-3
Page 24
The look suited her. Fuck, he loved her.
“Brek?” Jase stuck his head in the room. “Got a flower situation. Need your approval.”
Velma tilted her head to the side with a coy smile. “Rain check on the…uh…other thing?”
“Unfortunately. But it’s gonna happen later.” He pinched her chin and gave her a solid once-over. He’d have to be careful not to wreck her hair once he got her alone and that skirt hiked around her waist. He jerked his thumb toward her discarded heels. “Wear the shoes.”
“Are we working here? Or is this high school prom?” Jase huffed before he walked out.
Brek practically dragged his feet, but he followed. Turned out the tulips they’d ordered arrived in periwinkle instead of royal purple. Whatever the hell that meant. Purple was purple. Brek signed off on the change before he checked in on a sweaty, pacing Dean.
The guy was strung way too tight today.
“Get him an amaretto sour from the bar,” Brek said to Eli.
Eli’s eyes glittered with agreement. “On it.”
“Just one drink.” Brek held up his index finger. The last thing he needed was a sloshed groom at the church. Pops wouldn’t appreciate that, and neither would Claire. Keep the bride happy. “And Velma’s having audio issues. Can you check it out, Dean?”
“Sure thing,” Dean said and headed for Velma.
Eli headed off to the bar.
Brek pulled out his recently replaced phone and checked with the assistant he had hired for the event. She verified the families were all in place, the Rosette editor was happy, the minister was ready, and the guests would arrive shortly. Brek called to confirm the limousine was on the way to pick up Claire and her bridal party at the country club once they were finished getting ready.
Dean would ride to the church with Jase and Eli.
Brek would take his bike so he could get back and forth without waiting for a limo.
Everything was a go.
He glanced at his watch. He had approximately fifteen minutes to show Velma just how much he appreciated her.
With the one-track mind of a nineteen-year-old boy, he took the stairs two at a time. Emerging at the top of the staircase, he thanked the God of Getting Laid when Velma nearly smacked right into him. He caught her around her waist and yanked her to him.
She let out a surprised “eeep.”
Give him ten minutes. He would have her making more noise than that.
“We’re workin’ a deadline, no time to stop.” He laid a kiss on her that relayed the depths of his dedication to this hookup and hoped she wouldn’t pull any bullshit about responsibility.
Both of them were breathing heavy when he let her go. She swayed a little and a tentative smile touched her lips. “Where are we doing this?”
Responsible Velma had left the building. His dick did a fist pump.
He snagged her wrist and pulled her toward the coat closet he had scoped out earlier. The door locked from the inside, which led him to believe they wouldn’t be the first couple to use the small space. Country clubs were classy like that.
Velma’s fuck-me-please shoes tapped along behind him on the polished marble tiles.
He tossed open the door, slipped inside with Velma, and kicked it closed—making sure the lock clicked into place.
The softness of her body contrasted with his as he pressed her against the wall. His mouth met hers.
A little moan escaped from her throat.
Today, her hair didn’t smell like strawberries. No, today it was flowers and peaches and whatever the hell goop held it in place.
Strawberries were better. He missed them. Along with the ability to touch her hair without worrying he’d fuck it up.
“Anyone tell you how pretty you are today?” he asked, nuzzling her neck.
She cleared her throat. “Not yet.”
Screw the wedding. He’d spend the day in the dark closet worshipping at the altar of Velma. On that thought, he dropped to his knees and ran a hand along the backs of her calves and up the exposed skin of her thighs to shove her skirt up.
“Totally unacceptable, your boyfriend is lying down on the job.” His fingertips grazed the silky skin between her legs.
Her breath caught and she parted her thighs. “Is he? I should talk to him about that.”
Amen and hallelujah, she was ready for him.
“You really should. You deserve sonnets ’n’ shit.” Hooking a finger along the elastic of her panties, he pulled them aside and peppered kisses along the edge of the fabric, right to her sweet spot.
“I don’t think my boyfriend knows any…uh…sonnets.”
Fuck, if he were any more turned on, he’d split right out of his pants. Not good, since they were rented.
“I’m going to call this one, Ode to Velma’s Pu—”
“You should stop talking now.” Her entire body squirmed under his touch, kneading the toes of those killer shoes into the carpet. “Timeline. No time for poetry.” She grabbed at his head when he ran his tongue along her crease.
“Fuck, I could do this all day,” he said against the heat of her. That was about the only poem he could think of right now, and it didn’t even rhyme. His eighth-grade English teacher would be so disappointed in him. Wouldn’t be the first time.
Unbuckling his fly as he stood up, he sprung himself free. His dick would never forgive him if he didn’t get to play, too.
Velma reached her fingers around the base of his shaft and squeezed right in the spot where it drove him crazy.
Droplets dripped from the tip. Her thumb massaged them, and he nearly blew right there.
Rented pants. Not good. Keep it together.
Goose bumps trailed along her skin as he gripped the back of her leg and hitched it around his waist. He centered himself and drove home, bracing her against the wall.
His fucking phone rang.
He ignored it. Two minutes. He needed two more minutes.
Someone banged on the door. Neither of them responded.
“Seriously, Brek. Know you’re busy, but Dean can’t get the audio to work, either,” Jase shouted.
Brek paused midthrust.
Well, that ruined the mood.
He glanced to Velma; her eyes were wide and her mouth slack. With the reluctance of a martyr, he withdrew and accepted the fact that he’d be walking around all day with a shiny new set of blue balls.
More banging. “C’mon, man. I hate to cock block, but you’ve got to get out here.”
“Comin’,” he shouted back.
There was a long pause. “Out here or in there?”
“Shut up, asshole. I’m on my way.” Brek kissed Velma quickly and dropped her to her feet, waiting to be sure she wouldn’t tip over.
She adjusted her dress, and he ran a hand over his no-longer-there hair.
This day sucked balls.
Jase gave him a decent side-eye but kept his trap shut as he led them to the ballroom. Velma clicked behind them on her heels.
“Hey, man, the cable’s jacked. I think we need a new one,” Dean said when they got to the ballroom. “I can try one other thing, but Velma’s laptop timed out. I need her password.”
Velma slipped around to the front of the computer and typed in her password. The glow of the projector filled the room.
Brek’s gaze shifted to Velma. She’d gone stiff. Her cheeks abnormally pale. Frantic, she started typing keys, but her fingers kept slipping.
He glanced up to the screen and…motherfucking cocksucker…Velma’s spreadsheet in all its projected glory lit up the giant screen behind the dance floor. The thing was so long that all of it didn’t fit on the screen, but she’d highlighted three rows. Dean’s. Wayne’s. And his.
“No,” Velma said, her breath shallow. She turned her now-pleading eyes to him. The room seemed to spin as Brek read his name on the last line. Beside it was the number four. The time stamp said she had entered Brek’s name that day.
Numbness took over. Everything sounded l
ike it was in a vacuum. Brek stretched his hands, but he couldn’t feel them. Not with the world around him crashing.
The four stung, no doubt. But what burned? Wayne’s name above his with a bullshit nine in the next column. And Dean with his ten above that.
Fuck.
“Is that your dating spreadsheet Claire was talking about?” Dean asked, focused on the screen. “Why am I on it…?” His words trailed off at the end.
Sour betrayal pooled in Brek’s gut as he carefully unclenched his hands. “Same question. Why am I on it?”
She said she’d given up the spreadsheet. So, this is what it felt like to have your heart broken. No wonder he’d never taken the plunge before.
“Brek…” Velma started toward him, but he raised a hand in defense of his heart.
“Not the time,” he said quietly. Damn if his voice didn’t crack.
Velma’s chest heaved with big breaths. She pushed past him and yanked the cords from the back of her computer. The room dimmed with the loss of the light from the projector.
He couldn’t deal with this at the moment. Focus on the gig at hand—this was his job.
Oh God. The way Brek’s face had twisted with pain when he saw the score her algorithm had given him.
Velma glanced away from him and swallowed past the regret of her idiocy. She should never have added him to her spreadsheet. Of course she had figured that out right after she’d done it. But he didn’t know that. Judging by the way the muscle in his jaw twitched and the light in his eyes burnt out, she had crushed him.
“Velma, seriously, why am I on the list?” Dean’s expression was blank.
The room spun, and it seemed someone had pressed the pause button on her lungs.
“I…um…” She should just tell him. Get it out there. “I used to have a little thing for you before you started dating my sister. Totally benign. I’m over it, and I’m so happy for you and Claire.”
I love Brek now.
All she had to do was tell him.
“Is that why you did that thing you used to do in the office?” He frowned. “The one where you wouldn’t look me in the eye? I thought you didn’t like me. Huh. It makes sense now.”
Brek hadn’t moved since the spreadsheet was on the screen. Hadn’t hardly breathed.
She sucked in as much air as she could. “Can we go outside?” She reached for Brek’s arm.
“I’ve got work to do.” He didn’t even look at her. “We need to get a new audio cable. I’ll send Amy to grab one. Leave your password so she can get it working.”
Okay. That’s fine. She lowered her hand. He wasn’t ready to let her apologize. He had work to do. She understood that. But he still loved her. She knew it in the depths of her damaged soul.
Dean glanced to Brek, then Velma, then back to Brek. “Velma, you should go find Claire. Make sure she’s good.”
She grabbed a sticky note from the projector cart and wrote her password on it, BrekenridgeMontgomery, and handed it to Dean.
She shrugged the strap of the duffle bag, full of her emergency wedding supplies, over her shoulder. With as much dignity as she could muster in her too-tight maid-of-honor dress, Velma went to find her sister.
Onward. Forward. Except…Brek.
Sometimes the hard thing isn’t to run. It’s to stay.
Velma stopped midstride and gripped the gaudy purple fabric on one of the chairs—she had to fix things with him. No matter what, she couldn’t run away.
With all the effort she had, she laid her bag on the nearest table and pressed her fingertips against her eyes.
She glanced to Brek, but he wore a strange look on his face and wouldn’t meet her gaze. His expression remained solid. The sting of the situation covered her like a thick serum of bull crap.
“Brek?”
His eyes flared. He shook his head before walking out with Dean right behind him. Dean gave her a sympathetic look and shook his head lightly.
Velma had never felt more incompetent in her entire life.
Someone cleared their throat. Velma looked behind her.
“Well…” Pops shoved his hand through what was left of his hair and grimaced. Claire and Heather stood beside him, their expressions unreadable.
Tears that had threatened before started to leak from the corners of Velma’s eyes. She brushed them aside with her knuckles. “I’ve messed everything up with him.”
Pops smelled of the spicy cologne he always wore as he rubbed her back in that awkward way of his.
“How much did you see?” She collapsed onto a chair and dropped her elbows to her knees.
“Enough.” He sat beside her and leaned forward, his hands folded in his lap.
“Pretty much everything.” Heather’s words were soft. Sympathetic.
“I thought you stopped using the spreadsheets?” Claire pulled out a chair and sat.
Heather followed suit. “Why’d you rank Brek? And at a four?”
“And Dean? Why did you put him there?” Claire asked.
Velma wiped away more tears and threw up her hands. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“Let’s start at the beginning, then,” Pops said with the patience of a man who had conducted countless counseling sessions over the years.
She told them everything. Including her old crush on Dean. Minus the part about the things Brek had done to her on the back of a motorcycle.
Pops sat silent for a few beats.
“You never said anything about liking Dean.” Claire’s words were delicate. “I never would’ve dated him if I’d known.”
“That’s one of the reasons I’m glad I didn’t tell you. You two are perfect for each other. But I still don’t know how to fix things with Brek.” The spreadsheet was wrong. Like always. Numbers would never account for feelings.
“You see things in black and white, but you’ve got to change that. The rainbow has a multitude of colors. Just because Brek doesn’t measure up to a silly standard you created doesn’t mean he’s wrong for you.” Pops’s eyebrows drew together thoughtfully. “Doesn’t mean he’s right for you, either. But the only way to see that for sure is to open your eyes. They’ve been closed awhile now.”
Pops was wrong. Brek had opened her eyes. She’d just pinched them shut again when things got hard.
“I’ve ruined everything.” Her shoulders drooped further.
“He’s still here. There’s time to fix things.” Claire grabbed her hand and squeezed.
Doubtful. Her life had imploded all around her. “I need a new plan. A better one.”
“Maybe you don’t need one at all. Go where it feels right and stop making the easy things hard. Use your intuition.” Heather took Velma’s other hand.
She had her friends. They hadn’t given up on her.
“Velvet, dear. Keep your eyes open.” Pops smiled wistfully.
She nodded and set out to make things right with Brek.
With her shoes in hand, she took the stairs with as much speed as her dress allowed.
She finally found him on his phone, relaying messages to the staff at the church.
“Brek,” she said when he hung up.
He tossed her a distant look and the muscles in her chest tightened.
“I messed up. I’m sorry.” That summed it up, right? She stepped closer.
He shoved his phone in the pocket of his suit pants and studied the ceiling, the cords of his neck pulsing against his obvious frustration. “I thought you were past all of this.”
“Past what?” Why wasn’t he touching her? He always found ways to touch when they were close.
He dropped his gaze to the floor, hands on his hips. “Your head shoved up your ass.”
Velma shifted on her bare feet. “That’s not fair.”
This time he did meet her eyes. Her breath caught at the devastated emotion mirrored back at her.
He brushed past her down the steps.
Her heart broke more than a little as she watched him go.
“Have you seen Brek?” Jase asked Velma as he sauntered into the Sunday school room they used as a staging area for Claire’s bridal party.
“I don’t know. Last I saw, he was talking to Pops near the rectory.” Velma pushed away a nonexistent strand of hair from her cheek. “Jase, about what happened…”
The light in Jase’s eyes dimmed. “He’s my buddy. It’s best if I don’t get involved in this.”
But she needed everyone to know that filling out the spreadsheet with his information was a mistake. “When I filled out the spreadsheet, I didn’t understand him. I get it now, but he’s blocking me out.”
Jase scrubbed a hand over his military-grade haircut. “You gave him a four.”
Velma tried to roll the tension from her shoulders. Technically, the algorithm gave him a four, but that didn’t seem to be a good point to argue. The spreadsheet was wrong. Absolutely wrong.
“Jase, they need you at the chapel.” Brek’s chirpy assistant, Amy, clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention.
Jase squeezed Velma’s arm and left to take his place next to Dean…and Brek.
“Everyone ready? Anyone need anything? Water? Restroom? Now’s the time,” Amy continued.
Velma fluffed Claire’s veil and forced herself to smile. “Ready?”
Claire nodded. A sprinkle of tears dusted her eyelids through the mass of tulle. Gram’s repurposed now-sleeveless dress hugged her chest and waist tight, and the A-line silk skirt with the vintage lace overlay was perfection.
The Rosette photographer adored the history of the gown. They planned to post Claire’s image next to the one of their grandmother.
Grams would’ve loved that.
They moved to the chapel, waiting at the closed doors. The flower girls and ring bearer lined up near the entrance, then Heather, Velma, and finally Claire with their father.
Velma took her place behind Heather, gripping her purple roses that Jase had wrapped tight with white ribbon. He had included a variety of shades of lavender, amethyst, periwinkle—there were practically fifty shades of purple roses.