Why am I always like this around him? I don’t trust myself not to do or say something I’ll regret. The lack of control scares me the most. Because when I’m out of control, it leads to poor choices—usually me with a drink in my hand—which I absolutely don’t want to relive.
I give him my best bored expression and cross my arms, hoping he doesn’t notice the goosebumps spreading down my skin since his arrival. “Who let the riffraff in here?”
Still holding my stare, he marches in with a grin. A confident one like he’s got the upper hand, his lone dimple winking through his stubble beard. “Per your brother, I’m here on official wedding business. He wanted to make sure the groomsmen’s ties matched the bridesmaid dresses. You know him. He obsesses over the little details.”
Stupid Des.Why didn’t he send one of his other groomsmen, like one of his hot biker friends? I’d even take Nova’s boyfriend, Holt, over this man.
“Oh, did you bring it?” Maya asks, rushing forward. “Can we see them side by side?”
“Of course.”
Since I can’t knock that cocky grin off his face like I want without causing a scene, I spin away from the chatter and pretend to adjust my dress in the ornate trifold mirror. Ignoring him is the best—and only—option. I’ve almost become a master at pretending he doesn’t exist. It saves me from embarrassing myself before we get into our usual arguing matches. I take a long breath, hoping to gain back some of my control as every fiber of my body is straining to hear his voice or move closer in his direction.No, no, no. The man is a menace.
I’m able to delude myself for a second until I see his reflection appear in the mirror next to mine, wearing the pink tie over his black t-shirt.
“I think they look good together,” Tristen says, nodding. “What do you think?”
I shrug. “It’s Maya’s wedding. It’s her call.”
“But aren’t you a bridesmaid? Shouldn’t you give your input?”
I stubbornly meet his eyes in the reflection, prickles ofirritation coursing up my spine. “Are you telling me how to be a bridesmaid now?”
“I’m just making conversation.”
As if sensing the escalating tension, the boutique assistant enters the room with a flourish, presenting a silver tray of champagne flutes.
“Drinks, anyone?”
The innocent question sets off a bomb in the group. A pink protective barrier forms around me like I might leap at the sight of the bubbling liquid. It’s sweet but also annoying that they think I have no restraint.
“Guys, it’s okay.”
“Get that out of here,” Maya says, shooing the woman out of the fitting area. She switches to Spanish, her cheeks flushed.
“Oh, I didn’t know,” the lady says, her eyes landing on me. And there it is—the look of pity before she sprints away like I might chase after her like a wild animal.
Gosh, I’m ready to go home.
“You okay?” Tristen says from my side.
Of course he’s here for the Reese Humiliation Show. Does he just love having a front and center view to every embarrassing moment that happens in my life?
“Just peachy.”
He leans closer like he wants to say more but doesn’t. Instead, he studies my features, unsatisfied with my response.
With a wince, I turn to leave, but he catches my shoulder, halting my departure.
“Your zipper is undone.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“I got it.”
My reply dissolves on an intake of air when the warmth of his knuckles glides against the sensitive skin of my spine. He tugs the zipper fruitlessly. With each failedattempt, his fingers brush against me, callouses of a man who doesn’t shy away from heavy labor. Every breath I take is coated in his spicy aftershave, almost distracting me enough to relax into his touch.
“What are you doing? Zip it already,” I snap, my senses overloading.
