I roll my eyes. “Um, absolutely not.”
This issonot my scene. I hate being put on the spot like this—where a whole audience is watching.
“Oh, come on,” Owen nudges. “Don’t tell me you don’t want to catch the bouquet and actually become Mrs. Brooks.”
I chuckle and shake my head.
“I think I’d rather keep my dignity intact than beg for a bouquet,” I scoff.
“Eh, I think you secretly want it,” he smirks.
He’s right about one thing—Idowant him.
But I have no desire to get bumped around or accidentally have my hair ripped out of my scalp as a group of grown women battle for a bouquet.
I swat at his chest, but before I can argue further, a swarm of women rushes past us toward the center of the dance floor, already squealing with excitement.
The DJ cranks up the volume, and the opening beat ofSingle Ladiesblasts through the speakers.
“Okay, that’s my cue to leave,” I laugh, starting to step back.
Owen’s hand catches mine, squeezing gently.
“Go,” he whispers in my ear, nodding toward the group. “Have fun.”
I hesitate for half a second before slipping my hand from his and weaving my way toward the group of women gathering near the bride.
It’s silly. It’s just a bouquet toss.
Thirty seconds, maybe less. And then it will all be over.
I can handle thirty seconds.
The energy on the dance floor is complete chaos—girls laughing, fixing their dresses, primping their hair, and jostling for a spot like it’s a full-contact sport.
I hover toward the back, already regretting my decision.
God, I feel so awkward standing out here…
This was a mistake.
Yeah, I’m gonna go—
Before I can retreat, the bride turns around with her bouquet in hand, grinning over her shoulder.
“Ready?!”
The music swells. The women around me scream.
And suddenly, I’m shoved forward.Hard.
“Sorry!” someone laughs, not sounding apologetic at all as she elbows her way past me.
Another girl bumps into my shoulder, nearly knocking me off balance as she pushes closer to the front.
Cool.
This is fun.
