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Well that wasa dogleg right I didn’t see coming.
I don’t usually volunteer myself as a plus-one to random people’s weddings, but seeing Madison Leigh blush under the scrutiny of the entire bridal party got to me.
Maybe because I know how bad it sucks flying solo at these types of things (speaking from experience here).
Maybe because Madison Leigh’s drop-dead gorgeous, with those flushed cheeks and lips I’m dying to taste.
Or maybe I just really like wedding cake, who the hell knows?
At any rate, I’m more than happy to spin Madison around the dance floor a few times and see where this thing goes. Worst case, I end up with a blister or two from my dress shoes. Best case, Madison and I hit it off and end up having a great time together.
Ring, ring.
My cell trills from my pocket and I pull it out, eagerly checking the caller ID.
Damn. Not Madison Leigh.
“Hello?”
“Hey, honey. It’s your mom.”
Why does she always identify herself? As if I wouldn’t recognize her voice or something.
“Hey, Mom. What’s up?” I click the speaker button and open the fridge, rummaging for something to cook for dinner and settling on pasta.
“Your dad and I were hoping you’d come to dinner tomorrow night.”
I shut the fridge door, grabbing a pot from the cabinet and filling it with water.
“Tomorrow?” I suck in a breath, knowing the truth is going to open a can of worms I’d rather leave sealed. “Can’t. I have plans.”
“Oh.” Her voice sinks, disappointment carrying straight through the phone line. “What kind of plans?”
Shit.Of course there’s a follow-up question like that. Rookie mistake.
Turning on the heat, I place a lid on the pot before leaning back against the counter. I shove a hand in my pocket, debating what to say here.
“I kind of, sort of, have a date.”
“A date!” The disappointment from earlier morphs into high-pitched enthusiasm. “Spencey! That’s wonderful. Bring her to dinner. We’d love to meet her.”
My gut burns as I watch the blue flames lick the metal pot. “Can’t. I’m going to a wedding.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I instantly regret them. A wedding date makes all of this seem way more serious than it is.
“A wedding? Who’s getting married? Is it someone from the club? And how come we haven’t met this girl yet? If you’re going to a wedding together, things between the two of you must be serious…”
“Not really. We’re still casual. And no, she’s not someone from the club. And it’s her cousin’s wedding.”
“Spencer Evans, a wedding date isnotcasual. And you’re already meeting her family? That’s so exciting, although I’m disappointed we don’t get to meet her first. What’s her name?”
My mother rapid-fires questions before I can process the words and I’m seriously regretting taking this call.
“Her name’s Madison Leigh. And it’s not a big deal, promise. It’s early days yet?—”
Super early. Like barely-know-the-girl-early.
I grit my teeth, tossing pasta into the now-boiling water and set a timer.
