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prologue/megan
This man was pretty.
Not just because he was grinding his barely-covered junk in the air near my face. Though possibly at least a little because I was on my second margarita, and I’d been too stressed out and busy to eat much today.
But strippers were supposed to be pretty, weren’t they? That was part of the point? For me to enjoy that heavily muscled back that flexed every time he moved his arms. To appreciate how the faint scars near his shoulder and the sexy as hell tattoo covering his left shoulder blade added to the allure.
I didn’t realize I was reaching out to trace the ink until he grabbed my wrist. “You sure you want to go down that path, bride-to-be?” His tone was playful and his question ended with a wink. “You might have more fun starting here.” He set my hand on his upper thigh.
Holy rock-hard quads, Batman. I wanted to squeeze to see what happened, and then drape my arms around his neck, and have him pin me to the wall, and—
“I’m good, thanks.” I yanked my right hand back into my lap and took a long swallow of my drink. I wasn’t the girl who made out with the stripper at my own bachelorette party. I wasn’t the girl who did anything that might be perceived as inappropriate, unless the alternative was even worse.
“You can swing that thing in my face,” my sister, Carly called from a few seats over.
It wasn’t the first or the thousandth time I’d thought it, and it wouldn’t be the last—thank God for Carly.Shewasthat girl, and some days I envied her for it and other days it was absolutely mortifying.
I was sitting on my best friend’s sofa, surrounded by a small number of my currently-free friends, enjoying a last-minute bachelor party for me. Because my fiancé had changed our plans last minute, and I’d had to cancel the party that had been months in planning.
Easton, said fiancé, would be furious to see we had a stripper, let alone that I was fondling the guy. Even though I knew for a fact that Easton had strippers—plural—at the party his best man threw for him. But this was how these things worked. Sometimes I didn’t like it, but it was the nature of the world.
If I was cursing Easton, the man I was about to commit the rest of my life to, maybe three drinks on an empty stomach had been too many. My head was fuzzy. If I laid down for a minute, would anyone notice?
I wandered upstairs to Sonya’s room, and sat on the edge of her bed.
The room danced around me in a more dizzying spin than the stripper had. I shouldn’t lay down until the carpet stopped dancing. It seemed to be taking a while.
“Hey.” A deep voice cut into my blank stare. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” My throat was raw. How long had I been sitting here? Why was my face wet? Which of my friends had a cold?
A pair of muscular, jean-clad legs crossed the room, stopped in front of me, and knelt. The stripper was looking me in the eye. “Are you sure? You’re crying.”
Was I? I wiped a hand across my cheeks and pulled it away wet. Apparently I was. “I’m sorry.” Could I crawl in a hole and die now? I shouldn’t let anyone see me like this, let alone a stranger.
He handed me a box of tissues. “Why are you apologizing?”
“I bet I look horrible. And this is just so rude of me.” I plucked out several tissues and tried to mop up my face. “Not that I look great on most days. I couldn’t possibly, given how hard it is for me to find someone who loves me.” My voice cracked.
“Whoa.” He tilted my head up. “First of all, you’re gorgeous.”
I jerked away from his touch. “You have to say that. Sonya paid you to make me feel desirable.” I needed to shut up now.
“I don’thaveto say anything, and I’m done dancing for the night. My shift is over so to speak. Do you want to talk about what’s making you cry?” He moved to sit next to me on the bed, and his leg pressed into mine.
That felt good. It shouldn’t. I was a horrible person for any part of me liking this. “I’m not in the habit of spilling my heart out to strangers, no matter how many drinks I’ve had.” Though apparently I wasn’t above crying in front of said strangers. At least I hadn’t fallen into ugly sobs.Goddon’t let me fall into ugly sobs.
“It’s Megan, right?” He asked.
I nodded.
“I’m Landon,andwe have friends in common. Now I’m not a stranger, and you can tell me why the beautiful bride-to-be is hiding from her own party, looking like she just dropped her ice cream.”
Had Easton ever done this for me? Sat me down when I was having a shitty day and asked me to talk? Of course he had. He must have. So why couldn’t I remember it?
And now the sobs were wracking my body. Damn it.
Worse, Landon was holding me, trailing his fingers through my hair, murmuring soft, nonsensical words that were potently reassuring.
