By the time I make it back to the table with the most recent tray of drinks, the women are all tittering and giggling excitedly.
Sure, I know those words sound like they’re coming from a Regency romance, but there’s no better words to describe what they’re doing. The cause of all their excitement? The guys are coming.
Great.
I mean, part of me is interested to see if the grumpy guy from earlier has gotten happier. Doubtful, but I can’t help wondering what he’s like when he’s not being forced to learn a thirteenth century dance.
“They’re here.” Chrissie’s voice has gone up about three octaves at the sight of the men. I watch her lean closer to Vicky. “He’s here. He came with them.”
Since I’m standing in front of the booth that the women reserved for the evening, I swivel on my Chucks until I’m facing the door. “Whoa.” I know, weird reaction, but it reminds me of a scene from an 80s movie where a group of hot guys walk into a room and people move away like they’re parting the Red Sea. No joke, that’s what just happened. Women are gawking and whispering to themselves but, honestly, the bridal party is a very handsome group. The women too.
“Ladies.” Anthony steps up to the table first. Looking over at Vicky, he leans over the table as she meets him in the middle for a kiss—not one of those sweet pecks either. Nope, this one is all in.
And gross.
“Missed you,” Anthony says in a husky voice.
“Missed you more.”
Ugh. Love can be pretty nauseating.
I force my eyeballs not to roll, but it ain’t easy, let me tell you. I turn away as soon as they start playing tonsil hockey again. I’ve got that expression of disgust on my face––you know, the one where you curl your lip and your nose gets all scrunchy. Anyway, that’s when I see him. Grumpy.
He’s smirking.
Damn. He caught me.
When I quickly change my expression to a smile, he laughs. Not a snicker or a chortle, a full-blown laugh. He steps closer. I hold my breath expecting… what? I’m not sure. I sure as heck didn’t expect, “Your face.” He laughs again.
My face? It’s funny? Or worse, plain? Round? Makeup free? It’s all those things.
Glutton for punishment that I am, I ask, “What about my face?”
“You mean, besides the freckles?” I see his eyes flick to my nose. That’s where the majority of my freckles live. You’d think I would have grown out of them by the time I reached twenty-six, but no. To say that’s what’s wrong with my face though…. I love my freckles. My mom still had them.
“It’s expressive. You can’t seem to hide what you’re thinking. I can read you like a book.”
“No, you can’t. I can hide what I’m thinking.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You can’t.”
“Yes, I can. I’ll prove it.”
Grumpy crosses his arms over his big, muscly, army-T-shirt-clad chest. That act draws my attention to the fact that the man has humongous arms. Gosh, I love big arms. “All right. Show me what you’ve got, Matilda.”
He remembered my name?
“Alec?” a high-pitched voice sounds. Chrissie. “Alec? Yoo-hoo.” She’s waving like a lunatic from the other side of the table.
I’m sick of her. She’s been the biggest B to me today. Oh hell, I don’t need to abbreviate it. She’s been a pain in my ass all day. A real bitch. There, I said it.
When Alec starts laughing again, I glance up at him. “What?”
“You don’t like her.”
“Duh.” Oh, wait. “You saw that on my face?”
“Yep.”
