After the ceremony, she tried excusing herself to use the restroom, thinking she could sneak away long enough to avoid the dinner portion of the night where she’d be forced to sit across from Jackson and his stares that bored through her like fricking lasers. But she’d been swept along to pose for a million pictures where—thanks to the photographer, who was now on Vanessa’s hit list—she was forced to stand with Jackson and endure the heat of his hands on her waist and the smell of him in the air.
She’d braced herself for him to try and talk to her, to pull her aside or speak his mind where they stood, but he never did. He also never stood close enough that their bodies touched. She found it sadly ironic that she felt more bereft standing a mere three inches away from him than when she’d been thirty miles away.
She reminded herself that he was giving her exactly what she wanted. Relief should be lifting the huge weights off her shoulders, making it possible for her to breathe easily for the first time in days. But all she wanted to do was cry into a pillow until her ducts dried up and she passed out.
Once the pictures were finally over, she again tried to excuse herself, but the tidal wave of wedding organization that was Robért herded everyone, including her, to their seats at the long table. Bride and groom sat at the head with Vanessa to Lu’s right, Jackson to Reid’s left, and the rest of the guests filling in the other twelve spots.
Lucie had asked that she at least stay through dinner, and despite her attempts at escaping sooner, that’s what she did. And now she was getting the hell out of there before the first dance started and she was roped into dancing with her bridal party counterpart.
As the waitstaff began clearing the table of dishes, several people wandered over to the small tiki bar, including Eric and Kyle, her two best guy friends and dart league partners. Perfect. Vanessa pushed back from her seat. Lucie’s hand struck like a cobra, grabbing her wrist before she was even fully standing.
“Where are you going, Nessie?”
She smiled and nodded in the direction of the bar. “To talk to the boys and order a whole lot of something that rhymes with shequila.”
“Oh, okay. Hey, will you bring me back a beer? If I have any more champagne, I’ll have to look at my wedding album to remember anything.”
“Sure thing.” Or at least she’d send one of the guys back with one. Moving as fast as her beach shoes could carry her, she bee-lined it to the bar. After hugging the guys, she ordered a Patron on the rocks and didn’t begin to relax until she downed the first and ordered the second.
Kyle, her buff, blond, and bound-to-state-the-obvious friend didn’t disappoint. “So what’s with Lucie’s beau-hunk of a brother staring at you like you’re his last meal but you kicked him in the balls and ran away?”
Vanessa almost choked on an ice cube. “That’s the dumbest thing I think you’ve ever said.”
Eric, a solidly built Hispanic with black hair and too-observant chocolaty eyes, said, “No, the dumbest thing he ever said was when he told me certain things had become routine. He couldn’t sit without wincing for a week after that.”
“Which is why I consider it one of the smartest things I’ve ever said, babe.”
Listening to the familiar back and forth of Kyle goading Eric eased some of her tension. They’d been together since their college days and were as tight as any hetero married couple she knew. People who didn’t know them never guessed they were gay. Both men were extremely athletic and macho and neither were fans of PDA. But just like any group of close-knit friends, when they were hanging out with Vanessa and Lucie, not much was TMI. At least it had gotten her out of answering Kyle’s ridiculous inquiry.
As the guys continued to play-bicker about who did what intentionally, she glanced around, searching for Robért, who would no doubt usher her back within the reception parameters should she breach them.
“Good evening, everyone.”
Even facing away, there was no mistaking who the voice belonged to. Her body betrayed her the minute the sound entered her ears, bypassed her brain, and traveled straight south to settle between her legs. Clenching her thighs together, she turned just as Jax stood and reached into his breast pocket for a folded sheet of paper. The best man speech. The perfect time for her to slip away. All eyes would be on him and his would be on the happy couple. She’d just wait a minute for everyone to get settled, and then she’d make her move.
A hand closed around her elbow as another landed on her lower back and led her toward the reception table. The Wedding Nazi had found her. “Robért, I was fine where I was,” she stage-whispered.
“Nonsense, it’s toast time. The maid of honor has to be up there with the best man.”