A Matchless Romance (Aisle Bound) (5 page)

The women stopped walking so abruptly that Drew almost plowed right into them. The business end of a video camera dug in right under his shoulder blade. Tabitha forgot to warn him he’d need his old football pads to get through this night.

“Shit. Sorry.” The cameraman crab scuttled back a few steps.

Daphne turned around and scrunched up her nose at Drew. “There are so many things in that sentence I just don’t understand.”

“Drew designs video games,” said Tabitha. “That explains the trolls and slayer. I don’t know what a bolas is, though. I haven’t made it to
Eradication
yet.”

Now he got to talk about regional weaponry? While sort-of-not-staring at Tabitha’s breasts? This wedding was definitely way better than he’d expected. “The Incas used them as weapons. Spaniards, of course, stole the idea when they slaughtered that civilization. Led to South American gauchos, or cowboys, using them to hunt cattle.”

“Great.” Mira clapped her hands together. “If Ivy’s handsy cousin Lewis gets fresh tonight, I’ve got a ready-made weapon to fend him off.”

Drew held the bouquet in one hand and the ribbons in the other to show them. The brilliance of the weapon really was in its simplicity. “You tie three rocks, or even weighted sacks, to one end of long leather strings. Twirl it above your head,” he lifted it up and started the circular motion, “then let it fly.” And then the silky ribbons spun right out of his fingers. It flew straight down the hallway, narrowly missing a chandelier. In a feat he couldn’t replicate if he tried a hundred times, the bouquet spun sideways and zipped into the elevator a second before the doors slammed shut.

“What a shot,” he murmured. Talk about threading the needle. Drew spun on his heel. “Did you get that?” he asked the cameraman behind him.

The guy let out a whoop and pumped his fist in the air. “You better believe I got that. Great stuff.”

“Did you get that?” repeated Daphne. “That’s what you’ve got to say for yourself?” She extended her arm to point at the illuminated exit sign. “You go get it. You freaking
run
down those stairs and be standing, waiting for the elevator doors to open.” Eyes flashing, the heat in her voice all but singed Drew’s eyebrows. “It was empty except for a loaded bell cart, so it’s probably going straight to the lobby.”

Talk about an overreaction. “But we’re on the twelfth floor.” He looked to Tabitha, but she just stood there wordless, her mouth rounded into a shocked circle.

“Yep. And the lobby’s on the third, so you’d better hustle.”

Guess he had his marching orders. “Okay.”

“Be careful when you scoop it up. I don’t want to see a single bruised petal,” Daphne warned.

Drew glanced at his watch. His newfound success in talking with women had lasted a whopping nineteen minutes before it all went to shit. Oh well. Progress in small steps was still, ultimately, progress. And nineteen minutes was about ten minutes longer than he’d gone without pissing off Keiko. The lead cameraman snickered as Drew shouldered open the stairway door. He’d have to give the guy his email address later. Daphne’s fury aside, that had been one hell of a shot. Drew wanted the footage for himself. It’d impress his buddy Javier who medaled in the javelin throw.

Nine floors later, he skidded out onto the polished marble of the lobby. But the elevator doors were just closing. A man stood in front of it, holding Mira’s bouquet with a bemused smile on his face. Since he wore white tie and tails, Drew hoped he had something to do with the wedding.

Drew held out his hand. “That’s my bouquet.”

“Really? I would’ve pegged you more for a handful of daisies guy,” he joked, handing it over.

The bouquet looked…well, it looked fluffy and purple. Hopefully unchanged enough so that Daphne wouldn’t rip him a new one when she got down here. “Any chance you’re part of the Rhodes wedding?” he asked.

“I’m the other half of it. Ben Westcott. The groom.”

Drew did a double take. With his longish blond hair, Ben looked more like the leather-kilt-wearing, sword-brandishing hero of
Quest
than a suitable mate for the bridal doll perfection of Ivy. “Drew Weston.”

They shook. “You must be one of our wedding guests. Sorry the name doesn’t ring a bell, but Ivy’s parents invited, well, everyone they know. Who are mostly people that I don’t.”

“I know the feeling. Nobody knows me here except Tabitha Bell. I’m her client.”

Laughter rolled out of Ben. “You’re the mysterious client? I heard all about you. Gotta say, Drew, you’re doing me a huge favor.” He shook his head, then shot his cuffs. And Drew was only able to pair the phrase “shot his cuffs” to the action due to a weekend-long marathon of gangster movies. Weird that his fashion knowledge came from guys who bludgeoned people to death with baseball bats.

“What’s that?”

It took another second for Ben’s laughter to taper off. “Whenever I get nervous today, I’ll just look over at you. Knowing that you’re about twice as nervous and ten times more uncomfortable than me?” He clapped Drew on the shoulder. “It’ll give me the courage not to hotfoot it out of here.”

Uh oh. A scared groom sounded way more serious than a couple of missing flower petals. “You’ve got cold feet?”

Ben lifted his foot and shook it slowly. “Superman’s Fortress of Solitude up in the Arctic was a tropical island paradise compared to how cold my feet are.”

“Seriously?” It surprised Drew, that a man on the verge of a lifelong commitment was so gun shy he’d admit it to the first guy who crossed his path.

“Marriage was the one thing I spent my entire life avoiding. Practically made a career out of it. This is uncharted territory for me. I’m scared shitless.” He held his hands out in proof. They both watched them tremble the tiniest bit. “But—”

“Don’t say another word. There’s no time.” Weird that none of his groomsmen were around to help Ben out. Guess it was up to him. Tabitha might even be thrilled by his take-charge approach. Drew looked left, toward the minimalist chrome and leather couches in the lobby. It teemed with people, but nobody else in obvious wedding getup. This was their chance.

He leaned in close. “I’ve got a car in the garage. If you want out, say the word. I’ll drive you anywhere you want to go. Although your place is probably too obvious. Maybe I should take you to O’Hare?”

“Unbelievable.” Tabitha’s voice cut through him like a laser scalpel. “Did you really just volunteer to drive the getaway car for the groom?” The elevator doors—the ones he sadly had not heard open—clanged shut. Her tone made it quite clear that Drew’s attempt at male solidarity had been unwise in the extreme.

Uh oh. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a long, lavender skirt that had to belong to one of the bridesmaids. And where they went, chances were good the Real TV cameras weren’t far behind. Which meant all of America would get to watch him offer to provide the means for Ben to break Ivy’s heart. Not exactly the positive press coverage that Keiko wanted from him.

Wait—no. He’d done nothing wrong. Every video game hero he’d ever coded battled to stand up for what he believed. He couldn’t back down just because of one angry female. Or even three. Drew straightened, then twisted to face Tabitha. Met her furious gaze with the calm certainty that he was right. Made sure not to let his eyes dip down to catch a glimpse of her heaving bosom. Huh. Didn’t think he’d ever actually see one of those in real life. So yeah, he had to peek. And temper certainly had her chest rising and falling with swift regularity in a rhythm that fascinated Drew.

“Yeah. I did. And I’d do it again. Not to be the one who broke up the wedding. But because somebody’s got to have the brass balls to save this poor, petrified man from a…” he trailed off as he heard Ben laughing again behind him. Well, sort of a mixture of laughing and wheezing. Suddenly much less certain of his stand, Drew turned back around.

“You didn’t let me finish,” Ben gasped. He hugged his midsection, he was laughing so hard. “Yeah, I’m scared shitless. Scared I’ll screw it up and not be the husband Ivy deserves. Scared she’ll realize I’m not close to good enough for her.” Solemnity rang now in his voice, like an oath. “But I’m not scared of getting married. That’s the smartest move I could ever make.”

Mira reached for her bouquet with deliberate care. As if Drew was an unpredictable wild animal or something. “Thanks for retrieving this.” Then she backed away, exchanging an untranslatable sidelong glance with Daphne. They stood against the grey brocade wall. A cameraman flanked them on either side.

“I’m gonna buy you a drink. Or ten,” said Ben.

“Now?” Drew didn’t really see the point. “Aren’t all the drinks free at weddings?” A noise from Tabitha. Exasperation? Frustration? To his surprise, she reached up to ruffle his hair.

“Here I am, completely furious with you for almost ruining the wedding, and then you go and be so adorably, utterly literal. Sucks the simmer right out of me.”

Ben whacked him between the shoulder blades with a flat palm. “Yeah, you drink your fill tonight. But when I get back from the honeymoon, Ivy and I will have you over. She’ll love this story. She’ll love that you don’t even know me and you had my back. That was a ballsy move. From the heart. I appreciate it.”

Hopefully America would feel the same way once this episode of
Planning for Love
aired. Drew sure hoped Keiko wasn’t a fan. Ben’s gratitude didn’t necessarily equate to Keiko thinking of this as a positive portrayal of her “newest game genius.”

“You’re making Daphne nervous.” Tabitha grabbed his hand. Stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “But off the record? The way you winged that bouquet into the elevator was amazing. I almost cheered.” She glanced over at her friends and raised her voice back to normal with a frown. “I want you closer than my own shadow until the ceremony is over. Don’t talk to anyone else. Don’t touch anything. We’ll put this little social experiment on hold until the reception.”

And just that fast, this night made a U-turn straight back to what he’d predicted it would be—boring and miserable. So far, Drew hadn’t seen anything to explain why people loved weddings so much. Couldn’t even take Ben up on his offer of drinks. Not if he’d have to face making small talk with random women at the reception. It’d take all his concentration not to screw up. Or maybe he shouldn’t concentrate? Maybe Drew should relax and be himself, so Tabitha could get a good idea of how his conversations with women generally took a nosedive?

Then again, getting an eyeful of Tabitha’s delightfully twitching ass as he followed her down the hallway? That might just make the whole night bearable.

* * *

A driving bass beat reverberated off the floor. Drew felt pretty damn good. The appetizer selection, especially the lamb lollipops and the sushi station, blew him away. Plus, when small talk inevitably turned painful, he just edged away to chase the nearest waiter with a laden tray. Dinner, on the other hand, had been a slog. Tabitha made him talk to everyone at the table. The entire damn time. Drew couldn’t even remember what he’d eaten. It was a blur of stilted conversation and awkward, gaping silences.

What got him through was the promise of cake. Not just any cake. Supposedly the best cake he’d ever eat in his entire life. When Mira told him all the flavors her husband had baked, Drew decided maybe weddings were worth all the fuss. His sweet tooth was on high alert. One layer of almond cake with amaretto mousse filling, another of champagne cake, strawberries and whipped cream. But the layer he most couldn’t wait to taste was chocolate cake with caramel crème brulee filling.

So he’d staked out a spot on the dance floor, right next to the multi-tiered cake. Its matte white frosting was smoother than a freshly poured cement running path. Pompom flower things that Drew hoped were made of frosting in three shades of purple trickled down the sides. The moment Ivy and Ben cut it, he’d be ready to snag a piece.

Dancing was easy. A lot like running. Drew just kept everything loose and let his muscles take charge. Kind of shocked him that Tabitha had taken a break from siccing every unattached woman in the joint on him. Of course, she was probably too busy fighting off the advances of all the handsome men who’d followed her around like bloodhounds all night. Their presence reminded him just how far the redhead was out of his league.

“Need aaaaall the single women in the middle of the room.” The DJ’s overly smooth, radio-voice patter broke through the happy buzz of well-fed and almost drunk guests. The music still pulsed, so Drew kept bopping along. “Time to duke it out for the bouquet. Let’s find out who’ll be off the market next!”

A veritable tsunami of women rushed to the center of the dance floor. Elbows, shoulders, hips—all sorts of body parts collided with Drew. Silly, in his opinion. If someone was about to be engaged, wouldn’t they know it? Leaving their future happiness up to the trajectory of an imperfectly shaped bundle of flowers verged on the ridiculous.

Another hip check sent Drew reeling toward the cake table. Christ. Daphne had practically burst a blood vessel at the thought of him bruising a single petal on Mira’s bouquet. If he got so much as a thumbprint on the cake—or, you know, accidentally knocked it entirely off the table—Drew didn’t think his chances were good of making it out of the ballroom alive. With a mighty twist to his core, he lunged left, hands outstretched.

Which sent him, hands first, straight into the bony ass of a tall, older woman. One who tightened up, screeched, then whipped around to slap him. Already off-balance, Drew reached out to keep from lurching to the floor. It worked. It also meant he ended up with a not-quite-handful of saggy breasts. Belonging to the same woman whose ass he’d just grabbed.

As if that weren’t bad enough, the moment turned slow-motion. Enough for him to see Tabitha standing behind Ms. Bony Ass. Her arms were crossed. Her carefully expressionless face let him know she didn’t realize he was flailing for balance. Nope, all she saw was a guy getting his grope on.

Drew never cared what people thought of him. Usually. Years as the class nerd developed his thick skin in that arena to roughly the hardness of the calluson his big toe. Yet the thought of Tabitha being disappointed in him rankled. For all of six seconds. Until the woman beneath his hands grabbed a glass of wine off a passing waiter’s tray and upended it over Drew’s head. Who knew
that
would be what threw Tabitha into action?