I set her down at the same time she giggles, shouting “Mama!” before running to duck between Whitney’s legs. Whitney doesn’t just look pretty. She looks fuckingbreathtaking.I couldn’t look away, even if I tried. Her lashes are longer, and slightly curled. The olive-green dress all of the girls are wearing fits her like a glove. The dark pink lip color she has on makes the beauty mark on the side of her lip pop. Her usually wild hair is placed neatly into a low bun, with a few pieces framing her round face. Her hazel eyes linger on mine. Her lips part like she might speak, but nothing comes of it.
“Do a little spin?” I ask, forgetting we’re in a room full of people, but Whitney just smirks, in a way that makes me realize shethinksI’m putting on a show. That I’m just playing along. I’m not.
Her delicate fingers wrap around the thin material of her dress, tugging it up just above her ankles to prevent her heels from catching the train. It shouldn’t be attractive–the way she watches me as she does it. Or how she only breaks eye contact when she twirls. I almost get lost in the whirl of green and black before the smell of her perfume wafts toward me. Her chest bounces, as if the small action made her breathless.
“Yeah,” I nod, bringing my thumb up to run along my bottom lip. I drink her up, taking advantage of the fact that she’s letting me. Really make a show of running my eyes up and down the length of her body. “I was right.”
She blushes, and if I wasn’t the one who put it there, I might think it was a part of her makeup look for the night. She huffs,stepping towards me. She tugs at the bowtie around my neck. “You clean up pretty nice yourself, Conway.”
“I was just stopping in to check on the time.” I mutter, changing the topic. If I think any longer about how she thinksIlook good, I’m gonna haul her out of here on my shoulder. That would really raise some eyebrows. “Wesley’s halfway through a panic attack right about now.”
Her fingers still, and I can feel the way they slightly curl, like she wants to keep them there, but she drops her hand. When she steps back, she says, “Blake’s just touching up, and then we should be all ready to go.”
“I’ll let him know, then.” I give a short nod of my head before spinning around. I can feel her eyes lingering, burning a hole into my back. I don’t turn around to check.
Blake and Wesley’sceremony was beautiful.
My brother cried like a little bitch when Blake walked down the aisle with Elise.
I may have, too.
It was a bigger wedding than I thought it would be. My mom and Elise went all out. White hydrangeas mixed with eucalyptus flooded the entire venue. The place was a blur of greens, and whites, and the occasional pink. Brinley’s flower girl performance was spot on. She came rolling down the aisle in a pink G-Wagon and heart shaped sunnies on. Benji, fittingly, was their ring bearer. The treats kept in my pocket made his sprint down the aislenearlyperfect. He, of course, had to stop a few times on the carpet to get head pats and butt scratches. Now that it’s mid-October, space heaters for the biting cold were scatteredduring the ceremony. Thankfully, the reception is being held inside.
Speeches passed, food was served, and drinks were flowing. My brother and Blake’s first dance was full of laughter and secret smiles. My eyes were a little more than green with envy. A love like theirs only comes once in a lifetime.
Now, dancing and celebrating is in full swing. I lean against the bar top, Haden beside me with a beer in his hand. My mom, Brinley, and Whitney have spent most of the night dancing. Watching them laugh, giggle, and do goofy-looking dances nearly sets my heart on fire.
When Brinley starts to fuss, my mom offers to take her home for the night and put her to bed. Whitney is hesitant at first, not wanting her to miss out on the fun, but my mom can be persistent. Now, Whitney’s with her girls: Harper, Blake, and Vivienne. They all sing horribly off-key to some hip-hop song. But she’s never looked happier. Like the stress of her life outside of this building has begun to fade away, and she’s remembering what it’s like to have fun.
Haden leaves my side, beelining straight for Vivienne. His presence is quickly replaced by another, and I’m soon wishing I’d moved when he did. “Wyatt!” Angela’s high-pitched southern drawl rakes down my back like nails on a chalkboard.
“Angela,” I mutter back in greeting, taking a sip of my whiskey. I don’t look towards her though, so focused on Whitney swishing her hips, and marveling at the way the light bounces off her shiny hair. My irritation spikes when Angela steps in front of me, cutting off my line of view to the dark-haired Marilyn on the dance floor.
“You never texted or called after our date ended so abruptly.” Angela pouts, reaching up to run a hand along the collar of my white shirt.
“Sorry. Things have been hectic.” I speak, running a hand along my chin. “Let’s reschedule.” I nearly slam my head against the bartop for speaking without thinking. Why thefuckdid I say that? I don’t want to reschedule any kind of date with Angela, I just want her to move so I can go back to being the loser that watches Whitney from afar.
Angela beams, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, and rather obviously working to push her breasts up in her bright-red cocktail dress. “Great! Um–did you want to dance?”
“I’m not a big dancer.” I reply as kindly as I can. Her face scrunches. When I peek over her shoulder, I catch Whitney pushing through the crowd and out into one of the main halls. She moves like the devil himself is hot on her heels–and the fact that she was smiling ear-to-ear a mere second ago tells me something isn’t right. I pull from the bar and murmur a polite, “Excuse me.”
I don’t wait for Angela to respond, don’t acknowledge my less than gentlemanly attitude. I make it to the exit, catching the tail end of Whitney’s green dress disappearing around a corner. I quicken my steps, determined to find her before she’s gone entirely. I turn around the bend, catching up to her before she can slip into a random door. The bathrooms are in the other direction, so I know she’s not looking for that. “Whitney,” I hiss through clenched teeth.
“Not in the mood, Wyatt." Her tone is snarky, and it grates against my nerves. "Angela might be in need of some company, so why not go bother her instead?” I grit my teeth, hand lashing out to grab her wrist. I rip open the door we’re in front of and shove us both through.
When it shuts, I spin her around and pin her until she’s stuck between me and the door. “Are youjealous, Winnie?” I ask. I lean one hand against her head, letting my weight fall into it so I can dip to meet her eyes. She tracks the movement but turnsher head away so she’s not looking directly at me, but over my shoulder. I refrain from moving to tug at her hair and redirect her attention back on me. From unraveling it to see how many times I can wrap my fist around it.
“Oh, please,” she scoffs. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” My voice is as thick as gravel as it escapes. Whitney rubs her thighs together, and her body stills when she realizes how obvious it was. How my eyes lowered to track the moment. A pretty flush breaks onto her neck and creeps up her face. Her nipples harden through the flimsy fabric of her satin dress. She’s wearing heels, but it doesn’t give her any leverage with our height difference. I grip her chin, forcing her to look at me.
Tequila and Whiskey. Whiskey and Tequila. Our breaths mingle, and it’s so similar to the first night she let me touch her. A newfound determination courses through my veins. I brush my lips against hers and let the hand hanging at my side trail along green satin. Her breath catches, but it’s me who speaks first. “Say the word. Say the word, and I’ll stop.”
Stop what? I don’t know. But whatever she says next will determine exactly which way I take this. I wait, but she doesn’t speak. Her eyes flicker, to below my belt, and any restraint I may have had left snaps. I let loose a growl, tugging the fabric of her dress up. Past her knees, up her thighs, and when it’s finally balled in my fist at her hip, I pause.
Because this fucking girl isn't wearing anything under her dress. She's completely bare. I groan, tipping my head back. “You’re going to be the deathof me.”
She huffs a sexy laugh. “Have you seen this dress? Way too cute to ruin with panty lines.”
