Taking Chances (BYC #3)

12. Lennox

12

LENNOX

I park in front of Anne’s building ten minutes early. It’s unusual driving a car after so many years of riding a motorcycle, but the luxury of traveling in a heated, isolated space isn’t too bad.

This week, I finished the upstairs bathroom and started on the kitchen. I also finished the book I stole from Anne.

The peace and calm I felt working on the house is a stark contrast to what coursed my body while I read that book.

I’ve been a member of the kink community for years now, but the things in that book made me fucking blush. They also made me hard. Imagining sweet little Anne reading that and maybe getting hot from it was an image sexier than expected.

It’s vastly different than the persona she shows in public, piquing my curiosity to see what she’s hiding underneath.

Luckily, I’m sane enough to know that it would be the worst idea ever. She’s a friend now, I guess. She’s also way too nice, way too sweet, and way too good for someone like me.

While I disagree with most of the things her family put in her head, the fact that she should have high criteria for her partner isn’t one of them.

Anne exits her building, dragging a small suitcase and holding a huge garment bag. Her hair is styled in a fancy updo with two locks of hair left on either side of her face. Her eyes are bright green, accentuated with the evening makeup. I circle the car to help her out.

“Let me get that for you,” I say.

“Please be careful so the dress doesn’t get wrinkled.”

“Relax. I got it.” I wink and her cheeks turn pink.

She’s so fucking sweet.

“This is the car, huh?” Her face scrunches.

“You don’t like it?”

“It just wasn’t what I expected you’d buy.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“I thought you’d buy some huge, manly car,” she continues, making me laugh.

“Sorry if this isn’t manly enough. But believe it or not, manliness wasn’t my top priority while picking a car.” I smirk. “It was safety.”

“Oh.” Her mouth parts before she nods and gets in.

Truth is, I don’t care about cars much. Bikes were always more my thing. But with her frightened reaction when I suggested driving her on my bike, I assumed the fear might be generalized to other vehicles, as well. So, after some research, I decided on the safest option there is, a good old Volvo.

“We should be there around forty-five minutes before the wedding. I hope that’s enough time for you to get ready.”

“Sure. My hair and makeup are already done, I just need to put my dress on.” Her words sound chill, but she’s chewing on her bottom lip hard enough that I’m afraid it’ll bleed.

“You OK?” I ask, starting the car.

“Just nervous. There are so many things that can go wrong tonight.”

I chuckle at her words “Don’t worry. I’ll be right next to you.”

She lets out a breath, finally letting the poor lip rest.

A little over an hour and a half later, I’m sliding the key card in the hotel room door. As the rest of the hotel, the room screams luxury, with heavy dark gray drapes that open on a push of a button and marble floors.

“Oh,” Anne says, and I realize in an instant what she’s talking about.

The king-size bed is huge but takes up most of the room. There isn’t a couch or an armchair, just a fancy chair in front of the vanity desk and mirror.

“Don’t worry, I can sleep on the floor.” Though marble wouldn’t be my first choice, I’m willing to bet these floors are heated.

“There is no floor,” Anne stammers, and she’s pretty accurate. The bed is so massive that the leftover floor is just enough to get around, but nowhere near enough to sleep comfortably.

“The bed is big enough to fit us both without it being weird.” I try to be the voice of reason, but she looks like I just murdered her cat. “Or not, if it makes you uncomfortable,” I quickly backtrack.

She lets out a huge breath. “It’s not that. You’re already doing this huge favor for me. I don’t want to force you to sleep with me on top of that.” Her shoulders sag.

I put my hands on her shoulders gently. “I’m doing this because I want to. And I’d like to think we became friends. So, there’s no reason two friends can’t sleep in the same bed.” She stares at me with wide, scared eyes, her gaze piercing through me. “OK?” I try to make my voice as soothing as possible.

“OK,” she whispers, her head slowly nodding.

“Now, let’s get ready and rock this wedding.” She smiles, lighting up the room. “You take the bathroom, and I’ll change in here.”

She repeats the nod and grabs the garment bag before heading to the bathroom while I change into my suit. I haven’t worn this in almost a year, but luckily it still fits me well. I fix my collar in the vanity mirror and get out some hair wax from my toiletry bag.

I open the metal tub when I hear the bathroom door opening. My head snaps to the tiny hallway and my breath is instantly knocked out of my lungs.

“Shit,” I murmur, the wax falling out of my hands.

I lower to the ground to pick it up, but the second glance isn’t any less fatal than the first one.

“Is there something wrong with the dress?” she asks, a rush of color spreading steadily over her cleavage.

“Nope. You look amazing.” Amazing is a harsh downplay of what stands in front of me. In place of the cute, girly woman, there’s a total bombshell looking like something out of my teenage wet dreams.

I did always have a thing for Christina Hendricks.

Her red locks frame her gorgeous face. Her lips are matching the hair, softer and plumper than I ever noticed before.

There are other things plumper than I was aware of. Her tits are practically spilling out of the dark-green dress, two tiny straps on her shoulders doing the heavy, and I mean heavy , lifting.

The lavish cleavage tightens into a snug waist and then curves into wide, feminine hips, creating a perfect hourglass figure. Her creamy leg peaks out of the high slit, giving me just enough to leave me craving more. Suddenly, my shirt’s feeling too tight. Was this what she was hiding underneath her flowy clothes all this time?

“It’s too much.” Her voice is insecure, and I hate it.

She’s the living embodiment of Venus and not even aware of it.

“If by too much you mean Bryce is going to regret the day he was born, then yes. But I think that’s exactly what we’re going for.” She gives me another tiny smile.

Somehow, I snap my gaze back to the mirror to deal with my hair and clip on the classic black bowtie.

“Oh, I have a bow tie for you, if you’d like.” Her voice is shy and apprehensive.

“Really?” My lips turn up as she searches her bag, giving me an even better view of her rack and—damn. My pants are getting a bit tight as well.

Her tits bounce as she lifts up and I barely manage to glance at what she’s holding out. It’s a dark green velvet bowtie, matching her dress perfectly.

“I thought it was a pretty couply thing to do.” Her gaze drops shyly.

“You’re right. We’ll look great.” I fasten the bow tie around my neck as her face lights up.

With the matching color, there’s no doubt that we’re here together. A strange feeling blooms inside my stomach. Primal satisfaction with the fact that everybody will know she’s mine.

Or at least think so.

The hotel’s wedding hall is even more luxurious than the rest of it. Sparkling marble floors, elegant drapery, massive chandeliers. There must be thousands of champagne-colored roses strewn around, composing lavish centerpieces and arrangements. I guess the goal was for it to look elegant and sophisticated, but if you ask me, it’s tacky.

The wedding ceremony is already done. They had a small ceremony with only the closest people present and pulled all the stops for the reception. Can’t say I’m sad we weren’t present for the ‘I dos’, and judging by Anne’s rigid posture, I don’t think it was something she was supposed to see either.

She exhales a long breath as I press my hand to her lower back, mentally sending her the energy to survive this. Her shoulders pull back, and my chest fills with air.

This must be absolute torture for her, but she’s following through on it, showing everyone where to stick it.

“Breathe. You’re going to be fine,” I say next to her ear, and her skin prickles. She turns halfway around, shooting me a small thankful smile. A server ushers us to our designated table as the string quartet does their renditions of famous pop songs.

Anne freezes coming to the table, and I almost run into her.

“Wh. . .” I start saying, before noticing a woman and a man staring at the two of us. The woman bears a faint resemblance to Anne, but her hair is bleached and her freckles are buried under a ton of makeup.

“Kaitlyn. What are you doing here?” Anne’s voice is soft and insecure, and I hate it.

“Why wouldn’t we be here? We were always great friends with Bryce.”

Anne looks like she was slapped. “Right,” she mumbles, her cheeks tinting with a blush. She turns to me, her emerald eyes glossy. “This is my sister Kaitlyn and her husband Brad. This is Lennox, my date.”

“Her boyfriend.” I shake their hands with a bright—though fake—smile, their gazes zoning onto my tattooed hands.

What a couple of dicks. Yes, you should get along with your sister’s boyfriend. But it’s also common knowledge that when the same boyfriend dumps your sister for another woman, he’s dead to you. You certainly don’t celebrate his nuptials.

“Boyfriend?” The douche named Brad raises his eyebrows, and I pull Anne closer to me by her waist. He looks just like you’d expect a Brad to look. I couldn’t pick him out of a lineup of finance bros if you paid me.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” her sister states.

If you cared enough to ask her how she was, you’d know she was coming, is what I want to say.

Instead, I say, “Why wouldn’t she be here? He’s happy, she’s happy. I can only thank him because I would have never met her if they hadn’t broken up.” I do my best impression of a ‘guy madly in love’ and bend down to press a kiss to Anne’s temple. Her scent penetrates my nose, pulling out a satisfied smile from me, making my role much easier to play.

Kaitlyn’s gaze narrows at the place where Anne and I are joined, and I know in that second she doesn’t approve.

Good .

Anne’s life isn’t her sister’s to lead. And I’d better show Kaitlyn that.

My girlfriend is still glued to the spot, obviously derailed with her sister’s presence. We haven’t prepared for that. I knew this whole thing would be hard for her, but I haven’t expected shit to start before the newlyweds even arrived.

Speaking of. . .

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you”—a loud voice booms through the speakers as everyone stands to clap— “Mr. and Mrs. Bryce Landstorm.”

I barely suppress the roll of my eyes and put on a polite face. Not a fan of weddings in general, but what always irked me is calling the wife by the husband’s name.

What, she isn’t a person anymore? Just his property? Bullshit.

While I’m stuck in my thoughts, Anne continues clapping like on autopilot. She’s doing a horrible job of acting unbothered, but everyone is too focused on the happy couple to notice.

I better up my fake-date game.

“She’s beautiful.” Her voice is low as she stares.

“Is she?”

She rolls her eyes at my response. “Come on.”

“I’m not joking.” My mouth gets dangerously close to her ear. “I’d be crazy to notice anyone after seeing you in that dress.” My gaze travels the length of her as a shiver runs through her.

Now that was some good fake-date shit. Though I guess no one heard since I was whispering.

But it was also the truth. The bride looks nice in a probably couture wedding dress, but she couldn’t hold a candle to the nervous girl standing next to me.

Sitting down at the table, Anne crosses one leg over the other, making the slit of the dress open, showing me miles of silky skin.

Guess my dick won’t have to do much pretending today.

A server approaches us with a tray of champagne. I go to grab two glasses, but Anne stops my arm.

“Actually, I’ll take a sparkling water. Thank you.” Her gaze quickly moves to her sister and back to the server.

“Come on, baby. Have a glass with me.” I wink, and once again, her cheeks blush.

If I turned her blushing into a drinking game, I’d be dead by the end of the night.

She shyly takes the glass, but I hold her gaze as we clink our glasses and drink the champagne. I down my glass in one take, eliciting a small chuckle from Anne.

“So, Lennox, what do you do?” Kaitlyn asks, breaking the moment.

“I’m a mechanic. A wannabe mechanic, to be perfectly honest.” I shrug as her eyes expand in horror.

Anne chokes on a laugh before she intervenes. “Lennox used to play hockey. And now, he’s building his own garage to work on vintage motorcycles.”

I don’t know what shocked Kaitlyn more—the hockey or the motorcycles.

“I see. Well, hockey is definitely a… dangerous sport.” Dangerous is probably the politest word she could have thought of.

“Sure is. Matter of fact, most of my teeth are fake.” I flash her a blinding smile.

Kaitlyn continues her interrogation, Brad backing her up, but I really don’t give a damn what they think about me. I’m aware I’m not good enough for Anne. But not because she should be with a pretentious douche like Bryce. It’s because she deserves the world.

Eventually, she turns back to Anne. “That’s an interesting choice for a dress. I certainly wouldn’t be brave enough to wear it.”

Anne looks like Kaitlyn slapped her and that won’t do. “It’s easier to wear when a person looks good in it.” I shoot her another fake smile and she practically snarls. “And Anne looks fucking spectacular.” I put my hand on her thigh, and she relaxes under my touch.

As the newlyweds approach our table, we all get up to congratulate them.

“Annie,” Bryce says and Anne freezes in place.

“I’m so glad you came,” Yasmin, Bryce’s wife squeals in that high-pitched fake voice girls sometimes use.

Her hair is as bleached as Kaitlyn’s, her giant eyelashes make blinking seem like hard work.

“Bryce,” the groom says, shaking my hand.

“Lennox,” I respond, putting more force into the handshake than necessary. His smile looks like he overdid it with whiteners, and he’s at least a few inches shorter than me, not that I’m counting. His sandy blond hair is held together by a ton of product and his suit must have cost a fortune.

“We were so sorry with how everything turned out for you.” Pity laces Yasmin’s voice, like Anne’s a dog they had to rehome, and sparks of rage start building up inside of me. “I’m glad to see you also found someone.”

Anne is too stunned to speak, not missing the insinuation from the smiling bride. Bryce uses the time to size Anne up from head to toe, making my blood boil.

“This is a nice place,” I say, looking around the wedding hall, while I pull Anne into my side. “I’m usually staying in these luxury resorts, and it’s nice to touch ground once in a while. In a place as quaint and rustic as this one.” Two can play this game, Mrs. Landstorm.

The thing with rich people is there’s always someone richer, and they can’t stand it.

The bride’s lashes are on the verge of falling off from the furious blinking while the groom smiles awkwardly.

Anne finally relaxes into me, and Bryce notices.

“Anyway, you guys enjoy yourselves. We have to say hello to some more people.”

“Sounds good.” I watch them leave.

“That was funny,” Anne says, and I take her hand. “Thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me. That’s what boyfriends are for.” I bring her hand up and my lips graze her knuckles. A flush spreads up her cleavage to her neck and it’s hard to tear my gaze away.

“I guess blonds are your type, huh, baby?” I joke, sitting back down at the table.

“Guess so.” She chuckles though we’re both aware Bryce and I couldn’t be more different.

“How about I get you another drink?” She nods eagerly, so I get up and go to the bar, not bothering to ask her sister and brother-in-law.

“Can I get two glasses of Macallan?” I ask the bartender. A blond figure appears in my side-vision, and I immediately know who it is. “One more for the groom,” I add, showing three fingers to the bartender.

“Thanks. Though, you should know, Annie doesn’t drink whiskey.” His lips turn up into a sly smile.

“It’s an inside joke between us.” I smirk. “The last time we drank it, whew. Let’s just say it never tasted better.” I wink and his eye twitches. I guess my goal of putting an image of me licking the whiskey off Anne’s naked body was a success, so I clink his glass, internally toasting to it.

After taking an uncomfortable sip, the fucker is still not done.

“I’m glad she found you. I was afraid she would be desperate.” He feigns worry and I suppress a growl. “She’s a lovely girl, don’t get me wrong, but I was missing some… excitement.”

“Funny, she’s plenty exciting with me.” I can motherfucking guarantee that and I haven’t even touched her. “Maybe she just needed someone to actually excite her.” I try to keep my cool, but my insides are boiling with rage.

Anne deserves so much better than this guy. So much better than me, while we’re at it.