‘Ow!’
‘Focus, Hayes!’She cackles.
Luke laughs beneath me.‘You better grab your weapon before she finishes you off.’
He passes me a pool noodle and then it’s on.
Foam flies.Water splashes.Noodles are discarded.We devolve into full-on aquatic wrestling – me and Abbey, Luke and the other groomsman, soaked and shouting.
Somehow, we win.I always win.
The crowd cheers.Abbey flips me the finger.
Luke sinks beneath me without a word, and I lean back underwater to untangle my legs.
When I break the surface again, Abbey and her groomsman are climbing out of the pool – giggling, dripping.
Then Luke’s in front of me again, eyes locked on mine.He reaches for me, cups my jaw in his hand like he’s done it before.Like he’s allowed.
And then – he kisses me.
No warning.No teasing.Just warm lips, wet hands and a slow- burning kind of madness that makes my brain stutter.
Somewhere, someone cheers.
Somewhere else, ‘Never Tear Us Apart’ by INXS hits the chorus.
And me?I smile against his mouth.
Because just like that, he’s mine.
EIGHT
We’re soaked – dripping, breathless and leaving a trail of questionable puddles as we stumble into Luke’s room.The door clicks shut behind us, and then he’s on me – hands in my hair, mouth on mine, pulling me in like I’m oxygen and he’s been underwater for months.His tongue slides against mine and I let out a noise I will never, ever be able to claim was anything other than a moan.
His shirt is wet, clinging, completely in the way – so I peel it off, slow and deliberate, savouring the way his muscles flex under my hands.
He goes for the strap of my dress, fingers sliding over damp skin, and then—
Panic.
Full-body, boob-taped, Spanx-wrapped panic.
I freeze, one hand flying to his wrist.‘Wait.’
He stops instantly.His eyes search mine.‘We don’t have to—’
‘No,’ I say quickly and smile, trying to channel my inner goddess and not the inner monologue that’s currently screaming,YOUR BOOBS ARE HELD UP WITH INDUSTRIAL-STRENGTH ADHESIVE.‘Take your pants off.I’ll be right back.’
I dart into the bathroom, shut the door behind me and glimpsemyself in the mirror.Oh.Wow.Honestly?It could be worse.Make-up is smudged and the mascara has been washed away – mostly.Lipstick a little faded, but we’ll call it post-kiss chic.Hair?Chaotic, yes.But in a drowned siren way.We’re rolling with it.
I shimmy out of the dress and start wrangling the damp Spanx off my body.They cling – oh, how they cling.‘Why are you like this?’I mutter, peeling myself out of them with the grace of a person escaping a wet sleeping bag.I ball them up and hide them between the folds of my dress as if they’re contraband.
Now for the main event: boob tape.
I grab the edge and tug.
Nothing happens.
