Читать книгу Best Man...with Benefits - Nancy Warren - Страница 11
ОглавлениеLAUREN WENT THROUGH the motions of being the perfect maid of honor. She took the bouquet from Amy when it was time for her and Seth to exchange rings. Helped her adjust her dress after she and Seth had kissed and they were officially married, then fell in behind the beaming bride and groom with Jackson by her side.
There was an invisible force field between her and the best man. They couldn’t stand each other, so what had that strange moment been about when he’d stared at her as though he’d never seen her before and she’d felt for a second as though she couldn’t breathe?
No doubt he’d seen as much crazy hooking up at weddings as she had. Or maybe he was one of those guys who thought bridesmaids always wanted sex.
She’d rather have sex with—well, she couldn’t think of anybody she’d rather have sex with right at the moment, but the point was she didn’t want to have sex with Jackson Monaghan.
Although, looking around the crowd at the number of women checking him out, she seemed to be the only single woman who didn’t.
They were stuck side by side in the receiving line, and she shook hands and kissed cheeks and smiled politely as guests passed by on the way to congratulate the bride and groom. A woman named Cynthia who had gone to school with her and Amy held on to Jackson’s hand a little too long.“You look so good in a tux,” she gushed. Then, still holding his hand, she turned to Lauren. “Doesn’t he? Doesn’t he look good in a tux?”
“Yes. He looks like you could slip him a twenty and get seated at the best table in the house.”
“Oh, I know exactly where I’d seat you,” he said to her, his eyes narrowing.
Cynthia giggled awkwardly and moved on.
She blinked her eyes. “Not the best table? What would that take? Fifty bucks?”
He squinted his eyes like a gunslinger at high noon. “We could work together. In that dress you look like the cigarette girl at the bar in Mad Men.”
There was a break in the stream of guests coming down the receiving line. Amy turned to her and said, “How are you holding up?”
“Fine. Except Jackson thinks I look like the cigarette girl at the bar in Mad Men.”
Amy’s eyes grew wide. “That’s so weird. That’s exactly what you said when you first tried on the dress.”
It was one thing to say it about yourself, and another thing to have a guy say it about you. But Amy had already turned to greet the next guest who stopped before her.
The wedding was designed so that guests could enjoy drinks and appetizers outside while the wedding party had their photos taken and then move inside for dinner and dancing later.
Amy was so happy it was impossible not to feel happy for her and an equally elated Seth, pleased everything had worked out for them and hopeful for their future.
The wedding party spent an hour with a professional photographer who had the easiest job in the world since the location was nothing but one big photo op and Seth and Amy were two blissful, attractive people.
But Gunter, the photographer, was German and a perfectionist. He took ages setting up each shot, ordering his assistant to move Amy’s bouquet slightly to the left, waiting for the slight breeze to drop before snapping a photo of the newlyweds.
Then he brought Jackson and Lauren into the photos. They stood stiffly side by side, not touching. Gunter stared through his viewfinder, shook his head, muttered, “Nein,” and then muttered some more in German. He stepped forward and placed Lauren’s bouquet in her right hand and took her left. He picked up Jackson’s right hand and posed his arm so that Lauren rested her left wrist over his, her palm resting on the back of his right hand. Gunter then turned the two of them so they angled toward the bridal couple, which put her body up against the best man’s.
She felt ridiculous and awkward with the warmth of his arm beneath hers and the feel of his hand under her palm. She felt the rigid hardness in him that was probably a combination of muscle tone and the same tension she felt.
“Smile like this is the happiest day of your life,” Gunter instructed them.
“I’m not that good an actress,” she muttered before pulling out a fake smile for the camera.
Amy suddenly turned, breaking the stiff pose. “Isn’t this fun?” she cried. “Can you imagine anything better?”
“Being trapped in an airless glass tank crawling with tarantulas?” Jackson said softly.
“Swimming with sharks while bleeding from an artery?” Lauren said.
“Plunging to earth right after the parachute doesn’t open?” he countered.
She was so glad when the photo session was over and they were released to join the party.
Even though Amy and her mother had tried to keep the numbers down, there were well over a hundred guests. Including the frat boys, as she and Amy called Seth’s school friends.
The frat boys had all grown up together in a fancy boarding school, and as far as Lauren could tell, they’d never outgrown their schoolboy pranks.
If Amy and Seth walked into the bridal suite and found a naked porn star reclining on the bed, or a copy of Sex for Dummies on Seth’s pillow, she wouldn’t be surprised.
She wandered among the guests, chatting to those she knew, making small talk with strangers. Her index finger throbbed from where she’d burned it last night. She’d stayed up late finishing her wedding gift for Amy and Seth. She was a stained-glass artisan and she’d completed a tricky window for the townhouse Amy and Seth had bought in downtown San Francisco with some generous financing from their parents.
She hoped Amy liked the piece. It was one she was really proud of. She fished an ice cube from the glass of ice water she was drinking and held it to her sore finger.
“What happened to your hand?”
She hadn’t even noticed Jackson come up beside her. “I burned it.”
She waited for some smart-ass comment, but he actually looked like a human being for a second. “Ouch.”
They both looked down at her hand. Her nails were short, and with her line of work, she almost never painted them so it was strange to see them perfectly manicured in pale pink. “Occupational hazard.”
“I thought you worked in a winery.”
She glanced up, surprised that he knew even that much about her. He seemed a bit embarrassed himself. “Seth mentioned it,” he said.
“I do. Leonato Estate Winery funds my real work, designing and making stained glass. Not a high-paying profession.” She dropped the ice cube back into her drink with a plop. It was true. She loved what she did. Had found her calling when she’d traveled to Europe after college. She and Amy had gone together, and as much as she’d enjoyed seeing the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower and the Colosseum, it was the churches and cathedrals with their stained glass that had transfixed her. Venice and its glass makers had inspired her to change her career plans from a vague notion of getting a business degree to studying the ancient art of stained-glass work with an eye to making it look modern.
She was doing okay for an artisan. She sold her work through a couple of galleries and high-end craft markets and a few architects called her from time to time. Maybe she wasn’t getting rich, but she was managing. In a couple of years, if her sales continued to increase, she’d be able to quit the winery and work on her glass full-time.
“Amy’s mom sent me to find you. Dinner’s about to start.”
“Oh. Right.”
They entered the ballroom together into a sea of tables. The surfaces of the tables were crowded with the printed wedding programs, place cards and specially made chocolates wrapped in foil the same color as Lauren’s dress.
Naturally, she and Jackson were seated at the head table with Amy and Seth and both sets of parents.
Her place card put her between the two douches.
She knew exactly what food would be served and which wines, just as she’d known the foiled candies would match her dress. Because Amy had discussed every detail with her.
Even if she’d been bored by the details, she had to admit that Amy had been right. All her planning was paying off. From the wafer-thin slices of smoked salmon and capers, to the main meal (a choice of beef Wellington, chicken in a champagne sauce or a vegetarian plate) everything was perfect. From her perch at the head table, Lauren could see that everyone was having a wonderful time.
The frat boys acknowledged the solemnity of the occasion by banging on their wineglasses with their cutlery until Amy and Seth kissed.
“If I ever get married, I’m eloping,” she muttered.
She didn’t realize she’d been heard until Jackson said, “Me, too.”
The frat boys made Amy and Seth kiss a few more times throughout the meal until, finally, it was time for the speeches. To her surprise, Jackson’s toast to the bride was both intelligent and funny. Seth’s toast to the maid of honor was more about himself and how lucky he was that Amy’s best friend liked him, to which Lauren gave a good-natured two-thumbs-up, hoping that thumb-raising didn’t constitute actual lying.
Just when it seemed that the formal part of the evening was ending, the frat boys started banging away on their glasses again. Really, those servers needed to take their spoons away and send them to their rooms.
Amy and Seth rose, and Willy, whom she’d nicknamed Head Frat Boy, yelled, “Everybody at the head table. Let’s see some kissing.”
There was a moment of stunned silence.
“Oh, no,” she said.
At the same moment, Jackson muttered, “I don’t think so,” but as the sound of cutlery on glassware increased, the two sets of parents struggled to their feet. She and Jackson both remained seated until Amy and Seth laughed down at them, Amy saying, “Come on, you guys,” and Lauren realized they’d only appear more foolish refusing to play along.
“I am so eloping,” she said as she rose reluctantly to her feet.
“Me, too,” Jackson agreed. “Let’s get this over with,” he added, in the tone he’d probably have used on his way to a firing squad.
And then he kissed her.
Glasses clinked and wolves whistled and wedding guests clapped and cheered.
And she felt his mouth on hers. Warm. Not icky at all, in fact, but kind of nice. It was pretty much the briefest possible press of closed lips to closed lips, but still, there was a tiny buzz of something that snapped back and forth between them.
She sat back down as quickly as she could, banging her butt on the chair.
A couple of dances, she said to herself, circulate, make more small talk, and then I can go to bed. She’d been up way too late working, and then Amy had called her way too early this morning to remind her to bring a bathing suit. “Because we are going to hit the spa.”
Lauren had no idea when they were going to squeeze in time at the spa, but she’d thrown her bathing suit in her suitcase anyway and, giving up on any more sleep, padded to her tiny kitchen to brew coffee.
The short night and long day were catching up with her now. One of the perks of her position of maid of honor was that Amy’s parents had insisted on paying for her room. She had a lovely room on the third floor overlooking the ocean. It was dominated by a big, decadent bed, where she could sleep as long as she wanted.
Hotel Messina was the kind of hotel that contained a sprung dance floor at one end of the ballroom and a stage large enough for a big band. In its heyday the hotel had boasted its own band and the rich and famous had waltzed and fox-trotted many a night away here. The French doors were all open to the breeze when the orchestra struck up, and the MC called out the wedding couple for their first dance.
“Hope I don’t fall off my heels,” Amy said as she walked behind Lauren and giggled.
“You’ll be fine,” she whispered back.
Maybe it was corny and sentimental, but she had a moment, watching her best friend dance with her brand-new husband. They held each other briefly and then began to move with the music they’d chosen. She’d tried to talk Amy out of it, but ever since she’d seen Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio on the prow of the Titanic she’d been determined that “My Heart Will Go On” would be her wedding song. Lauren had assumed she’d grow out of that idea, but no. And yet, as she watched her best friend in the arms of her new husband, waltzing to Celine Dion, she felt a real hope that they’d be this happy forever.
“And now, would the parents join Mr. and Mrs. Beauregard, please. And the maid of honor and the best man,” the rich voice said into the mic.
Oh, crap. This was the part she’d dreaded.
Jackson looked as thrilled as she was as he led the way to the dance floor. They didn’t touch until they were pretty much forced to.
He put a hand on her waist.
She put a hand on his shoulder.
He took her other hand. “Ready?”
“I’ll fantasize I’m having electric-shock therapy. The time will pass.”
He moved her in a circle. “I’ll pretend I’m having a last cigarette before the firing squad. I’ll enjoy it.”
“You smoke?” Gross.
“No. But I think if I knew my life was going to end in a couple of minutes anyway, I might take it up.” He twirled her around Seth’s parents. “I’d ask for a king-size cigarette. No filter.”
She watched Amy and Seth, holding each other so close he kept stepping on her dress. “Think they’ll make it?” she asked.
She felt him shrug as his shoulder rose up and down under her hand. “They’ve got a fifty-fifty chance, statistically.”
* * *
ACROSS THE ROOM, a table of men who’d all gone to boarding school with Seth and Jackson were making full use of the open bar. They’d moved on from the dinner wine and were now doing shooters.
“Would you do her?” Willy Ragan asked in a general way, his gaze semi-focused on the dance floor.
“Amy?” Rip Sherken asked.
“No. She’s married, asshole. The other one.”
“The bridesmaid?”
“Yeah.”
They all studied Lauren.
“She’s hot.” Rip burped politely behind his hand. “Bet she goes for Jackson. They always go for Jackson.”
“Not her. Haven’t you noticed? She hates him. Look at them. Acting like a couple of brooms dancing.”
Rip snorted. “The chicks are always all over Jackson. And he gets stuck with the one woman who thinks he’s dog meat. Excellent.”
And between that shooter and the next, Willy came up with a plan that was way funnier than their original idea to TP the bridal suite.
Willy outlined his plan rapidly while all his buddies concentrated on the details.
“How you gonna get her room key?” Rip wanted to know.
“It’s probably in her purse, which she left on her seat,” Willy said. “I saw her leave. Her room’s just down from mine, so I know which one it is.”
Tricking the maid of honor and the best man, who hated each other, into sharing the same hotel room was, they agreed, way better than their original plan. Though, if there was time for both, they still planned to toilet paper the suite.
“We better get her key now, while they’re all dancing,” Willy said.
He got up and found Lauren’s clutch purse on her chair as he’d expected. The clasp took his thick fingers a second to work out, but he soon had it open. There was nothing in there but a couple of tissues, some lipstick and her room key.
He pocketed the room key and then, while he was standing, realized he needed to pee. He veered off to take care of business while he mentally perfected the details of the plan. They weren’t too complicated. Mostly, the plan involved getting Jackson drunk.
* * *
LAUREN ENDED UP having a lot more fun at the reception than she thought she would. A couple of single guys hit on her, as did one older, very drunk, and very married friend of Amy’s father. She laughed with Amy and her girlfriends and, when Amy threw the bouquet, made certain to stand way out of the line of fire.
Then Amy and Seth headed off up the bridal suite and her duties were over.
Still, she hung around for another half an hour or so before slipping away. That luxurious room with the huge bed and the balcony looking out to the sea beckoned her.
Her supposed escort, the best man, had abandoned his tuxedo jacket a while ago and sat hunched around a table with the rest of the frat boys where the booze was flowing. A couple of women had drifted over, and she suspected there’d be some pairing up when the night finally ended. Cynthia was sitting next to Jackson, she noted, hanging on every word he said. Pathetic.
She found her clutch, which had somehow fallen to the floor, and slipped out of the emptying ballroom. Before she got to the elevator, she dug in her purse for her key card, but it wasn’t there.
Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she went to the front desk, where they gave her another.
With a sleepy thanks, she headed up to bed.
When she entered her luxurious hotel room, she threw open the balcony doors and watched the ocean for a few minutes. The moon gilded the waves and the sand stretched endlessly in either direction. A couple, guests of the hotel, probably, walked on the beach. They seemed happily in love. Good for them, she thought, as she went back inside and brushed her teeth. She donned the pretty nightgown she’d brought with her and stretched out in the huge, decadent bed.
She imagined Amy and Seth were right this moment enjoying married sex up in the bridal suite, and that was her last thought before she fell into exhausted sleep.
* * *
JACKSON PULLED OFF his tie and settled around the table with his buddies. He’d done his part, made a speech, danced with the ice queen herself, and now he could simply hang out. He passed on the shooters, but he accepted a scotch. He felt he’d earned it.
That went down so smoothly he drank another.
He went way back with these guys. They were part of the gang that Seth had introduced him to at boarding school. They’d stayed tight ever since. Seth was the first of them to get married. He knew there was a kind of melancholy to them hanging out getting hammered while Seth was off having sex with his new wife.
This was the way of the future. One by one, they’d all get married or move across the country for new jobs or whatever. Their carefree youth was slowly coming to an end.
It was how life was meant to work. But, while they were all still here, minus one, they partied.
Of course they didn’t exclude women from the party, and between the dancing and the drinking and the laughing, it was late when Jackson figured he’d better call it a night. Cynthia tried to slip him her room key but, even though she was an attractive woman and he was a single man, he couldn’t work up the enthusiasm. He claimed he’d drunk too much and took her number. Which he knew he’d never call.
The band had packed up, and the tired-looking bartender gave them the fish eye. He knew they were going to be a sad and sorry bunch come morning.
He got to his feet.
“Okay, I gotta go to bed.”
To his surprise, all the guys rose at the same time.
“Jackson—” Willy threw drunken arms around him “—you’re too drunk to drive. I’ll walk you home.”
He opened his mouth to tell Willy none of them would be driving and realized there was no point even trying to reason with Willy.
“Have to be quiet,” Rip warned them, staggering along. “People sleeping.”
“Right.”
They piled into the elevator. He pushed the number three. Nobody pushed another button. Seemed they were all on the same floor.
The whole mob of them stumbled down the corridor. He rooted around in his pocket. Pulled out a valet parking ticket. Nope. Other pocket.
There it was. His room key card.
Willy grabbed the card out of his hand. “Allow me,” he said, as if he were the bellhop.
“You angling for a tip?”
They all snickered as if he was Chris Rock. Willy stopped at a door and made an exaggerated gesture. “Your room, sir.”
“No, my room’s down there.” At least he thought it was.
Willy shook his head. “Good thing we walked you home.”
He stood back and waited. Willy was more wasted than he’d thought. When the key didn’t work, he’d... Well, his room was around here somewhere. Down the hall. He’d find it.
But, to his surprise, when the key slid home, the green light glowed.
Willy opened the door, put the key in his hand and patted him on the back. “Night, Jack.”
“Yeah, night.”
Right before the door snicked shut, he heard a gale of laughter. He shook his head, wondering what they’d found to laugh about and hoping they all made it back to their rooms okay.
He stripped rapidly and stumbled into the bathroom. Peed, brushed his teeth. Damn, he’d bought the spearmint toothpaste by mistake again.
He drank a huge glass of water, knowing his morning self would thank him. Then he flipped off the bathroom light and walked back into the bedroom where he fell, naked, into the king-size bed.
As he closed his eyes, he smelled something light and floral and sexy. Someone had worn that fragrance tonight. He couldn’t think who, but his body stirred in memory.
He edged closer and found himself touching warm, female skin.
What?
Apart from Cynthia, one more woman had tried to slip him her room card, but he was sure he hadn’t taken it.
Had he?
Oh, she smelled good.
He eased closer; the curving line of her shoulder captivated him. The curtains were open, as were the French doors, and moonlight cast the palest glow on her skin. He couldn’t resist: he put his lips to the curve where her shoulder met her throat. A pulse beat there, slow and steady.
And then she made a sound like a purr and turned to him.
He wished he could remember her name. Damn.
He might be drunk—okay, he was drunk—but he wasn’t going to have sex with someone he didn’t even know.
He raised his head to look at her more carefully and at the same time she opened her eyes.
His heart stopped.
Her eyes opened wide.
Holy shit.
He knew this woman’s name perfectly. And most of the time wished he didn’t. What was Lauren doing in his bed?
She blinked slowly, not moving or turning on the light or calling security. In fact, she didn’t say anything. He recalled that moment when their gazes had caught, when she was walking down the aisle, and he’d felt that punch of—of something he had no name for. Recognition was the closest he could come.
For a long moment, they simply looked at each other. He wanted to apologize, but the words wouldn’t come, wanted to move, no idea which way. Backward? Forward?
She lifted a hand. If she was going to slap him, he was ready. He’d explain, except he had no idea what had happened. Then he recalled the snorts of laughter after his old school buddies had walked him home, and he thought he knew exactly how he got here.
She didn’t slap him, though.
She laid a hand on his cheek, slid it to the back of his head and, to his shock, pulled him toward her.
They’d kissed already tonight. That forced kiss, close-lipped and dutiful, in front of a crowd. He still recalled the feel of her soft lips under his, the light scent that was now teasing his senses.
And then she put her mouth on his.
