Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
EMMA
It turns out there are no rooms available. Which isn’t a surprise because this is a big wedding and there are a lot fewer rooms than people here at the beautiful Eastham Country Club.
But then I see money changing hands – between my current knight-in-shining-armor and the night receptionist – and we’re unceremoniously led to a tiny room at the back of the building. It doesn’t even have a room number. Luckily, it’s far away from the wedding itself, and we don’t pass any guests, but it still feels strange as the bellhop opens the door to the single-bed room that will be my safe haven for the night.
“If you give me your email address I’ll send you the money over,” I say when the bellhop has left.
Whiskey guy shrugs. “No need. Consider it an apology from the male species.” He smiles and for the first time I see he has dimples in his cheeks. There’s just a hint of darkness where his beard is growing through, presumably after a shave this morning.
“I don’t even know your name,” I say.
“I don’t know yours either.”
“Emma.”
“Brooks.” He holds his hand out in a strangely formal way. I slide my palm into his and he curls his fingers around mine until we’re shaking.
“Is that your first name or last name?” I ask him.
“Not telling you. That way you can’t Venmo me.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m pretty sure I can ask Mia and she’ll tell me.”
“But you won’t,” he says, sounding completely sure of himself. I wonder what it’s like to be that certain about anything. I kind of envy him. Whatever made him spend the last few hours of the wedding in the grass with a bottle of booze doesn’t seem to have dented his self confidence.
Whereas I’m currently barefoot, my dress gaping open, and another howl away from going full-on-feral-beast.
“Why not?” I ask him.
“Because then you’d have to tell her about the shoes. And I get the impression you don’t want to do that.”
“You think you know me?” I ask him.
His eyes catch mine. “I don’t know you at all. I just don’t need to be paid back.”
I wrinkle my nose because I hate owing anybody anything. “Well thank you,” I tell him, because the fight has gone out of me. I hand him back his jacket. “I appreciate your help.”
“Anytime, Emma.” He slings the jacket over his shoulder and walks out, as I close the door to my tiny room. And then I open it again and call out his name.
He stops, turning to look at me. “Everything okay?”
“My zipper is stuck,” I tell him. “And that’s not a come-on, it’s the god’s honest truth.”
He laughs.
“What?”
“I don’t know. You’re just…”
“An idiot?” I say.
“I wasn’t going to say that.” He walks back into my room and I close the door and suddenly it feels even smaller in here than before. I can smell the whiskey on his breath, combined with the low notes of whatever cologne he’s wearing. Up this close I can see the curl of his chest hair peeping through the open collar of his shirt.
“What were you going to say?” I ask.
“You’re unexpected. That’s all.”
I have no idea what that means, so I turn around and offer my back to him. I take a deep breath as his fingers touch my bare skin right above the zipper, then pull at it with no effect at all.
“It’s jammed,” he says.
“I know.”
He tugs again, and it’s so hard I stumble against him.
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
“No problem.” I turn my head and look at him. He’s staring at the zipper, his brows dipped. Damn, he’s good looking in that all-American, rich boy kind of way.
“Did you choose this dress or did it choose you?” he murmurs, tugging again.
“It’s Mia’s choice. She thinks it’s ironic,” I say, as his fingers brush my skin again. They’re so warm and rough.
“Ironic in what way?” He lets go of the zipper and pulls at either side of the dress. “I’m not sure you’re going to get out of this without me cutting you out.”
“You can’t cut me out. I’ve got nothing else to wear.”
“You must have something else.”
“In my ex’s room, yes.” And I’m not going there. I’m just not. I have my purse and my phone and I’ll ask Mia to arrange for my luggage to be sent to me. “And it’s ironic because she says so. Plus she wanted to annoy her mother-in-law.”
“Sounds like the perfect way to start a marriage.” He pulls at the dress, then tugs one more time, and this time it actually works. I feel the relief of the bodice opening, the coolness of the air conditioning hitting my skin.
He clears his throat, and I remember that I’m wearing the skimpiest thong imaginable.
“Damn, I’m sorry.” He steps back right as I turn around to save my lack of modesty from any further scrutiny.
Our eyes catch and I can’t help it, I laugh. “Do you know you’re the fifth person to see my underwear today?”
“The fifth?” His voice sounds strange.
“Yes. Mia, Mia’s mom, my ex, her Great Uncle Fred, and now you.”
“Her great uncle saw your thong?”
“It’s a long story.” I let out a long breath. “Anyway, you’re also the last. I hope.”
He nods. “I hope so too.”
“Thank you. For…” I wave my hand around the room. “Everything. It was very nice to meet you, Brooks.” I go to offer him my hand again, but then I change my mind and roll onto the balls of my feet to kiss his cheek, my other hand clutching the back of my dress to stop it from gaping. But right as my lips go to graze the scruff of his jaw he turns his head and my mouth connects with his.
His lips are parted. His breath is warm. And somehow, instead of pulling away, I stay right there.
He doesn’t pull away either. He just stands there, as I kiss this virtual stranger – no he’s an actual stranger – in the hotel room he just bought me, wearing a dress that’s one finger flex away from falling around my feet.
And I don’t want to pull back. Because when I do, I’ll have to say something and I can’t think of anything else to say. So I kiss him like it’s absolutely normal, using my free hand to steady myself against his shoulder.
There’s a rumble in his throat, as though he’s decided this is a bad idea and I wait for him to push me away. But instead he runs his hand down my back, pulling me closer, his lips moving against mine as he kisses me back.
And of course he’s a damn expert at it. His kiss is slow and tantalizing. On the verge of lazy. Like he’s trying me out before deciding whether to buy. And because I’ve always been impatient, I run the tip of my tongue along his lower lip.
His throat rumbles again. Damn, I like that way too much. And then his mouth opens, his tongue sliding against mine, his palm warm against my back, his body hard against my front. I curl my fingers around his neck, the tips grazing his hairline, and arch my body against his.
He has both arms around me now, palms flat on my back, head bowed as our mouths move against each other. Despite the cool hum of the air-conditioning unit, I feel like I’m on fire.
And I can tell he’s turned on, too. It’s obvious from the thickness of him pressed against my stomach. I open my mouth to say something about it, but he takes that as me breaking the kiss and damn it, he releases my body and steps back, those expressive brows of his working overtime.
For a moment neither of us say anything. To be honest, I can’t think of a single word to say, and that’s not normal for me. I’m the queen of filling in awkward silences. He blinks, then runs his thumb along his bottom lip, still staring at me.
“Completely unexpected,” he murmurs, his voice a rasp.
“So, yeah.” I nod like an idiot. “Um, thanks for the room.”
He laughs again, and I join in because I’m not sure I’ve ever been more embarrassed in my life. “Good night, Emma.”
“Night, Brooks. Thanks for the help. And if you need anything, just call. Rooms, zippers…” I trail off because I’m making it worse.
He doesn’t answer. Just gives me a half-smile, half-grimace, then walks away. For good this time. I stand in the middle of the room, clutching my dress for the longest time, waiting until I can’t hear his footsteps anymore and can close the door without looking like the idiot I absolutely am.
And once it’s locked I let my dress fall around my bare feet. I want to howl again, this time louder. Because today has been the shitshow of all shitshows.
Instead, I take my lingerie off and stride into the shower, turning it on and stepping into the stream of cold water like it’s a punishment.
“Tomorrow’s another day,” I remind myself, like I’m Scarlett O’Hara and I’ve just lost everything I ever loved.
The only problem is, tomorrow will be worse. I’ll have to somehow get home in a broken bridesmaids dress and no shoes. And this time I won’t have a whiskey-pouring knight in shining armor to help me.