“Oh my gosh. Look at his chubby cheeks.” Velma’s own forehead relaxed, her eyes bright, expression soft.
The look suited her. Fuck, he loved her.
“Brek?” Jase stuck his head in the room. “Got a flower situation. Need your approval.”
Velma tilted her head to the side with a coy smile. “Rain check on the…uh…other thing?”
“Unfortunately. But it’s gonna happen later.” He pinched her chin and gave her a solid once-over. He’d have to be careful not to wreck her hair once he got her alone and that skirt hiked around her waist. He jerked his thumb toward her discarded heels. “Wear the shoes.”
“Are we working here? Or is this high school prom?” Jase huffed before he walked out.
Brek practically dragged his feet, but he followed. Turned out the tulips they’d ordered arrived in periwinkle instead of royal purple. Whatever the hell that meant. Purple was purple. Brek signed off on the change before he checked in on a sweaty, pacing Dean.
The guy was strung way too tight today.
“Get him an amaretto sour from the bar,” Brek said to Eli.
Eli’s eyes glittered with agreement. “On it.”
“Just one drink.” Brek held up his index finger. The last thing he needed was a sloshed groom at the church. Pops wouldn’t appreciate that, and neither would Claire.Keep the bride happy.“And Velma’s having audio issues. Can you check it out, Dean?”
“Sure thing,” Dean said and headed for Velma.
Eli headed off to the bar.
Brek pulled out his recently replaced phone and checked with the assistant he had hired for the event. She verified the families were all in place, theRosetteeditor was happy, the minister was ready, and the guests would arrive shortly. Brek called to confirm the limousine was on the way to pick up Claire and her bridal party at the country club once they were finished getting ready.
Dean would ride to the church with Jase and Eli.
Brek would take his bike so he could get back and forth without waiting for a limo.
Everything was a go.
He glanced at his watch. He had approximately fifteen minutes to show Velma just how much he appreciated her.
With the one-track mind of a nineteen-year-old boy, he took the stairs two at a time. Emerging at the top of the staircase, he thanked the God of Getting Laid when Velma nearly smacked right into him. He caught her around her waist and yanked her to him.
She let out a surprised “eeep.”
Give him ten minutes. He would have her making more noise than that.
“We’re workin’ a deadline, no time to stop.” He laid a kiss on her that relayed the depths of his dedication to this hookup and hoped she wouldn’t pull any bullshit about responsibility.
Both of them were breathing heavy when he let her go. She swayed a little and a tentative smile touched her lips. “Where are we doing this?”
Responsible Velma had left the building. His dick did a fist pump.
He snagged her wrist and pulled her toward the coat closet he had scoped out earlier. The door locked from the inside, which led him to believe they wouldn’t be the first couple to use the small space. Country clubs were classy like that.
Velma’s fuck-me-please shoes tapped along behind him on the polished marble tiles.
He tossed open the door, slipped inside with Velma, and kicked it closed—making sure the lock clicked into place.
The softness of her body contrasted with his as he pressed her against the wall. His mouth met hers.
A little moan escaped from her throat.
Today, her hair didn’t smell like strawberries. No, today it was flowers and peaches and whatever the hell goop held it in place.
