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I’d rather fuck the same girl twice than stir up drama with the bride’s best friend. Hard pass. In my experience, bridesmaids are fucking nuts. We’d fuck, she’d want to do it again, and I’d have to turn her down. I don’t do repeats unless they bring a friend. One ticket per customer, no mulligans. Blame it on my strong moral values.
“Hey, babe, grab us a couple of beers, would ya?” Bryan says, pulling away.
Jordana grabs Veronica’s arm, then they walk toward the open bar on the far east wall. With Veronica trailing behind Jordana, Bryan has his eyes fixed on the maid of honor’s ass.
“Whoa. Down, boy,” I comment.
He doesn’t pry his eyes up, even while he answers. “She knows I look. Jordana doesn’t care where I get my appetite as long as I eat my meals at home.”
I cross my arms. “And do you?”
He winks. “What do you think?”
That wink brings more questions than answers. It’s none of my business.
I consider whether I could ever settle down with one person... I can’t picture it. In Bryan’s case, his fiancée is drop-dead gorgeous and, other than the resting bitch face, she seems like a decent person, if you’ve got a Stepford wife kink.
His dad interrupts and thrusts his hand in front of me. “Congrats, Captain.”
Grasping his palm, I look him in the eye. “Thank you, sir.”
Even though I’ve been around this family a thousand times, Mr. Davenport has always remained a stranger. He’s quiet and has a temperamental disposition. I’ve never seen him smile. Bryan used to be terrified of him, and I’d put money down he still is. His dad always ran the house with an iron fist.
After acknowledging me, he moves on to the other guests at the party, which appear to be mostly investors, based on how people are dressed and the bits of conversation I’ve picked up on. The Davenports are one of the wealthiest families in the area, not as rich as Jordana’s family but still fully loaded. They work hard to keep it that way. Image is everything to them. The family business has its fingers in nearly every industry, including politics.
Veronica returns with two beer bottles, and Bryan’s jaw tics. “Where is Jordana?”
He’s kinda weird tonight. I take a drink. Damn, Citra makes great beer.
“She went upstairs for a minute, said she’d be right back. It’s fine,” Veronica answers.
“Excuse me,” he murmurs, turning away.
I hold my arms out. “Come on, I just got here. She said she’d be right back.” I don’t want to get stuck talking with Veronica one-on-one.
He ignores me and strides toward the stairs, taking a long swig from the bottle and setting it on a high-top table as he passes.
The brunette angles herself in front of me, and when I glance behind, Bryan has disappeared. He’s probablygoing up there to fuck. Not surprising with how good his girl looks tonight—I sure as hell noticed. When he had his eyes on the maid of honor, I had mine on his fiancée. I’d never make a move, but if he’s not going to appreciate the way her ass looks in that dress, I will.
“So how long have you been playing hockey?” Veronica asks.
“Going into my ninth season.”
Her eyes grow large. “Wow, how old were you when you started?”
“Eighteen.” I’m already bored with this conversation. I’ve had it a thousand times. “So, do you and Jordana go as far back as Bryan and me?”
I avoid asking people questions about their careers. It’s something that’s always irritated me. As if your job is indicative of the type of person you are. I’m sure sometimes that’s true, but “And what do you do?” always gave me the same vibes as“Which one of us makes more money?”
“No, only since college. We were in a sorority together and did a lot of mixers with Bryan’s frat.”
“Oh, so the three of you have been friends for a while.”
“You could say that. What about you? You guys grew up together, right?”
“Mm-hm,” I say, nodding and taking a drink. “Our parents used to dabble in the same business ventures. We grew up attending the same galas and banquets. Bryan and I used to sneak off and get into trouble.”
“I can appreciate a troublemaker.”
