“Come on, I’m not that bad.”
Marcy looked at me like I’d just announced I didn’t care for cheerleading. “Hey, remind me. What happened with the guy I set you up with?”
I kind of wanted to slam my bouquet into my face at the memory. “It’s not like I knew he was going to start crying. And anyway, he said running a spread offense was the best way to—”
Her eyebrow shot up so high, it was amazing it didn’t go through her veil and knock it askew. Okay, Marcy, touché.
“In my defense, most guys like a girl who can talk sports,” I grumbled.
“Yeah,” she said, bobbing her head in a patronizing nod. “Talk. They’re less excited about being castrated by your ‘I know more about sports than you do’ attitude.”
I pretended to be utterly serious. “But, I do know more than they do.”
She laughed. “You gotta understand, men can’t handle being emasculated. They’re delicate little creatures, Kayla. So, I’m asking for one night. You can go one night without talking about sports, right?”
She threw the gauntlet down, knowing full well I’d accept it. My competitive streak was legendary. “But what if I run into someone and there’s no way to avoid it? I mean, let’s say one of them is a professional air hockey player. I’m going to have questions.”
She gave me a plain look. “You’re not allowed to talk to imaginary people either.”
-2-
JAY
Dave was married.
Married. He was only twenty-three, a year older than I was. Crazy. He looked happy, though. A genuine grin was permanently stuck on his face as we posed for pictures after the ceremony. Which took for-fucking-ever. No bridal party should be big enough to get a flag for too many men on the field.
First order of business when I hit the reception was to get a beer. Easy enough, since it was cocktail hour. Once that was done, I went to the table with the name cards, found mine, and scoped out the location. One of the girls I’d been friends with for two seconds in high school was here, and as soon as she saw me after the wedding, she’d practically crawled over Dave’s grandparents to say hello.
It’d been awkward as hell watching her try to play up whatever connection she thought we’d had. I knew exactly what kind of connection she wanted to have with me now, and forget it. I didn’t have the time or the interest.
“Dude, switch with me,” I said to Dave’s college roommate, who was looking for his seating assignment as well. “See that girl in the purple dress?”
He nodded.
“Do you mind?” I said. “I need to be anywhere but with her at table six.”
There was only one spot left at table four. I closed in on the last seat at the same moment a short blonde bridesmaid turned to step away from the chair beside mine. She ran face-first into my chest.
“And there’s no gain on the play.”
At least, that was what it sounded like she said as she ricocheted off my rental tux. She stared at the line of buttons on my dress shirt and lifted her chin as her gaze traveled upward. She was so short, she had to crane her neck to meet my eyes.
Well, hello there.
What she lacked in height, she more than made up for with looks. Goddamn, she was pretty. Her big blue eyes blinked at me. What had surprised her the most? The collision, my height, or my face?
“Sorry.” Her sexy mouth turned up into a sheepish smile. Didn’t look like she recognized me, which was unlikely here in Dayton, Ohio.
“No problem. You okay?” I’d probably felt like running into a wall to her, but she seemed all right.
“Yeah, you?”
I chuckled. “I’ll survive.”
Her eyes were the same color as her bridesmaid dress. It looked good on her, better than the other bridesmaids. I’d had to skip the rehearsal last night, so I didn’t know her name yet, but I’d find time in my schedule to get to know her. I’d noticed her right away when we lined-up at the wedding. They’d gone by height, so I hadn’t been near her yet, not even during pictures.
Her body was smoking hot, and her face . . . it was even better up close.
Wait. Shit. Hadn’t Dave said most of the bridesmaids were bringing their boyfriends to the wedding? This girl was way too good-looking to be single.
An alarm sounded in my head. You’re staring and it’s getting awkward.
She beat me to it and thrust out a hand. “Kayla McCarthy. The bride and I were cheerleaders together in high school.”
I clasped my large hand around hers. “Jay.” I purposefully left off my last name. “The groom and I played ball together, also in high school.”
Marcy and Dave were already making their rounds greeting tables, and as they closed in, the bride watched us with a weird expression.
Kayla didn’t notice. She hadn’t let go of our handshake either, like I’d sparked her interest. “Oh, yeah? What position did you play?” When Marcy cleared her throat, Kayla dropped my hand abruptly. “I meant, in the wedding party.”
“What position did I play in the wedding party?” I repeated, unsure. “Groomsman?”
“Right.” Her gaze flicked to Marcy, and when the bride and groom moved on, she seemed to relax. “You’re from Indianapolis?”
“Yup.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the deejay announced over the loudspeaker, “if you’d please take your seats, the maid of honor has a few words she’d like to say about the newlyweds.”
Kayla put her hand on the back of her chair and pulled it out to sit down.
“Weren’t you going somewhere before I blocked you?”
She waved it off as she sat. “I was heading for the bar, but I’ll go later.”
I tugged out my chair, feeling lucky I’d wound up beside her, only to realize it wasn’t luck. The rest of the table was bridesmaids, paired off with guys who weren’t in tuxes, meaning they were dates. I was the only groomsman of the group, and it appeared Kayla was here like me.
Solo.
Didn’t mean for certain she was single, but it was a good sign.
During the best man’s speech, I caught her looking at me, and she glanced away quickly. Her blue eyes blinked rapidly as she stared off at nothing, embarrassed I’d caught her. Another good sign.
After the speeches were over, the first course was delivered to our table. The waiter dropped off plates of overly fancy salad topped with colorful veggies. Kayla’s salad was delivered last, and both of our gazes bounced from her plate to mine in confusion.
“Excuse me . . .” She turned to ask the waiter, but the guy was already gone.
“He forgot the rest of your salad.”
“Right?” She studied her plate of plain lettuce as she picked up her fork, and then shrugged. “Weird.”
I pushed my plate toward her. “I can take it or leave it when it comes to salad. Want to trade?”
Her expression warmed, but she shook her head. “Thanks, but it’s fine. I don’t mind.”
I took mine back, poured some dressing on top, and speared my fork into it. The rest of the table had paired off in conversations, and I glanced at her, wondering what to open with.