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AVERY
* * *
As I sipped my glass of cheap wine at my sister’s wedding reception, I’d have preferred to be just about anywhere else. In bed with my men was the most attractive option and one that made my panties wet.
Yes, I was crazy since I thought of them as my men.
They were here, somewhere, but I’d had to leave them behind to go off and do the ridiculous family photos. I told my parents I was bringing them as my dates and neither of them had reason to refuse, or argue. They’d wanted me to date a nice Bridgewater man and I was giving them two. As long as I didn’t do the walk of shame, they didn’t seem to bother me about it.
Even the photographer looked depressed by the way my parents were behaving. They stood bickering and squabbling until the photographer said “cheese” and then they burst into fake smiles for the camera. My sister and Collin were faking it as well, albeit to a lesser degree. A quiet dig here, a not so quiet sigh of annoyance there. Over and over. Wash, rinse, repeat.
The groom’s brothers and I stood on the sidelines, entering into the frame when the photographer beckoned but largely ignored on the whole. Which meant I had nothing to do but stand about and watch my family in all their dysfunctional glory.
I shook my head, remembering what the guys had said about choosing to be different. I didn’t have to let my parents’ toxic relationship define me. I could choose a different pattern, to respect the men I chose to be with. To like them as people. As friends. As lovers, even. I could love them.
It was a choice. Instead of standing in my heels that were starting to pinch my toes and obsessing over my family’s irritating ways, I tried counting my blessings.
The wedding cake had been surprisingly good. My Aunt Louise had made for an excellent partner-in-crime at last night’s rehearsal dinner. I hadn’t been allowed to bring a date, let alone two—the reservations had been made ages ago—so Dash and Jackson hadn’t been by my side to keep me company. I’d had my aunt in my corner, taking on the guys’ unofficial role of buffer between me and my family. Aunt Louise had been a blast and it had given us a good chance to catch up.
Of course, my persistent aunt had spent the better part of our catch-up time trying to finagle details out of me about what happened with Jackson, Dash and the handcuffs—which I refused to share—but it was still fun nonetheless.
I would have paid money to have her by my side to distract me from the photo shoot from hell. I caught my sister making sexy eyes across the room at some guy I didn’t recognize, but who sure as heck wasn’t her husband. It was her wedding day, for god’s sakes, what was wrong with these people?
I took a long swig of my wine and tried to focus on the positives again. The DJ didn’t totally suck, playing more than just my sister’s favorite, Country. And best of all, I’d met some people who wanted to chat me up about my writing.
It seemed Rory and Cooper from the Wray holiday party had spoken to some friends of theirs who ran a local guest ranch. I’d heard of Hawk’s Landing, but never stayed there. I did know where it was and the setting was perfect for a getaway. Apparently, the helicopter pilots had sung my praises because the owners, Ethan and Matt, were eager to hear how I might be able to feature their ranch in an upcoming article.
They grew men big in Montana because the duo was as big as Dash and Jackson. Their wife, Rachel, stood between them, and since she came up to their shoulders, she only accentuated their size. Clearly pregnant, she was super cute in an empire-waist velvet dress.
Rachel mentioned the idea to a few others in the tourism industry—she was the guest ranch’s office manager—and were brainstorming of starting up a magazine that was entirely devoted to Montana travel. They all seemed to think there was a market f
or it and the idea had taken hold and started to grow. Even now, with the ridiculousness of my family front and center, I felt that rush of adrenaline that always came with a new story idea. And I didn’t have to go to Brazil or Mexico or even Thailand for it. It came to me at Jackie’s wedding reception.
Focus on that, I told myself. On all the articles that could be written about this gorgeous state and its fascinating people.
But no sooner had I started brainstorming than an all-out war erupted between my mother and father that sent the groom’s brothers running. My sister and Collin got in on the act, Jackie taking my father’s side and Collin taking my mother’s. Over what? It was hard to tell. Judging by the volume levels, one might have guessed that my mother had just accused my father of murder. But once their words started to register, it became clear that this particular battle had to do with the amount of liquor being drunk.
My blood boiled at their rudeness and I was completely embarrassed I was related to them. I fought the urge to throw myself into the mix to put an end to the scene they were causing. I might have, but my guys came along and saved the day. The wedding? Not savable.
“Come on, baby doll,” Dash said as he wrapped an arm around my waist and steered me away from the bickering. “This isn’t your problem.”
Jackson walked beside us, his smile already distracting me from my anger. “We’ve missed you, sweetheart. We’ve been waiting for you to finish up your work talk so we can take you out on the dance floor.”
Some of my tension melted away as my guys took care of me. I wasn’t in this alone. And my family? They could be miserable without me.
“I don’t know if I’m up for dancing just yet.” I held up my near-empty wineglass and lifted my foot in the air and wiggled my ankle. “My feet are killing me. Maybe another drink first to take the edge off and numb my toes.”
Jackson leaned in close, gave me a sly grin. “I’ve got a better way to make your toes numb.” He and Dash shared a look as he jerked his head toward a hallway leading off the main foyer and away from the reception.
Dash instantly changed course toward the restrooms and coat closet.
Jackson moved ahead of us, looking around furtively like we were spies in some cloak and dagger movie. I giggled at their ridiculousness. “Where are you guys taking me?”
Jackson gave Dash a nod and the next thing I knew I was swept up in his arms—horrid bridesmaid gown and all—and carried into the hotel’s coat closet. “What the—”
“Shh,” Jackson murmured.
Dash finally set me down and I was pressed between the two of them in the tight quarters. Rows and rows of the wedding guests’ coats filled the space. He grabbed my hand, tugged me behind the last row and into the back corner where we couldn’t be seen, not that there was anyone else around.
