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I shove through the oversized double doors of the resort, rainbow prisms of light from the crystal chandeliers bouncing off the white marble floors. The lobby’s airy and spacious, overlooking the verdant first tee of one of Magnolia Point’s two eighteen-hole championship golf courses. Hole one’s bordered by water, much to the dismay of many an amateur golfer.
“Spence! What’s up?” Danny, the bartender, waves at me as I make my way into the mostly empty bar area adjacent to the restaurant. “Kinda early for happy hour.” He raises his dark eyebrows, glancing over at the wall clock.
Chuckling, I grab a menu from the mahogany bar and peruse the options. “How’s the seafood bisque?”
“Good, if you like seafood. Haven’t heard any complaints.”
“Okay. I’ll take a cup of the bisque and an iced tea. Thanks.” I set the menu back down on the bar, loud peals of laughter spilling out from the garden room and bouncing off the high wooden rafters in the bar.
“Guess they don’t think it’s too early for happy hour.” I tip my head at the noisy group of women gathered next door, one of several special event rooms located off the main dining area.
“They definitely do not. They’ve been going hard for at least an hour already.” Danny rolls his eyes as he cuts through the foil on a champagne bottle. “I’m betting at least one of them will be up here shortly, asking about more bubbly.”
“And that’s what makes you an awesome bartender, bro. What is it, like a bachelorette party, morning edition?” I swivel my head, squinting at the clump of ladies all wearing dresses in various shades of pink. Except for one blonde in white, clearly the bride.
Danny holds his fingers up in the air, makes quotation marks. “It’s a Bridal Brunch, Spence.”
“Ah. I see.”
“Another excuse to get shit-faced before the big day.”
“Hey, it’s paying your bills,” I point out, eyeing the table of women. They all look to be in their late-twenties to mid-thirties, with a few exceptions. Older relatives, aunts and moms and whatnot.
“Sorry. My girl’s been to way too many bridal functions lately. The bills are really piling up. First, it’s the bridal shower, then the bachelorette weekend. Now there’s bridal brunches and couple showers. We’re gonna be broke if this keeps up. She’s got a shit ton of friends.”
“Shouldn’t have such a popular girlfriend, Danny.”
“You’re doing things right. Playing the field, not locking it down.” He uncorks the champagne, a loud pop echoing through the air.
Right on cue, an attractive brunette sidles up next to me at the bar. She smells like vanilla icing, and I vaguely wonder if it’s her perfume or the shiny pink lip gloss coating her full lips. She’s petite and curvy, long waves of dark hair spilling over her shoulders.
“Hey, Danny. Mind if we get more champagne, please? I can help.” She reaches across the bar for one of the open bottles of champagne, and I notice the absence of a ring. Definitely not the bride.
“Thanks, Madison. That would be great. I’m kinda short-staffed at the moment.” Danny slides the bottle the rest of the way across the bar and Madison’s elbow brushes mine.
“Sorry about that.” She locks eyes with me and holy hell. Hers are the exact green as the grass at Augusta, fringed with thick, dark lashes. My lower body tenses, my pulse picking up speed.
“No problem.” I shove a hand in my pocket, trying to distract from the bulge forming in my pants.
Madison is a fucking knock-out.
“You look familiar—” Not my most original pick-up line, but it’s the honest truth.
“You’re not a client, I’d remember you. I never forget the grooms.” She licks her lips, the pink tip of her tongue darting out, and now I’m staring at her luscious mouth.
“Grooms? You’ve had multiple?” I cock my head, confused.
She giggles, a light, melodic sound sparking every nerve ending in my body.
“No, not personally. I’m a bridal planner.”
“Ah, got it. I’ve probably seen you around the club then. I’m Spence, one of the golf pros.”
“Nice to meet you, Spence.” She picks up the bottle, ready to return to the party. “I better get back. Duty calls.”
She starts sashaying away, and Danny shoves the other bottle of champagne in my direction. “Why don’t you help her out? I’ll grab your lunch.”
I shake my head at him, but he’s already dashing back toward the kitchen. Grabbing the bubbly, I trail behind Madison and admire the view. Her ass is a perfect peach, legs long and toned. She expertly pours the bubbly, graceful and lithe, not spilling a drop.
