Wedding Dashers

Chapter 26

9 hours until the wedding

We have sex twice more after that.

The second time we take our time exploring, touching, squeezing, grazing—hungry to have our fill of one another. To stretch this moment as long as we can.

The third time we come together in a sleepy, needy trance of fumbling grasps and bitten-off pleas, a little hungrier, a little more desperate, like we both know our time is running out.

There’s a mutual awareness threaded behind every kiss, every touch, every hungry roll of the hips, that eventually the sun will come up and there will be veils to attend to, and catering to check on, and a bride and groom to worry about. But for a few hours, in the darkest part of the night when everyone else is asleep, it’s just us. Nothing else exists. Nothing except his breath on my ear and my hands in his hair, our bodies tangled together in the sheets.

Afterward, we lie there, naked and sweaty in a cloud of oxytocin and bliss.

He kisses my forehead and tells me we’re lucky we didn’t break eye contact that first night at the hotel bar. I laugh and kiss him in agreement. Then he pulls me closer, and we fall asleep in a twisted knot of naked limbs and dried sweat.

When I wake up, I’m curled against the edge of the bed, arms and legs covered in prickly goose bumps. It’s not until the cool air tickles my bare legs that I realize I’m naked. The sensation jolts me awake and I roll over to see Jack’s bare chest rising and falling beside me. A single piece of hair hangs over his eyes, gently fluttering in the push and pull of his breath.

Little by little, memories trickle back. Jack’s hands threading my hair. His dark eyes poring over me. The unbearable excitement of wanting him. Of being wanted.

But as much as I wish we could lie here, replaying last night over and over again, the pale morning light filtering through the windows reminds me that it will be time to get up soon.

A quick glance at my phone confirms this. It’s just after six a.m., meaning I need to be in hair and makeup soon. Allison’s orders.

“Hey.”

I look up and see Jack’s mouth pulling into a lazy grin. My heartbeat fumbles. Stalls. Then restarts like a faulty engine come back to life.

“Hey,” I say back.

“How do you feel?”

A laugh bubbles in the back of my throat. “About the fact that we had sex? Pretty sore. But overall good.”

“Sorry about that.”

I jab his ribs. “You’re not sorry.”

His mouth cracks into an uneven smile. “You’re right. I’m not. You want me to make it up to you by carrying you down the aisle?”

“That might look suspicious, don’t you think?”

“Suspicious of what?”

“That we fucked.”

He laughs and the sound is warm and throaty, and so deliciously sexy that it makes me want to mount him all over again.

“I think they might find out sooner or later,” he says, giving me a look.

I’m not sure what he means by that, but the words stir inside me.

I’d gone into last night mentally prepared for the fallout. For whatever is supposed to happen after casual hookups. But lying here, heated eyes dancing back and forth, an obvious crackle of electricity sparking between us, it’s hard to believe it was nothing more than a meaningless encounter.

I think back to the way he’d looked at me. The way he’d touched me. How careful we’d been with the time we had, like last night was something special neither of us wanted to waste. And I can’t help but wonder, is it possible that this doesn’t have to end? That maybe I— we —can have it all?

The questions hum inside me, an electric current tapping out hopeful rhythms against my chest.

I decide to test the waters. “So…it’s already after six. We should probably get up. Right?” If he’s looking for an excuse to leave, to end things now, I’ll give him one.

“Five more minutes?” he asks.

Instant relief washes over me. “How about ten?”

His mouth stretches into a grin. “There’s a lot we can do in ten minutes.” Then he pulls me to him, mouth catching mine in a searing kiss that wakes me up better than a cup of coffee ever could.

In a flash, he’s pushing me down onto the mattress, tongue slipping over mine, hands splaying across my ribs. A breathless moan breaks in his throat and I feel the sound everywhere all at once, a tiny, verbal confirmation that Jack wants me the way I want him.

Somewhere in between his hands on my breasts and the slow, sensual path of his mouth as it moves from my lips to my neck, I know we should talk about this. What it means or doesn’t mean. What happens next. But my thoughts are too scrambled. Too lost in the promise of another orgasm.

Jack’s thumb skates under my jaw, kissing me lightly before he says, “I want to use your vibrator on you.”

I’m so caught up in the press of his thumb and the mounting pressure between my thighs that it takes me a second to process what he’s just said.

I pull back, frowning. “Wait. How do you know I have a vibrator?”

“You told me about it when you were drunk,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Was there anything I did that night that wasn’t embarrassing?”

He laughs. “You didn’t want me to see it. It was cute. In fact”—he pauses, dragging his eyes over me with unfettered hunger—“you should go get it. Unless you’re still embarrassed, of course,” he adds with a sly grin.

He doesn’t need to convince me. A second later I return to bed, travel-sized vibrator in hand. Shivers chase down my spine as rough hands slide over my hips, dragging me closer, showing me where he’s already hard.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” he whispers.

“I think I may have some idea.”

I take him in my hand, feeling every hard ridge and line of his erection. He groans, a primal sound ripped from somewhere deep inside, and I don’t know what I love more, the sound itself or that I’m the reason for it.

His hands mold around my hips, holding me in place as his mouth slides across mine, teasing, hesitant, like he’s not planning to kiss me at all. But then he does and the way his mouth catches mine in a decadent kiss feels almost serendipitous, like we’ve just happened to collide, and this kiss is the final domino in a chain of happy accidents.

My lips part in a wide, open-mouthed gasp as his hand trails down the side of my jawline, tipping my head back so he can capture the undercurve of my neck with his mouth. I’m so caught up in the wet heat of his tongue against my throat that I almost don’t hear him whisper, “I want you on top.”

I pull back, gaze tracing where there’s a nonverbal Is this okay? primed behind his eyes. I dip my head into the tiniest nod. Yes.

He rolls on a condom and my breath staggers, pulse jumping in anticipation. There’s one more sharp inhale, followed by a slow, shaky release. Then he’s filling me up and I’m grinding against him, every muscle intent on bringing us closer, deeper. I’m already close when he turns on the vibrator and presses it against me.

It’s the same vibrator I’ve used for years, nothing more than a means to an end, but in the hands of Jack, it transforms from mundane sex toy to something incomparably hot. Like he’s managed to find a setting I had no idea even existed.

A string of curse words pours out of me as Jack’s fingers dig into my hip, eyes locking on mine, telling me how beautiful I look on top. How good I feel. How wet. How tight. How he wants me to come for him.

I know I shouldn’t want or need or hope for anything from him. But there’s an ever-widening gap between the words in my head and the way he’s looking at me. The heady pressure behind his eyes that feels like friction. Like he wants this— needs this —just as badly as I do. And my foolish heart keeps on hoping.

My orgasm comes so fast it takes me by surprise. Then he’s coming, too, and we’re unspooling together, breathy moans commingling in the air between us.

Afterward, we collapse against the mattress in a blissed-out haze, his fingers twisting mindlessly in my hair, both of us panting, covered in a sheen of sweat. I’m just catching my breath when I hear it.

Knock, knock, knock.

Was that—? Is there—? No, there couldn’t possibly be someone at the door. But then the knock comes again.

“Ada? I need to talk to you,” a voice calls from outside the door.

It takes me a minute to play catch-up as I blink back the orgasm-induced stupor still clouding my thoughts. But slowly the truth unwinds itself, breaking in past the Jack-shaped barrier crowding all rational parts of my brain.

“It’s Allison,” I whisper.

Jack’s body seizes beside me. “What do we do?”

The primal part of me wants to throw caution to the wind and ignore her. After all, Jack and I still need to talk. But the rational part of me knows that’s not going to fly. Not today anyway.

“You have to hide,” I tell Jack.

His gaze widens, surprised. “Hide where?”

My eyes dart around the room, landing on the set of sliding doors opposite the bed. “The closet! Hurry!”

We untangle ourselves, tumbling out of bed, hands darting for discarded clothing.

“Ada? Are you awake?” Allison calls.

“Yes! One second!”

I throw Jack’s boxer briefs at him and tug an oversized T-shirt over my head.

“Go! Go!” I whisper, practically shoving him into the closet with a pile of his own clothes.

I slam the closet shut, take a deep breath, and open the door. Outside stands Allison in a white bridal robe and curlers.

Call it sister’s intuition, but as soon as my eyes meet hers, I can tell something’s not right.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

She gnaws on her bottom lip, eyes welling with tears. “I’m sorry…I…” But the words don’t make it out before she collapses into tears.

Worry strums my nerves as I wrap my arms around her, letting her bury her face in my chest. “Allison, what is it?”

“You’re gonna be mad,” she sobs.

“I promise I won’t get mad,” I say as I pat her hair.

Allison lifts her chin, glassy, tearstained eyes meeting mine. “Are you sure?”

“Allison, whatever it is, you can tell me,” I say, trying to keep my voice soft and tempered, all the while my insides tangle themselves in worried knots, racing from one worst-cast scenario to the next. She wants to call it off. She knows Collin was having second thoughts. Or worse, Collin’s already called it off. Last night, everything seemed fine, just like Jack said. But clearly that’s not the case. Somewhere between me tucking Allison into bed and now, something changed.

She sniffs, withdrawing her body from mine. “I’m scared,” she says at last.

I search her face. “Of what?”

Her bottom lip quivers. “What if you’re right? What if we’re rushing into things and I don’t know Collin as well as I should?”

My heart bypasses my brain. I don’t stop, I don’t collect two hundred dollars, I go straight to panic.

“Did Collin say or do something?” I demand. “Because I swear—”

“No.” She shakes her head, mouth forming a tight line. “Collin didn’t do anything.”

My chest loosens. “So what is it? What happened?”

Allison looks away, teeth sinking into her lips. “Nothing happened,” she says, nearly exasperated. “It’s just forever …that’s such a long time.”

I blink at her. “What do you mean?”

“We haven’t even known each other a full year. I don’t know if Collin prefers dogs or cats. Or if he thought the viral dress was blue and black or gold and white. Or what his favorite Taylor Swift album is.” Allison’s eyes widen as though just now realizing marriage isn’t a FabFitFun subscription. “Oh my God, what if he doesn’t like Taylor Swift? I can’t marry a man who doesn’t like Taylor Swift!”

Allison keeps talking, rattling off all the things she doesn’t know about Collin. But I’ve stopped listening.

All I can think is, I knew this would happen.

I knew from the moment she showed me the big, sparkly rock on her finger that cost more than a year’s rent that it was too good to be true. That it was only a matter of time before it all came crashing down.

But maybe I can still fix this.

My brain activates into damage control mode. First, I’ll tell everyone Allison’s sick. Then I’ll start canceling vendors. I’m not sure if we can get any deposits back since it’s the day of, but maybe if I grovel—

“Ada, stop.”

I step back, frowning. “Stop what ?”

“ This .” She gestures vaguely. “I can see what you’re doing.”

“I’m not doing anything,” I tell her, simultaneously wondering if there is a back door she can sneak out of.

“Yes, you are,” she huffs. “You’re trying to figure out how you can fix it.”

“Of course I’m trying to fix it,” I snap. “What else do you expect me to do when you come to my room on the day of your wedding and tell me you’re having doubts about marrying Collin?”

“I don’t need you to fix it, Ada!”

Annoyance prickles inside me. “You always need me to fix it,” I tell her, voice ratcheting up. “You needed me the night I drove twenty-seven hours to LA to come get you. You needed me when I flew home from New York after your ex dumped you! You needed me every time you went through yet another breakup!”

“I didn’t ask you to do those things!”

“But you didn’t exactly stop me from dropping everything to be there for you, did you?”

Her jaw clenches and she takes a step back. “I knew it was a mistake to tell you any of this. I’m just gonna go. Forget I said anything.”

She turns to leave.

“Wait.”

Allison pauses, hand hovering over the doorknob.

As much as I want to swoop in with a chorus of I told you so ’s—to remind her that this is the exact thing I warned her about, the thing I’ve been afraid of this whole time—I’m reminded of what Jack said to me on the way to Scotland. You’re her sister, not her keeper.

Allison doesn’t need to hear I told you so —or even for me to try to fix it—she just needs me to be there for her. She just needs me to be her sister.

“Allison, come back,” I say, corralling my voice into something softer.

“If you’re just going to tell me you were right and I told you so , then—”

“I’m not,” I say, cutting her off. “I just want to talk.”

I sit on the bed and pat the spot beside me.

Tentative eyes skate to the spot, then the door, then back to me, before she finally sits down. “Fine. What?” she asks.

“Do you really not want to marry Collin?” I ask. “Or is something else bothering you?”

She shifts her weight, eyes dipping into her lap. After a heavy exhale, she says, “I do want to marry Collin…I just…What if this is one more thing I fuck up?”

“Why do you think you’re going to fuck it up?” I ask her.

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asks, voice wavering. “Every relationship I’ve ever been in has ended in disaster.”

Her eyes meet mine, and I can see the vulnerability behind her gaze, the ache of worry I so badly want to scrub away. But I know that’s not what she needs right now.

“You’re right,” I tell her. “You’re probably going to make mistakes in this relationship. And so will Collin. But isn’t that sort of the point of marriage?” I ask. “Two imperfect people trying to figure it out? Forever?”

Her gaze sweeps over me, probing. “You don’t think that sounds intimidating or overwhelming?”

“I mean…”

I think about Jack and Lexi—and even my mom and Bill—and I get why marriage is scary. Especially when the odds of heartbreak are so high. But I don’t think marriage is about finding someone who makes forever easy, because no one can do that. I think marriage is about choosing someone over and over again no matter how hard things get.

“I get why you’re scared,” I say at last. “Forever is a long time. And it’s not going to be easy, not with Collin, not with anyone. It’s going to be hard work. But the question is whether Collin is the person you want to do the hard work with.”

For a long minute Allison doesn’t speak, and I worry this might be the moment she tells me she can’t do this, that she’s changed her mind. But slowly, Allison dips her chin into a nod. “I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes in the past, especially with guys. But this time it’s real. I can feel it.”

She swallows, eyes jumping down, then back up before she finally says, “Before Collin, I thought love was screaming matches and passionate make-ups and dramatic endings. That in order for something to be real, it had to be big and fiery and explosive. But it’s not like that with Collin. He makes me feel safe and cared for. He’s the first guy that’s made me feel like I deserve to be treated well. That I’m worthy of love. Real love. The kind that doesn’t need to play games or yell and scream to prove itself.”

There’s an unexpected intimacy behind her voice, like this is the first time she’s told anyone how she really feels about Collin. The thought strikes me with unexpected tenderness.

“You really love him?” I ask after a beat.

She nods. “I do.”

The admission manages to crawl past my final lines of defense, smothering me in a crushing mix of guilt and relief.

“I’m sorry for not trusting your relationship with Collin,” I tell her. “But I was scared too. I was scared that you’d get hurt again. Especially after…” I know not to say Bradley’s name in front of her. “I was scared that you were making this huge mistake that I wouldn’t be able to protect you from.”

“I’m sorry too. I’m sorry for shutting you out.” Her bottom lip disappears between her teeth. “But, Ada, it’s not your job to protect me.”

I let her words wash over me, brash and unyielding. Jack had been right. Something I hadn’t wanted to accept at the time. But now, hearing her tell me the truth decodes something inside me. Something I hadn’t wanted to admit.

“You’re right,” I say, my voice filling with resolve. “It’s just hard for me, especially when I feel like I’ve spent my entire life looking out for you. Sometimes I’m not sure how to do anything else, or what my role is if I’m not trying to protect you.”

Her expression softens. “I know I’ve relied on you a lot in the past,” she says. “But I don’t want to rely on you anymore. Sometimes I just want to talk to you about stuff and not feel like you’re gonna try to swoop in and save the day all the time.” She pauses, struggling to keep her voice from splintering. “Sometimes I need my sister to just listen and be there for me.”

My throat twists, a sharp throb emerging in my chest. The request seems so simple when spelled out like that.

“I can do that,” I tell her.

The corners of her mouth tug upward and she gives my hand a squeeze. For the first time in a long time, I feel the gaps between us start to narrow. We haven’t fixed everything between us, but it’s a start.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she says.

My chest burns with hope and happiness. “Me too,” I tell her.

We stay like that, hands clasped together, tender looks hovering behind our eyes, then Allison backs away, eyes flitting to the ground like she’s just been caught doing something embarrassing.

“Well, I should get back to my room,” she says. “The makeup artist is probably looking for me.”

“I’ll see you later then. Right?” I ask, just to be sure.

She laughs, and it feels good to hear. “Yes,” she clarifies. “I’ll be the one in white. Kinda hard to miss.”

Relief swarms me. Everything’s going to be okay.

Allison stands to go, and her eyes bounce around the room as though just now noticing the messy bed and last night’s clothes littered across the floor as though haphazardly tossed there in a moment of passion––which of course they were. Her eyes snag on the other side of the bed, narrowing, and I follow her line of vision.

Oh shit.

Allison picks Jack’s Rolex off the nightstand, pinching it between her thumb and forefinger like it’s the primary clue in a murder investigation.

“Did you sleep with Jack?”

Damn. She’s good. How did she do that?

“No! That’s mine,” I say, snatching it back.

Her forehead creases with a frown. “First off, this is a Rolex, which I know you can’t afford. Second, this is a man’s watch.”

“So? You know I don’t subscribe to gendered fashion norms.”

She wrinkles her nose. “It smells like sex in here.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Does it?

Her hands find their way to her hips. “Don’t lie to me, Ada. I can tell.”

“Tell?”

How can she possibly tell? Is it the post-sex glow? Is my shirt on backward? I look down to be sure.

Allison waves her hand airily around the room. “Your vibrator’s on the bed.”

“So? I was using it alone—”

“ And there’s a hickey the size of Texas on your neck,” she adds.

My hand flies to my neck, where sure enough I feel a swollen mark.

“You know,” I say. “You should work for the CIA. I’d feel much better about our national security if you were in charge.”

“Is that an admission?”

I purse my lips, trying to discern if this is really the conversation I want to have right now—especially with Jack hearing every word. But it appears my sister has no plans of letting this go.

“Okay, fine. Yes, I slept with Jack,” I admit. “Happy?”

“How did this happen?”

I cough out a strangled laugh. “I never thought I’d be the one to have this conversation with you on your wedding day, but when two people—”

She gives me a frustrated look. “Ada, be serious. Have you been hooking up this whole time?”

“No,” I say quickly. “Last night was the first time.” And maybe the last time.

“So what happened?” she asks.

“Well…” But I don’t know how to succinctly explain that forced proximity, vulnerable conversations, and mounting feelings of mutual attraction resulted in a feverish night of passion, so instead, I say, “Um, he brought me sausage rolls.”

“ Sausage rolls? ” Her eyes widen. “Is that a sex position?”

“No! I just mean…Never mind.” My heart races knowing Jack can hear all of this. “Are you mad?”

“You used protection, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then I’m not mad,” she says. “You can sleep with whoever you want. After all the literal swamp creatures I’ve slept with, I have no room to judge.” She pauses, eyes shifting to the floor. “But I thought you wanted to get back together with Carter.”

“We broke up,” I say, realizing as the words leave my mouth that she’s the first person other than Jack that I’ve told.

Her gaze stretches wide. “When?”

“On the way here.”

“So you decided to sleep with Jack? Like as a rebound?”

I shift my weight, bouncing from one foot to the other like I have to pee. “No, it wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like?”

“I…” My eyes skate to the closet, where I know Jack can hear all of this. “I don’t know,” I tell her. “It just happened.”

Which is true. I didn’t plan for it to happen. And yet, it feels wrong to tell Allison that last night was some kind of cosmic accident when it was nothing of the sort. At least not for me. But it’s not like I can tell her I have real feelings for Jack and want us to live happily ever after, not when he’s a few feet away, listening to every word.

For a long moment, Allison just looks at me, mouth slightly parted, eyes homing in on me like I’m a slide under a microscope. Finally, she says, “Listen, I’m happy for you to move on from Carter and get laid, but this is really out of character for you, and I guess I’m just surprised.”

My chest constricts, heavy blood pounding in my eardrums as her words hit me in a nerve center I hadn’t expected.

Part of me wants to tell her to mind her own business. That it’s not her problem. But given the conversation we just had, that seems hypocritical.

Besides, she’s right. This is unlike me. I’m dependable, reliable, consistent. The kind of girl who dates the same guy for eight years because she’s afraid of change.

But then last night happened. And it had felt so good. So right. Like everything that happened over the past few days had been building toward that, a slow, steady wave that had finally crashed over both of us.

“There’s nothing to be worried about,” I tell her, lips pulling into a tight smile. “I’m fine. I can handle myself, Allison.”

“I know, but…” She releases a heavy sigh, eyes cutting to the ground then back to me. “I don’t know if he told you this, but Jack’s getting divorced.”

“I know,” I tell her. “He told me.”

Her eyes widen before narrowing again. “Okay, so you know that he’s a mess?”

A seed of annoyance blooms inside me. “I don’t see what the big deal is,” I tell her, voice tightening. “It’s a divorce, not herpes.”

“He probably has that too.” As soon as she says it, she winces. “Sorry, bad joke. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up and think that Jack’s gonna be your boyfriend. He does stuff like this all the time.”

My mind travels back to last night. Typical , Tony and Braden had said. But last night had been different. We were different. Right?

“I know Jack has a reputation ,” I say, using air quotes. “But last night wasn’t like that.”

“Ada.” She sighs my name like I’m a naive child who still thinks Santa Claus exists. “I know you’re a big girl and you can handle yourself, but his divorce fucked him up and I don’t want you to get caught in the cross fire and end up as collateral damage in his attempts to fuck his ex-wife off his mind. That’s all.”

I open my mouth to argue, to explain why she’s wrong. Why she’s the one being hypocritical right now. Why Jack isn’t using me to fuck his ex-wife off his mind. But the words don’t make it out. They stay jammed in my throat, trapped by the hornet’s nest of insecurities she’s just kicked.

My eyes flick to the closet door. I can’t have this conversation, not here, not now, with Jack still in the room.

“Listen, I’m glad we talked, but I think you should go,” I tell her.

Allison blinks back at me, clearly taken aback. “What?”

“I just mean you don’t want to keep the hair and makeup people waiting,” I say, taking her by the elbow and dragging her toward the door. “I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

Allison presses her lips into a zipped-up line, and I think she might argue, but then her chin dips into a tight nod. “Fine. I’ll see you later.”

She gives me one last look before disappearing out the door.