This was the first wedding where I didn’t expect to hook up with anyone. Every person in the wedding party was related to me in some way, which left the guests. With hundreds of relatives and people from the neighborhood, I didn’t see any orgasms on the horizon when the evening began. But now there’s Dreamboat, filling the void of what very well could’ve ended up being a lonely and miserably drunk night in my hotel room.
Dreamboat licks his lips. I can’t stop myself from watching the slow, torturous path of his tongue across his mouth. I should ask his name, but in this moment, I don’t really care. He could be named Clyde, and I’d still roll around in the sack with him for a night.
That’s the thing about one-night stands…details don’t matter—actions do. And based on the way he’s holding me and his eyes are blazing, I’m fairly certain he’d be nothing short of spec-fucking-tacular in the sack.
No one notices as we slip into the hallway. Dreamboat’s hand is on my back, guiding me through the lobby. I steal a glance his way, risking falling on my face again.
He’s staring straight ahead with his chin up, oozing confidence and a whole lotta swagger.
The tailored suit hugs his body in all the right places and is loaded with muscles.
“Wait, I can’t just leave like this.” I turn to him when we’re within feet of the hotel bar, rethinking my stupid decision after coming to my senses. “It’s my brother’s wedding, and I’m the maid of honor. I can’t just ditch everyone.”
Dreamboat doesn’t even flinch. “You go back. I’ll wait,” he tells me.
My stomach flutters with the way he’s looking at me and the promise of the pleasure he’ll no doubt deliver. “Don’t do that. It could be hours. If we’re meant to be, we’ll see each other again,” I tell him, drinking in his rugged handsomeness as I step backward and somehow don’t end up on my ass.
I’m clearly intoxicated because who says that kind of ridiculous crap.
The answer would be me when I’m plastered.
I leave him standing in the lobby and march away on shaky legs, fanning myself as I head straight back to the ballroom without so much as a backward glance.
The wedding’s still in full swing when I step through the double doors. Aunt Fran is dancing on top of the table near the doorway, and a small crowd has assembled to watch her impressive moves. Bear’s laughing and trying to get her to come down before the wobbly table collapses, but she bats him away and twists her hips wildly, not giving two shits.
“Happens every damn time,” Morgan says as he comes to stand next to me. “She can’t hold her liquor.”
We stare at his mother, but I can’t stop smiling. “I like your mom. Cut her some slack. Someday we’ll be old too, and I hope we have enough energy to do that.” I motion toward her as she squats down, shaking her ass like she’s in a rap video and totally dropping it like it’s hot.
“So fucking embarrassing.” Morgan covers his eyes with his hand and groans before wandering away.
“Will the bride and groom please come to the dance floor? You know what time it is,” the DJ announces, turning the attention away from Fran.
I hate this part of the wedding. There’s something so archaic about the throwing of the garter and the bouquet. All the single people at the wedding line up like cattle, exposing our lack of love and our desperation to get hitched someday, with everything hinging on catching an object we’ll throw in the trash the next day.
The guests cheer as Lucio and Delilah make their way to the dance floor, holding each other’s hand as they walk. They’re so happy and so in love, I’m almost a little jealous. I always thought I’d be married by now. I never for one moment figured Lucio would get hitched before me. The man swore off relationships from the day he discovered pussy, but here we are… at his wedding.
Michelle spots me from across the room and makes a beeline in my direction. The ruffled mess Delilah calls a dress looks so much better on Michelle. Her tiny waist and big tits are no match for the layers. And her blond hair, pulled back in a tight bun, shows off her long neck line, her soft facial features just adding to the perfection. “Where the hell did you go?” she asks and points toward the hallway.
“I stepped out for a minute.”
The fewer details I give her, the better. I already feel like shit for leaving my brother’s wedding, even if it was only for a few minutes.
Michelle’s head jerks back like I slapped her. “Stepped out?”
I nod and make a face. I thought my words were pretty self-explanatory. I wasn’t about to say I was trying to get my brains banged right out of my head by an absolute stranger before I finally came to my senses.
She puts her hands on her hips, and I know she’s about to grill me. “With who? Where?”
“I went to the lobby for some fresh air.” I’m lying, but the words slide off my tongue so easily, I even believe my own bullshit for a hot second.
She cocks her head to the side and narrows her eyes. “Who’s the guy?” she asks without missing a beat, knowing me better than I know myself sometimes.
That’s how it is between us. We’ve been best friends since we still had training wheels on our Huffys. We were, and always have been, inseparable. In a family filled with men, she’s the closest thing I have to a sister and the person who knows all my secrets.
“There’s no guy.”
I’m sticking to my story. There’s no way I’m coming clean.
