Though, I don’t have much time for flirting. My sister’s flying up from Los Angeles tonight, and her plane gets in at eleven. But that still leaves a window for a dance or two. This gal will take what she can get.
Harlan turns into the row of seats, and I shamelessly check out his ass as he walks. There is just something about a man in atailored suit, especially a man with a great butt. A butt I want to hold onto.
Stop, Katie Madigan, stop. You can’t think filthy thoughts in front of a preacher.
Unless that’s a justice of the peace up there, which I’m pretty sure it is. So, it’s totally permissible to be a bad girl. JPs don’t mind dirty minds during a wedding ceremony.
Harlan grabs a seat, then Jones sits next to him, then Jillian, and finally, I flank my bestie.
We settle in, and when Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major begins, my heart rises to my throat.
Memories of other weddings claw their way to the front of my mind, and I force them away.
Stay present.
Focus on the here and now.
I zoom in on the bride and groom, though I hardly know them. They’re Jillian’s colleagues, and I’m simply her plus-one. Still, when the groom promises to love his bride so long as they both shall live, I choke up.
Ugh, emotions, you bedevil me.
I root around in my purse, hunting for a tissue. I dab my eyes, then steal a glance at Jillian. Even through the silky black hair curtaining her face, I see she’s biting her bottom lip, holding in a tear or two, I bet.
I offer a few tissues, which she takes, mouthing,thank you, then swiping her cheeks.
Once the happy couple exchanges theirI dosand their firstmarried kiss, we stand and clap. They walk down the aisle, hands clasped, gazing all lovey-dovey at each other.
What would it take to get to that place where you know you want to be with someone forever and ever? I can’t picture it. Didn’t see anything remotely like that while I was growing up.
When the bride and groom leave the ballroom, I grab Jillian’s arm and squeeze. “Thank you for making me your date. I don’t know a thing about those two, but I’m so stinking happy for them,” I say with genuine emotion.
“Me too. Weddings get to me,” she whispers, then her eyes stray to Jones.
I squeeze her arm harder. “Maybe your guy gets to you,” I tease under my breath.
She swats my arm. “Stop knowing me too well.”
I shrug happily. “Can’t help it. It’s our curse and our blessing as besties.” I tip my forehead to the exit. “Let’s get you to the reception so you and Jones can play footsie under the table.”
She arches a brow. “And maybe you and the running back?”
“Ha. Let’s focus on you.”
***
My first job tonight is to be her wingwoman. And my job as her friend is to deliver my message.
Once we make our way to the reception, I hunt for my opportunity. I’ve watched Jillian fall for this guy over the summer and into the football season, and he damn well better know exactly what he’s got on his hands.
A prize.
When the dancing begins, I motion for Harlan to come closer so I can whisper in his ear.
“Hey, there,” he says as he sheds his suit jacket, tossing it on the back of his chair. “You ready to cut a rug, sweetheart?”
“Not quite. But soon. First, though, I need to chat with Jones—and you’re going to help me.”
“Hit me up,” he says, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. His forearms—his strong, muscular forearms—are a little distracting.
