“God no.” Hannah winces. “I didn’t really have a lot of girlfriends growing up. And I don’t like to talk down about women, but those absolute fucking assholes are precisely the reason why.”
“Want me to beat their boyfriends up?” I ask, only half-joking as I wrap my arms around her, kissing the top of her head.
She giggles softly against my chest, melting into me, and fuck, there goes my heart.
The wedding ceremony was possibly the most ridiculous thing I have ever seen with my own eyes. And I’m the son of an ex-addict rockstar who once got his cock out while on stage and let some guy pierce the end of his knob in real time.
First of all, the bridesmaids walked down the aisle while one of them sang a Carrie fucking Underwood song. The bride, Hannah’s mother, wore a wedding dress that barely covered her nipples, and the groom freestyled his vows, full Eminem out ofEight Milestyle. It was the cringiest shit I’ve ever witnessed, andI was fighting for my goddamn life sitting through it, trying to stop my whole body from shuddering with the laughter I tried to contain. I’d been expecting something super conservative, but this was about as conservative as a fucking Kid Rock concert.
As Hannah and I stand around with the throng for cocktail hour, I can’t even look at her without laughing.
“Are yousoglad you flew down this morning?” Hannah asks with a knowing smirk.
“I mean, I cannot think of a better fucking way to spend my day off.”
She buries her face into my shoulder as I continue fake-smiling, gazing out over the view of the cotton fields that surround the property while the sky above us transforms from pink to purple.
“Hey,sis,” a deep voice says behind us, one that immediately raises my hackles.
“Oh, great,” Hannah murmurs on a sigh as we turn around.
I’m faced with a tall, lanky blond, who looks like he stepped out of the pages of a mid-nineties Gap catalog. He smooths a hand through his locks, looking from me to Hannah and back again, tipping his chin at me. “You must be the boyfriend?”
I rear back because who the fuck says that by way of introduction?
“I’m Peter, the new stepbrother.” Hs holds his hand out.
“Happy Slater,” I say gruffly, shaking his hand with a lot more force than necessary because fuck this guy and his wandering paws.
Peter snags his hand back, and I try not to smile at the way he shakes it out at his side. “So, you’re thehockeyplayer?”
The way he says hockey, like it’s so beneath him, my palm itches with the need to slap him. Instead, I make a point of snaking my arm around Hannah’s shoulders, drawing deft circles over her skin, and reveling in the way his eyes flare with jealousy.
“That’s right.”
“Never really got into hockey.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Always seemed like such an… undignified sport.”
“Fair enough,” is all I say because I know he’s looking for a reaction, and not giving him one will only annoy him further. But unfortunately, Hannah doesn’t seem to get that memo.
Stepping forward, she glares at him. “So, you know my father is a hockey coach who used to play, right?”
Peter just shrugs, but even I can tell he was fully aware of that information.
“Undignified?” Hannah scoffs. “Well, at least my dad has a little more class than to get married on a plantation where innocent people were literally beaten, raped, and killed.”
“This is my family’s property,” Peter hisses, stepping up to Hannah, and I take that as my cue to swoop in, placing a hand up to stop him without laying a finger on his ass. “It’s part of American history.”
“Yeah, well that says a hell of a lot about you and yourfamily,” Hannah retorts.
“Hannah!”
It’s only at the sound of Hannah’s name being called in a sharp tone that I look up to see most of the wedding guests are now watching the heated exchange between Hannah and her brand-new stepbrother. I snag Hannah’s arm, rubbing my thumb over the inside of her wrist to bring her back to me, and she comes willingly, the tension in her shoulders easing with my closeness.
Hannah’s mother, the bride, appears in front of us, hands placed on her hips, that wedding dress still clinging on for dear life so as not to flash her tits to the entire reception. She glances from Hannah to me and back again, arching a brow, the look in her eyes steely as she assesses her daughter from head to toe with nothing but scorn. “What on earth are you wearing?”
Hannah looks down at herself, ruffling the silky skirt of her dress. “A dress.”
“Red? Hannah, really?”
