The Guy on the Right Page 15

  “Exactly, but the ribbon is hard to—” she gapes at me as I untie the ribbon without ruining its integrity. “How in the hell did you figure that out?”

  “I helped with one of my sister’s friends when they got married. I was stuck doing the bitch work.”

  “It’s not bitch work.”

  “You know what I mean. It’s tedious work for a guy, and you know how my sisters love to torture me.”

  I quickly swap out the sachets as she forks in her dessert in record time.

  “You eat like you’re in the military,” I chuckle. Her cheeks heat, and I guffaw. “You’re embarrassed? I’ve seen you eat seven tacos in five minutes.”

  “Way to make me feel like a pig, Houseman.”

  “I love the way you eat, it’s adorable.”

  “Well, I promised Max we’d cut back,” she says around a mouthful, “two months ago.”

  “You’re perfect,” I declare, carefully fastening another ribbon around the sachets that will no doubt be discarded into the trash this time tomorrow. “It’s such a waste. All this work and no one will really remember it.”

  When she doesn’t answer, I look up to see her staring at me.

  She clears her throat. “I disagree. I remember the details, and I think that’s what makes these things special.”

  “If you say so,” I say, waving a sachet in her direction.

  “I like busy work.” She stands and begins to clear thorns and leaves from a few roses in record time using simple kitchen shears.

  “Where did you learn to do that?”

  “Job number eight. It was my favorite. I wasn’t fired from that one, either. They closed down, went bankrupt. I don’t know why I didn’t try to find a job as a florist anywhere else, I loved it. A hell of a lot more than repo.”

  “So, go back to it.”

  “I might,” she says thoughtfully. “I really do love it. Look,” she measures the flower length against the vase. “See, you have to measure the stem against the container, so it hangs slightly over the lip and then cut them longer moving inward. That’s what helps the presentation. Too much off and you don’t have enough stem to work with. It’s the cut that makes all the difference. Most people don’t know that.”

  “Fascinatin’.”

  “Smart ass.”

  “You love it.”

  “I do,” she says softly. “I really do.”

  Our eyes meet, and I see that same blush creep up her neck.

  “Some people think flowers are a waste of money, but I think they are a real gift. They have these short life spans where they brighten up everything around them.”

  “What’s your favorite?”

  She hesitates. “Ah, can’t decide. Don’t you smile at me!”

  I raise my palms in surrender. “It’s just not surprising.”

  “I know. What can I say? It’s my one true weakness.”

  “Speaking of indecision, the next time you feel like texting me to ask me to Target, or Walmart, or anywhere money for product is exchanged, the answer is no. Forever.”

  She waves a rose in my direction. “I saw the tears in your eyes last time we were in electronics. But I suspect it was because they were playing Finding Nemo.” She sniffs a flower to try and hide her smile.

  I point an accusing finger her way. “I have allergies.”

  “I know. Okay. Okay, I know how bad it is shopping with me,” she grumbles.

  “Don’t get upset, I was mostly kidding. Well no, I mean the part about not going shopping with you ever again. I really mean that.”

  “Shut up,” she says in false aggravation. “Let’s get to work, Houseman.”

  “I’m all yours.” I watch her carefully and love the way my statement blankets her.

  Three hours later, I’m cracking my neck as she finishes the details on each table, fidgeting with her arrangements before wiping off any fallen debris from the crisp white linens. I stand in the center of the dance floor and check out her work.

  “It’s perfect.”

  “Really?” She asks, looking around wistfully.

  “Yeah, really. Come here.”

  She walks toward my offered hand and grabs it when she reaches me, and I pull her to me in declaration, kicking any amount of respectable friend-zone space to the fucking curb.

  “See,” I slide my arm around her back, lifting our entwined hands into position before I begin swaying to a smooth, feminine cover of “Wicked Game”. “This will be their view.”

  “It’s awesome,” she murmurs.

  “It really is.”

  “I’m…”

  “What?” I whisper, loving the feel of her in my arms.

  “I’m proud.” There’s a smile in her voice. “For a second there, I was worried I wouldn’t pull it off.”

  “You did. This looks pro.”

  “Wow,” she says giddily. “I hope they think so too.”

  “They will.”

  She turns to stare up at me. “Thank you. I would have been here twice as long without your help.”

  “My pleasure, Ms. Cox.”

  “You aren’t a bad dancer.”

  “I’m an excellent dancer.”

  She grins up at me. “And so modest.”

  “That too.”

  “You could use another slice of humble pie.”

  “Got my fork ready, where’s it at?”

  I see it then, her intent. She’s giving me the window, and I’m about to jump through it with both feet.

  “Laney!” A voice calls from the entrance of the hall, and we both glare in the direction of the interruption.

  “Devin snuck some shooters into her purse somehow. She’s in her dress, drunk, on the balcony, singing “Bohemian Rhapsody” at the top of her lungs.”

  Laney looks to me perplexed.

  “Go,” I say, hanging my head. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I still haven’t let go of her, and she hasn’t moved either.

  “It’s okay if you—”

  “Go. It’s Devin. I was quite fond of her until a minute ago. See you tomorrow.”

  She smiles. “Okay.”

  Reluctantly I pull my arm away from around her and step away, kissing the back of her hand.

  “Night, Laney.”

  “Night, Theo.”

  #lastnightasasinglelady #shesgoingoutwithabang #dontdrinkandIdo #policeweresummoned #handcuffswerestolen #donttrythisathome #mybestfriendswedding #livingmyrealestlife

  Grannism—If he’s paying attention to the right things, you’ll rarely ever have to give directions.

  Theo

  “By the power vested in me by the great state of Texas, I now pronounce you man and wife. Chase, you may kiss your bride.”

  “Ahhhh,” Laney shouts out enthusiastically when they kiss, which earns her a few laughs, mine included. Laney tosses her flowers up in the air, and the rest of the bridesmaids follow just as the photographer clicks the shutter. Her infectious excitement for her best friend is both audible and palpable.

  I’m so fucked.

  The minute she stepped into view down the aisle in her pink tulle dress and shiny new boots, the feeling in my chest overwhelmed me. And then she’d searched the sea of faces until she found mine, her smile beaming brighter as she winked at me. It was when she reached the rest of the waiting bridal party that I noticed the best man ogling her with clear intent. Immediately, I wanted to wipe the smug smirk off his lips with the way he was objectifying her.

  I could hardly blame him, she was radiant; her hair in soft curls, half up, half down, pink gems and diamonds glittering around her neck, resting on her flawless olive skin. And those lips, dear God, those shiny pink lips. But it was the light in her amber eyes when she spotted me that kept the lump in my throat through the entire ceremony.

  The need to go to her, to claim her, is blinding me. I’ve always considered myself a level-headed guy, but as of this moment, I can’t fathom a good enough reason not to go to her with all the confessio
ns waiting on my tongue.

  Swallowing, I do my best to keep idle when she starts her retreat down the aisle. When she gets to where I stand, she stops, holding her arm out, for me and I gravitate towards her, and wrap her arm around mine, making the rest of the trip down with her. When we’re past the threshold of the double doors, she turns to me, lifting on her heels, eyes piercing mine before kissing my cheek. I’m just about to speak when she bolts, running to tackle Chase and Devin into a group hug.

  “I love you guys so much!” She squeals as they hug her tightly before backing away. And then she’s back to business and barking orders. “Go, you have about ten minutes before the photographer finds you.” She grabs Devin’s bouquet and turns to the bridesmaids. “Okay ladies, line up and look alive. It’s picture time.”

  I stand to the side as they all file out and Laney looks back to me, jerking her head toward the open door. “You coming?”

  “I’ll wait here.”

  She frowns. “Sure?”

  “Of course. Go.”

  “K. See you in a bit.”

  That ‘bit’ turns into an hour or more as the reception goes from a classy cocktail hour to a free-for-all. Everyone in attendance seems to have brought their all-nighter ‘A’ game. The whole of the party is buzzing, overly affectionate and dancing like they’re in a night club. It’s easily the best wedding I’ve ever been to.

  I’ve only seen Laney a few times, and each time our eyes connect, it’s lightning to the chest, a crackle of energy passing between us that I will no longer ignore. She looks so fucking beautiful that I’m constantly searching for her, only able to steal glimpses of everything I want, and just as quickly she’s gone. When the space is too much to take, I crane my neck searching the raging party for any sign of her. Relief comes when the DJ starts the wail of a siren to introduce the groomsmen. They all bound in from the double doors, lining up at the side of the groom who stands waiting on the floor. Grinning, because I know what’s coming from watching countless years of videos, I lift my camera to the entrance when Fergie’s “London Bridge” starts to ring out, the heavy bass thrumming throughout the ballroom.

  “This should be good,” Mark—a close friend of the groom’s family—that I’ve been chatting with says, just as his hater date chimes in. “This is so overdone.” The double doors open, and I see Devin with her bridesmaids in V formation behind her. I’m nervous for all of them, until they collectively take their first few steps, causing every jaw in the room to drop.

  Devin owns the floor, mouthing the dirty lyrics to her groom, her eyes only for him, her dress lifted slightly as she shakes her ass, making her way toward him. She looks stunning, and I can only imagine how he’s feeling watching her.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, Mrs. Chase Hart!”

  The crowd goes apeshit as Laney comes into better view behind her, and they all dance in sync like they’ve been doing it for years. She looks sexy as hell manipulating her body left and right, jutting her boots out to carry her sway. My heart painfully pounds in my chest as I watch them all dance like it’s their fucking job.

  “Okay, I’ll admit, this is good,” Hatorade says next to me.

  “Yeah, it is,” I whisper, unable to rip my eyes off the sexy wet dream in boots. The only girl in the world as far as I’m concerned.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the maid of honor, Elaine Renee Cox!”

  I grin because I know she hates her full name, but it doesn’t seem to bother her as she shimmies in step with the rest of the bridal party as their names are called out one by one.

  When Devin finally makes it to Chase, he’s waiting with open arms, and she dives into them. He devours her mouth, leading the rest of the room to cheers while something inside me snaps and I make a beeline for the maid of honor.

  Laney sees me just before I reach her, and I grab her hand, leading her toward the exit.

  “Oh my God, my dress is tucked in my panties, isn’t it? I thought I felt too much air down there,” she says, fumbling behind to keep up with me.

  Unable to manage a word, I drag her through the endless crowd of buzzing Texans.

  “Theo, where are we going, what’s wrong?”

  Outside the reception, in the hall, I pin her against the wall, grip her chin, and hear her breath catch just before I crush my mouth to hers. It’s a bold statement, and I’m making it in front of the drunker half of the wedding with zero fucks to give. As far as I’m concerned, the minute our lips touch nothing can touch us.

  Capturing her surprise and using it, I slide my tongue against hers, and she opens, letting me have full access while she fists the top of my jacket, to pull me in. Relief covers me briefly, and I kiss her my confession. I kiss her long and hard to show her everything I’ve been hiding, everything I’m feeling. I kiss her so deeply, I’m unsure if I’ll ever be able to tear myself away. She clings to me, going limp as I plunge my tongue in again, and again, my heart soaring, my head surprisingly calm as I grow unbearably hard. She rips at my hair, kissing me back with equal fervor as I hoist up her leg a little grinding into her to show her just how much I want her.

  When I finally pull away, I brave a look down at her and see wide-eyed wonder.

  “I won’t apologize for doing that.”

  “No apology necessary,” she says, her voice raspy, filled with lust.

  “I should have done that a long time ago.”

  “I wanted you to, really.” She darts a nervous glance over my shoulder. “I’m glad you did it when you did.”

  I bend my head so we’re eye level, my gaze intent on hers. “I’m sensing a but—”

  “My mom, she’s uh, standing like four feet away.” I drop my head to her shoulder and can’t help my chuckle.

  “Fuck.” Turning my head to buy time due to the tent in my pants, I see an older replica of Laney clutching her chest like she’s expecting her heart to fail any second. Grabbing Laney’s hand with one of my own, I adjust my angry cock with the other a split second before I turn to meet her mother’s gaze, her brows reaching her hairline. She’s probably never seen her daughter get kissed like that. And I’m praying to God that her eyes remain on my face.

  “Mom,” Laney’s voice squeaks as we approach. “This is Theo Houseman.”

  She narrows her eyes on her daughter. “Just the friend, huh?”

  “It’s, uh,” her eyes focus on me the second I interrupt, “Nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Cox.”

  “You just massaged my daughter’s tonsils with your tongue, Mr. Houseman, and you’re wearing her lip gloss. Call me, Deidra.”

  I wipe the shine from my lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “So,” she says, shaking her head as if to get the illicit image of us out. “Do you kiss all your friends this way?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “I see.” She trains her gaze on her daughter. “Laney’s had nothing but good things to say about you.”

  “I’m really fond of her, as well.”

  “That’s evident.”

  “Momma!”

  “Sorry, ma’am, in her defense, that kiss was on me.”

  “I’m pretty sure you weren’t kissing yourself.”

  “Mom, I’m about four seconds from leapfrogging you out that door,” Laney’s face turns a shade of red I’ve never seen.

  A silent stand-off ensues. The force is strong with these two.

  “Just chill out on the PDA until I make it home, please,” she says brushing past us to grab some champagne and opening the hall door. “Nice to meet you, Theo.”

  “You too, ma’—Deidra.”

  She eyes us both with expectation. “I’ll expect you at dinner next week.”

  “Looking forward to it,” I say, just as the door drags closed behind her and Laney and I burst into laughter.

  #herbestfriendswedding #getdowngirlgoheadgetdown #justmarried #cantlookaway #thisgirlisfire #livingourrealestlife

  Grannism—Don’t smoke, but if you do, make sure the sex is worthy of it.
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  Laney

  I’m positive if I had my choice of dreams to play out, it would be the one I’m currently living in. Theo has his arms wrapped around me, and we’re on the dance floor mere minutes after Devin and Chase left for their honeymoon. My arms around his neck, I remain powerless to the look in his eyes. All I want is to feel his lips again. But we’ve been buying time since he’d kissed me in the hall, trying to keep it PG for my mother’s sake while never straying too far from the other. We’d kept a respectable distance in the last few hours until minutes ago when Theo wordlessly plucked me away from a conversation with the bridesmaids and led me to the dance floor to finally grant me my two-step. And I must admit, he wasn’t bad at it. The music changes to slow and sultry as we dance entranced, no longer able to avoid the pull.

  “Small talk seems stupid right now,” I whisper heatedly.

  “It’s not us.”

  “No, it’s not,” I say as his thumb caresses my back.

  “Are you nervous?” He asks, warm brown eyes penetrating mine.

  I run my fingers through the damp hair on the nape of his neck. “No. Maybe a little. This just got heavy, didn’t it?”

  He bites his lower lip briefly and nods. “Yes.”

  “What are we doing?”

  “I don’t know. Do you want to stop?”

  “Take me,” I say without hesitation.

  His brows lift. “Take you?”

  “Take me, right now, to wherever you’re planning on sleeping tonight.”

  The ride home has been silent, the air between us thick with gunpowder so heavy I can taste it. The longer he drives, the more my hunger builds. Fingers threaded, we exchange longing glances before I finally give into temptation and guide his hand to the hem of my dress. He takes his cue, sliding it up my legs as I sit back in the seat, my chest rising and falling in need. Studying his profile, he seems infuriatingly calm while my heart bangs against my chest in anticipation. But I have no doubt he’s thinking along the same lines when he brakes at a stoplight and leans over, reaching for me. I meet him halfway, our lips locking, his tongue thrusting, devouring, as he slides a warm palm up my thigh and brushes his fingers along the side of my panties. “Lift your dress,” he orders gruffly into my mouth, and I obey pulling the tulle away to give him better access.