Bad Boy's Bridesmaid (2 page)

Unfortunately,
that wasn’t possible. I longed for normal. I had no idea how much I loved
normal
until my life became defined by a single frightening test. When I was younger,
everyone said it was the SATs that would define our future. At least the
analogy section didn’t require a urine sample.

Dad offered me
his fries again before I bolted out the door. I took one to be polite, even
nibbled it, but I knew how it would end. I pitched the fry and fought the
sickness before hopping into my car.

The Honda’s air
conditioning didn’t do much. Whatever
glow
I was supposed to have sure
as hell felt a lot like the cold sweat of terror. I hoped that would go away.

I had nine
months to get ready for the baby.

Well…eight now,
I guessed.

That wasn’t
helping.

I focused anything
that wasn’t the circus renting out my uterus. My to-do list was folded in my
pocket. The checklist wasn’t simple, but it kept me occupied in the months
leading up to the wedding. Two months out, and we still had a
lot
to do.

I grabbed a
pen—one of Lindsey’s bachelorette decorations with the frilly pink pom-poms on
top. A rather expressive part of the male anatomy had once nestled within the
pink as well. In an attempt to appear professional at my job, I’d snapped off
the top before meeting with a client. Of course, Dad walked in on the impromptu
bris
and assumed I made a declaration against all men, specifically
directed at him and the messy divorce.

That’s when he
decided to explain his side of the separation.

The therapy I’d
need to suppress the words
libido
,
mid-life vaginal dryness,
and
swingers’
retreat
would cost more than Lindsey’s wedding.

Maybe it was for
the best they’d decided to get divorced. Like Mom said, some people didn’t
belong together, no matter the babies they made. Of course, it took my parents
thirty years to realize it. I just couldn’t imagine how either of them walked
away from the love of their life like that…

I teared up. Not
good. I wasn’t thinking about it now. Not a thought about parents or babies or
relationships or…
Nate
.

My tummy flipped
in a good way—how it always did when Nate looked at me, spoke to me.

Touched me.

“What can I
check off…?”

I scratched off
the tasks that were impossible or potentially illegal. Another couple had
already reserved Lindsey’s preferred venue, but she begged me for the favor.

Because I loved
my sister, I called to ask if they would trade dates or venues.

Because I wasn’t
insane, I crossed off the line encouraging me to impersonate the county health
department and scare away the couple with concerns of a norovirus outbreak.

Only Lindsey
would compromise the Geneva Convention to plan her wedding.

I scribbled on
my list.

Venue
Change

Invitations

Seating
Chart

Doctor?

Cake
Tasting

Hide
the baby

Musicians

Talk
to Nate?

Don’t
talk to Nate.

Bridesmaid
Dress Colors

At least they
were all doable, or would be, if Lindsey was in an accommodating mood. Otherwise
it was time to prepare for war.

I drove to Mom’s
house. Lindsey chose our childhood home as the battleground for all things
wedding, and Mom supplied the ammunition. I didn’t know what I worried about
more—the pregnancy or the grief I’d get for ruining Lindsey’s
special day
.
This would be worse than the nosebleed I got at Lindsey’s sweet sixteenth—when
the family was told I hemorrhaged for attention.

It’d be different
if I had more money. A better job than just working for Dad at the advertising
agency.

If I were
actually
dating
Nate.

He might have
been my first one-night stand…but I wasn’t his. I
knew
exactly the type
of man I’d invited into my bed too. I had wanted something quick, easy, fun. No
strings attached.

Nate was good
for that. He had been string-less since he was a teenager—the original wooden
boy, except
this
Pinocchio did lie, and it wasn’t Nate’s nose that grew.
That part stayed nice and woody.

Impressive.
Memorable.

Gorgeous, like
the rest of him.

Fertile too,
apparently. What I wouldn’t have given for termites that night.

Worst of all? Nate
wasn’t the type to hang around once he got what he was after.
Usually
.
He’d chased me for years, high-school into college, and while that sort of
dedication earned an amazing night where the earth moved, the skies opened, and
angels sang, I had hoped it’d last only one night. I guessed the consequences
lasted longer…more like nine months.

I’d have to tell
him. My stomach turned. That wasn’t going to be an easy conversation, but it
was early in the pregnancy now anyway. The last thing I wanted was to tell him
and then have something…happen.

I teared up
again.

The little guy
was still so new to me, but it was good to see the momma bear instincts kicking
in.

I shouldered my
bags and grabbed as much paperwork as I could carry within the binders of
wedding plans and bridal magazines. Lindsey’s obsession with Pinterest was only
the beginning, and organization became a full-time job.

The door opened
before I made it into the house. I thought it’d be my sister.

I was wrong.

Nate’s green
eyes crackled with an electric amusement that teased as much as it shocked. His
gaze wrapped around me like a pair of wandering hands, tickling everything he’d
already touched, tasted, and catalogued for his own wedding memories.

Oh, this was
bad. What was he doing at my
house
?

I nearly dropped
the binder and ran.

Nate Kensington
was pure sex—a man made of muscle and wicked ambition wrapped in a depraved,
sensual fantasy. He was the best and worse idea a woman could have, and such
thoughts belonged only in the darkest bedrooms, imagined under silken sheets.

That’s why I’d
propositioned him. Nate embraced trouble as easily as he captured women in his
charm. He didn’t even need a net. He wielded a glance that’d unhook a bra strap
through the strength of his willpower, and it wasn’t a talent that should have belonged
to a man more confident in a pair of beat-up jeans and boots than a wedding
tux.

The blonde scruff
on his hard jaw was as intimidating as his smirk, like a wolf licking his chops
and preparing for the next course.

Which, of course,
was me.

It had always
been me.

Nate spent a
majority of our time together eating me up, and it was pure bliss to be
absolutely devoured by this man. I wished he took his taste and moved on, but
Nate hadn’t let me escape from our one night unscathed.

He chased. I
ran.

And it became a
wild game that I’d never win.

Nate leaned
against the doorway, watching me struggle against my own arousal, irritation,
and cowardice—which I easily faked as juggling the wedding materials. He didn’t
offer to help. He just watched me.

Amused.

Entertained.

Hungry
.

His voice teased
with a playful edge, one side a feather, the other as dangerous as a leather
flogger. He took the wedding binder from my arms and arched an eyebrow.

“When we have
our wedding…?” His grin paralyzed me halfway between indignation and foolish
hope. “Promise me we’ll just elope.”

Goddamn
. Mandy was cute
when she got flustered.

She was also beautiful
when she was excited. And angry. And irritated. And overwhelmed.

Which was now.

“
Our
wedding
?”

She squeaked
over the word. Teasing her was too easy, but I loved hearing that squeal any
way I could get it. Whether she stomped her feet and got pissy or whimpered it
with her heels over her head, her cry rang like music to my ears.

She huffed like
she could read my thoughts, but I never hid what I wanted from Mandy. My
desires were as honest as she could imagine.

I thumbed
through the wedding binder, but Mandy wrenched it from my hands, nearly slicing
my finger on the cheap plastic cover.

“We are
not
getting married,” she said.

I grinned. “Not
with that attitude we aren’t.”

She stormed into
her own house, which was as amusing as her ordering me out of it. I ignored
her, following her into the kitchen as those plump hips swayed a sultry beat.
She meant to stomp. Instead she shimmied, slipped, and then slid across the
linoleum in pink socks.

Socks I
distinctly remembered.

Socks I told her
to keep on while I fucked the blessed hell out of her that night.

I always
considered myself a stockings man—thigh high with no mystery. Instead, I chased
a girl in pink, polka-dot socks.

But Christ, she was
gorgeous, even while she glared at me. If only she realized I could see her
perky little nipples pressing against her shirt. Never got a better greeting from
her before. I might have complimented her, but sure as sin she’d hide those
pebbles from me, and I’d be jerking from memory all over again.

“Don’t make me get
on one knee.” I loved to watch her squirm. She did her best to avoid my gaze.
“You. Me. A quick getaway to someplace fun. Atlantic City. Vegas. Key West? What
do you say?”

Mandy nibbled on
her bottom lip, full and plump. She didn’t realize she was the perfect little
tease, luring me into a chase.

“Like you’d ever
settle down,” she said.

“And if it meant
a chance to
go
down
again?”

“Oh, that’s a
wonderful reason to get married.”

“Come on. You’re
not naive. You know why people really get married.”

“Love?
Commitment?”

Maybe she
was
that naive.

Mandy set her
binder on the counter, laying out all the plans for Lindsey’s freak-show of a
wedding. I saw a couple trendy ideas that were more expensive than practical,
but apparently that’s what people liked to waste time on now.

She arched an
eyebrow. “Maybe they get married because they want to start a family?”

I shook my head.
“Nope. It’s all about the wedding night, baby.”

“You’re
unbelievable.”

“So were you.”

I took one step
too close. Mandy pushed a finger into my chest, and I grinned as I retreated.

She was a gorgeous
little thing—like a wisp of a fairy, dark-skinned and gentle with almond eyes
and a skin-tone to match. She was beautiful enough for me to wish I hadn’t
already fucked her, if only for a chance to seduce that perfection again.

Almost
.

But nothing could
make me regret that night.

“Can’t we just
be…normal around each other?” she asked.

“I’ve always hit
on you, baby. Am I really acting any differently now?”

“Yeah, you’re
worse.”

“Only because I
can’t stop thinking about you.”

She glanced over
my shoulder, probably worried someone heard me declare my nefarious intentions.
Lindsey pitched a tantrum upstairs. I figured we had another five minutes
before the wedding was called off and she’d swear to donate her wedding dress
to blind nuns again.

Mandy crossed
her arms. “What are you even doing here?”

“I came to ask
you to marry me.”

“Be serious.”

Serious was no
fun. “I wanted to see you.”

“
Nate
—”

“Are you really
going to deny me a second chance to fuck you?”

Mandy snorted. “Watch
me, Romeo.”

Good thing I’d
loved the chase so much the first time. Now that I knew what I was hunting, I
had all the motivation I needed to catch her again.

“You know we
were great together,” I said.

“Oh yeah.” Mandy
pulled a ginger ale from the fridge. “We fit together a little
too
well.”

She poured her
drink and licked a bead of soda from the edge of the glass. I couldn’t breathe,
and my zipper nearly castrated me.

Was it possible
to envy a cup?

This fucking
woman had no idea what she did to me.

I grinned. “I
know I can be intimidating—”

She rolled her
eyes. “You’re a little full of yourself.”

“You liked being
full of me.”

“For the love
of—”

“Five times…if I
remember. You loved it
five
times.”

“Six.” She took
no joy in correcting me, probably because she knew it’d become another record
for me to break. “You know…there’s more important things in this world than
sex?”

“Nothing’s more
important than sex.”

“There’s
weddings. And family. And responsibilities.”

I shrugged. “I
manage my own business.”

“You brew
beer
.”

She meant it as
an insult. At least I was used to that sort of judgment. A few years ago, that
regrettable
life decision
finally made me enough money to justify not going to college
or following in Pastor Kensington’s footsteps, no matter what my father wished
for me.

“It’s a
microbrewery
and
bar. And it’s a successful one. What’s more fun than
that?”

“Exactly. Life
is all fun and games to you. You don’t take anything seriously.”

“You don’t
begrudge a chef making a sandwich when he’s on the clock.” I held my arms out.
“I’m a master craftsman, baby.”

“Is that what
they’re calling you these days?” She teased me with the word. “A
craftsman
?”

Yeah, said the
magazine article and two blogger interviews I did for my pub,
Arrogance.

I shrugged. “I
think it sounds more impressive than entrepreneur.”

“Last I heard,
you were known as
the man who never calls
or
that asshole with the
big…
” She glanced at the bulge in my pants. “Ego.”

“You can say
it.” I grinned as she ignored me. “
Cock
.”

“I wasn’t going
to give you the pleasure.”

“You have no
idea how much pleasure you gave me.” I lowered my voice. “Still think about
it?”

“No.”

“I still think
about you.”

“Stop.”

She acted like
it was just another pick-up line. If only she knew I was being honest. It’d
shock her as much as it surprised me.

I went to sleep dreaming
of her—how her gorgeous, honey-colored eyes had stared at me, half-lidded and
begging for more. Her full and fuckable lips had parted, and her hips arched
for me to take her harder, deeper.

I never treated
Mandy like another
score
. I’d chased her a bit in high-school and when
she went to college because it was fun to watch her stammer and squirm. I never
expected I’d actually seduce her, and I fully anticipated the mistake we’d
made.

But the only
thing that changed was
me
.

Mandy hadn’t
approached me again, and I was the one drooling like an idiot over her memory.
I never went back for seconds with a girl. Ever. I took a vow to
myself
.
No sense getting greedy when it would threaten me with dates, long-term
commitments, and finding those damn hair scrunchies on my bathroom counter.

But for a second
night with Mandy? I’d risk falling asleep beside her just to wake up and share
a breakfast and sunrise.

I’d never let
myself get that close to another woman…so why could I imagine it so clearly
with her?

I probably
needed a good fuck. Something to take my mind off this unbelievably gorgeous
woman who acted like our night together hadn’t completely changed her life.

Mandy’s glass
thudded on the table. She leaned over the counter. I felt bad for her. The
wedding planning must have exhausted her. No wonder she was cranky, but I
couldn’t figure out why she tensed, ready to bolt from the room. I wasn’t that
bad of company, and every girl liked to be teased.

Her scowl wasn’t
the reaction I wanted. I preferred her gasping in a toe-clenching,
spine-shattering orgasm, but at least she was talking to me today.

“Why are you
really here?” she asked.

“Trying on the
tux,” I said.

“Oh.”

“Wanna watch?”

“Think I’ll
pass.”

I winked. “You
can help me take it off.”

Pretty sure
she’d rip off my pants to twist them in a knot around my neck, but her touch
was worth possible asphyxiation.

“
Mandy
!”
Lindsey bellowed from upstairs. Knowing Lindsey, her shoes were probably crafted
from some sort of endangered reptile, but they still galloped like hooves down
the stairs. “What’s taking so long? We’re on a
schedule!
”

Mandy guzzled her
ginger ale. She deserved something harder. For all her hard work so far, the
woman earned an ounce of whiskey before this execution. She faced the full insanity
of the wedding party with a bravery that deserved a blindfold and cigarette.

My best friend
and groom-to-be emerged from the hall, looking like he already suffered the
hangover of the reception without getting laid on the wedding night. He
slouched in a kitchen chair and shrunk away from Lindsey and his future
mother-in-law.

Damn. Bryce used
to play linebacker in college. He once bragged he was a monster rippling with
100%
Grade-A Dark Meat
. It wasn’t good that all two hundred and seventy pounds
of him scared people into crossing to the other side of the street when he
passed—in fact, we blamed the deplorable state of race relations in our town.
But Bryce was big and proud. I was lucky if I had enough beer in my brewery to
get him tipsy.

Now he held
Lindsey’s purse because the bride-to-be couldn’t risk breaking a nail, not when
she…and all ten nails…were made up for pictures.

Whatever little
cherry tree rose bush queen of diamonds she painted on her hands wasn’t sexy.
Fingernails weren’t supposed to be centerpieces, they were meant to scratch a
man’s back while he fucked the hell out of his woman. Not to Lindsey. If the
wedding didn’t rival the narrative she painted onto her nails, the next forty
years of Bryce’s life would be a living nightmare.

Lindsey was
nothing like her younger sister, but the good Lord didn’t make too many Mandys.

Thankfully, he only
made one Lindsey.

The bride possessed
the spirit of either a diva or a demon, but Bryce said once she got a cock in
her mouth she was tolerable. I’m sure he said other nice things about his
fiancée, but I didn’t see her picking out his underwear and structuring his
meal plans as relationship perks.

“Let me see the
invitations.” Lindsey took a deep breath. “I can handle it.”

Sandra, her
mother, hid her face like Mandy opened the results of a hospital test or
revealed who was sent home on the
Bachelor
. She had squeezed into a
shirt way too tight for a woman of her…magnitude, but apparently she wanted the
world to know she was the
Mama Of The Bride
so much she had it screen
printed across her chest.

“Open them,
Mandy,” she ordered.

“Yeah…” Mandy
cleared her throat. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Don’t worry about
the invitations. You focus on your dress. I can fix this.”

“For goodness
sake.” Sandra stole the box. “Let’s see how bad these really are. Lord have
mercy, you’d think we’ve never had any wedding mistakes before—”

Lindsey
shrieked. Sandra collapsed into a chair, prayed to Jesus, and pitched the
freakishly violet invitations away like they were addressed to the devil.

Bryce checked
his phone and shrugged. He was a good man who learned when to stay quiet.

“How could you
let this happen?” Sandra covered her eyes. Her nails were painted too, red
polka dots to match Lindsey’s. “Mandy, you had
one
job! We asked you to
do one simple little thing.”

Mandy forced a
smile. “Yeah…they’re indigo. But I can fix them.”