Page 33 of Weddings, Revenge & Fake Dating

nathan

Top Gun Flexors

“Remember, your job is to show Roman you’re over him,” I say, coaching Jeanie from behind a wall of stacked beach chairs.

“Remind me how.” She ties her dark silky hair into a high ponytail. When it swings long in the ocean breeze, it’s all I can do not to reach out, wrap it around my hand, and tug until her lips align with mine.

Soon.

“Treat me like Roman treats Sophia,” I say.

She gives me a funny look. “That would involve a lot of groping and grumpiness.”

I love her sarcastic quips, but right now I need her to focus. My goals remain. First, pissing off Roman and ruining his wedding in any way possible, and lastly, closing the deal with Jeanie. All of which I’ll thoroughly enjoy for various reasons.

“Do it your way,” I tell her. “Touch me, tease me, play with me. Make him wish he were me.”

By the time I’m done, he will wish he were me, and then it’ll be too late.

I jolt at the thought. Too late for what?

“Touch, tease, play.” Jeanie counts the steps on her fingers. “I think I can do that, but one question. Do we know how to play volleyball?” Her face wrinkles.

“We’ve got this.” I toss an arm around her neck and tug her to my chest.

She laughs into my T-shirt, making my insides rumble with an unsettling possession. For me, this is not some new insta-feeling. No, it’s reawakened from my youthful attachment to her that I’ve been fighting off since realizing who she is.

The staff is setting up the court when we arrive. As they do, everyone chooses teams. Players will rotate, giving everyone a chance to participate.

The bachelorette party ladies are here. When Jeanie introduces me, it’s clear some know who I am. If Jeanie does, she hasn’t said, which makes me think she doesn’t. She tends to say what’s on her mind.

Easing her into the truth is for the best. I may tell her eventually, but only at the right time. For now, I’m enjoying the anonymity.

On the sidelines, a referee explains the rules. It takes a few practice sets, but everyone gets the hang of serving and setting the ball. Then the game begins in earnest.

Each time I score, Jeanie pats me on the ass, which is more motivation to perform. When Roman scores, she makes up nonsense words instead of cursing. When she says holy butt-custard or nuckle-futs, I find it endearing. It’s like her special little MILF language.

When Jeanie scores, I scoop her into my arms and twirl her in a circle, connecting with every inch of her body. Turns out, touching her is my language.

Today, she’s more relaxed. Because of that, our flirting doesn’t feel forced; it feels real. And judging by the side-eye Roman shoots me, it looks real too.

On the next set when the ball soars in my direction, I pretend it’s Roman’s head and summon superhero-like power. I spike it over the net, scoring again.

Opposite me, Roman acts out, kicking up sand. Sophia tries to soothe him, but the jackass is too competitive. Between our team winning the match and Jeanie and me flirting, he’s losing his pea-sized mind, which is exactly the outcome I hoped for.

When he stares at me, gritting his teeth, I promptly tug Jeanie into my arms and nibble near her ear. My glare locks with Roman’s. The color of his face changes from crimson to dark purple.

I grin. Fucking with him is the sweetest revenge.

Even when Jeanie is rotated out, I continue my passive-aggressive attack. I peel off my shirt, giving the ladies a show. Fully aware my sweat-soaked muscles are gleaming in the sunshine, I pose and flex. The bridesmaids scream and clap. Dex cues up hype music while Freddie shoots video on his phone.

“Are we playing or what!” Roman claps his hands to hurry us along.

In the final match, the teams are tied.

From the other side, Sophia fumbles the serve. The ball barely rallies over the net to Jeanie, but she smacks it in the wrong direction anyway. I dive for it, somehow setting it up. Amelia bumbles, unable to reach it, and the ball drops to the sand out of bounds.

Their team wins.