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“Thank you, Buck, but—”
“Way more beautiful.” I could feel the heat of his breath on my neck.
What in the hell was Buck doing? I couldn’t do this again. I couldn’t go down the same road of a hotter-than-hell younger guy flirting with me to the point where I couldn’t tell the difference between what was real and what was him just playing me.
“Excuse me.” I brushed past him even before Cope and Ali had finished the recessional, and hurried off in the direction of the house, hoping no one had noticed me leave on the side aisle.
I raced into the restroom, wishing I could splash cold water on my face, but that would ruin the makeup it took me over an hour to put on, since I never wore it.
Instead, I took several deep breaths. “Buck the fuck up, buttercup,” I said to the mirror, shaking my head at the use of the name of the man who had me so flustered that I’d made a jackass out of myself by rushing away from the wedding.
I squared my shoulders, took one last look in the mirror, and opened the bathroom door.
Just outside, there he stood. His arm was raised, and he leaned against the doorjamb. “Hey, Stella, you and me need to talk.”
“What about?”
Buck looked down at his phone. “I, uh, gotta leave. I’m real sorry to do this to you, but there’s an emergency at home.”
“Oh! Of course. An emergency? Oh my God. Go. Don’t worry about me. Is everything okay? Is there anything I can do? I mean, what kind of emergency?”
Buck gave me one of his lazy, panty-melting grins and put his hand on my shoulder. “Slow down, darlin’.”
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, shaking my head. I never got nervous and I never rambled. Not ever. I was a tough-as-nails journalist who’d never shied away from a story, no matter who or what it was about. I’d get in anyone’s face—the most hardened criminals or the most corrupt politicians. Even Cope hadn’t had the same effect on me that Buck did. Being this close to him turned my brain to mush. Not to mention making me feel like a damn cougar.
“Look, um, do you want me to arrange for a car service to give you a lift home later?”
“I can handle it.”
“You sure? Cause—”
I raised a brow and folded my arms.
“Right. I better be on my way, then.”
I took a step back and held up one hand in a half wave. “Goodbye, Buck.”
“Bye, Stella.”
As I watched him walk away, every fantasy I’d had about him and me and his sexy-as-fuck pickup, dissolved into an image of me alone at home with a jug of wine and a large pizza.
“Where’s Buck?” asked Ali when she and Cope made the rounds, visiting guest tables after dinner.
“Emergency at home,” I muttered, finishing off my third Manhattan.
“Damn,” mumbled Cope, shaking his head. “That’s too bad.”
I looked at Ali, who seemed as confused as me. “What’s too bad?”
“His dad must’ve died.”
“And you know this, how?”
“He’s been ill. I was afraid he might not make it to the wedding.”
He’d told Cope he might not make it to the wedding but hadn’t informed me, his date? “Men are such assholes,” I muttered under my breath. “I’m out of here.” I kissed Ali’s cheek and saluted Cope.
“I’ll walk you out,” he offered.
