“I will. He’s so adorbs. Like you and your guy.”
Truly loops an arm around me. “Jay is totes adorbs.”
I slide a hand along her wrist. “So are you.”
“Awww, you guys are the most adorbs,” Amelia says with a sigh. “I want this kind of thing for myself. You guys have to stay like this. It’s sooo sweet.”
I meet Truly’s gaze, thinking Amelia has some damn good ideas. Staying like this sounds brilliant.
I lean closer to Truly, whispering, “Thanks for coming tonight.”
“Thanks for inviting me.”
She leaves her arm around me, and it hardly feels like it’s for Amelia’s benefit anymore.
Soon enough, it’s time for the best man’s speech, and I keep it short and simple per Chip’s request, but I talk him up, waxing on about all the ways he’s a good, fun, and caring man. The funny thing is, it’s all true. Chip is a good guy. That’s patently obvious.
When I’m through, I turn the reins over to Troy who clears his throat. “I’m here to celebrate this union with a little Shakespeare. Is everyone ready for Sonnet One Hundred Sixteen?”
“Go for it!” Chip shouts.
Troy then proceeds to rap the hell out of the Bard, starting with: “Let me not to the marriage of true minds…Admit impediments.”
When he finishes, Chip turns to his bride. “Surprise, sweetie! I had him do that for you.”
Ashley throws her arms around him. “I am never ever letting you go.”
Chip’s smile can power a rocket launch. “That’s the goal.”
When Ashley drops a kiss to his lips, that pang in my chest returns, like a drumbeat, persistent and a little annoying.
Or maybe it’s simply that Ed Sheeran is playing, and the dancing has begun.
Truly sets down her champagne and grabs my hand. “Let’s dance.”
“To Ed Sheeran?”
“Yes. I know you hate him, and I don’t care.”
Funny, I don’t care right now that I hate him either. The chance to have her in my arms is worth the assault on my eardrums.
I take her hand, guide her to the dance floor, and loop my hands around her waist.
I’d like to say we’re good. I’d like to say I feel nothing.
But that’d be a bigger lie than pretending the groom isn’t paying me to be here.
22
From the pages of Truly’s Drink Recipe Book
A Little Hanky Panky:
Champagne, Straight Up
You tell yourself you’ll stick to the plan.
You know you can do it.
Hell, you’ve done it for a while now. For years, even. For as long as you’ve known that guy, the one you can’t stop thinking about.
You go over the reasons. You list them, highlight them, stick them to a Post-it, and slap it on the fridge.
But then there are the things he says, dirty and sweet, entertaining and thoughtful. The way he listens—the way he talks. How he holds the door, pulls out your chair, takes your coat.
He’s a man in a city that is teeming with boys.
Or maybe it’s simpler. Maybe it’s how he touches your hand, your waist, your hair. Perhaps it’s the tender way he meets your gaze when you demand a dance, or the hint of vulnerability that flashes across his amber eyes.
Or it could be that, once again, you’re away from the city.
You’re not in that five-mile radius of your regular life, your regular job, and your regular people.
This is an escape, and you know when you indulge in that first sip of champagne it’s going straight to your head. Not just the drink, but the night, the dress, the tux, and the talking.
When you take that sip, it tastes like a getaway, like a delicious secret, like a treasure to grab tight.
Times like this, when the man you want takes your hand at a wedding, you’re already in a champagne state of mind.
