Chapter 5 Wedding Bells
CHAPTER FIVE
Wedding Bells
Brad examined the way the dark blue tailored suit hung on his tall, thin frame in the hotel mirror.
Never in Brad’s teaching life did he imagine owning a suit he’d had made specifically for him.
Now he couldn’t imagine ever going back to off-the-rack.
There was just something about slipping into a stunning piece of fabric that clung to his body in all the right places that made Brad think maybe having some extra funds to play around with wouldn’t be so bad.
And Steve was right, corny as it had originally sounded—the suit brought out the blue in his eyes.
It also filled him out, made him look more muscular than he was.
It wasn’t like Brad was out of shape—quite the opposite in fact.
He just had what his mother aptly referred to as a “runner’s body.
” He was trim, fit, but also tall and skinny.
The plus side to that and the actual running he did on a daily basis was that he could eat anything he wanted and get away with it scot-free.
Steve gave him endless grief about that last part, even though he himself more closely resembled the actor affectionately referred to by his fans as The Rock, something Brad wouldn’t have minded in the least. Between Steve’s personality, confidence, and physique, Brad completely understood his appeal with the ladies.
Which is why he was now dreading taking Steve as his wingman to the wedding.
Granted, it had been a while since he’d needed a wingman, but didn’t the rules dictate that you bring a less attractive friend, or at least one who didn’t look like a movie star so you at least had a chance with the ladies?
Oh well, it was too late now.
“Whaddaya think?” Steve asked him, pursing his lips into the same puffy duck lips Brad’s female students used to make in all their selfies.
Steve put his hands in his lapels and moved side to side, deliberately exaggerating his movements.
Brad laughed, his mood lifted. Maybe this was the exact reason bringing Steve to the wedding would turn out to be a good idea—Steve could keep a genuine smile on his face no matter how intense things got with Julia.
It’s not like he was seriously hoping to meet anyone new at the wedding anyway.
He already knew all of Julia and Chris’s friends because they’d once been his friends as well.
“You’re a rock star, my man, a rock star.”
“You, too. You never told me you clean up this nice, or I might have invited you out on the town with me more,” Steve teased. He playfully punched Brad on the shoulder.
“You do invite me. I decline so I don’t get wrapped up in your shenanigans. I think your age is starting to mess with your memory, Steve,” Brad chided.
“So, how are you feeling, bud?” Steve asked him, ignoring the retort.
“Good. I think. I mean, I’m stone-cold sober and haven’t seen her yet, so there’s that. But, I dunno. I feel like I’m doing the right thing by being here.”
“I agree. Have you talked to her since she sent you the invitation?” Steve went to his suitcase and rifled through it, looking for something.
Brad had booked them both a room at the wedding hotel, so they didn’t have to worry about driving their cars back to the outskirts of town afterwards, especially after hearing Steve’s solemn promise not to let Brad be anything close to sober for the ceremony and reception.
Brad had worried about staying there because of the proximity to Julia, but logic had won out in the end.
Of course he would run into her—he was there to see her marry his best friend.
It was going to be difficult to see her for the first time since the breakup no matter where it was.
Plus, it was nice to be out of his parents’ garage for a night.
“Nope. Not a word. I sent back my RSVP with a plus-one, so I’m sure she’s dying to know who of our friends I’m bringing. Or maybe she’s already over caring about who I date. I don’t know. Crap, Steve. I’m already overthinking this.”
Brad ran his hands through his hair, pulling on the fistfuls of dirty-blond tendrils like he wanted to tear them out. What the hell had he been thinking, coming to this freaking wedding?
“Chill out, dude. You know I’ve got you covered.” Brad looked up. Steve was smiling, a steel flask in each hand. “One for each of us. I figure I’m gonna have to keep up with you to be able to wrangle you in if I need to.”
“Thanks, man. You really did think of everything.”
“That’s a wingman’s job. I have so much to teach you, young Padawan.”
Brad laughed, taking the flask from Steve.
He had no idea how to hide it, or open it for that matter, so he watched Steve open his, raise it in a toast, take a two-second swig, put the cap back on, and slide it in his breast pocket.
Seemed easy enough. Brad opened his, followed suit with a wordless toast, took a long gulp and tried like hell not to spit it back up.
When he managed to swallow it, he coughed uncontrollably. His throat burned, and he’d have sworn his lungs were on fire. His eyes watered, making his vision blurry.
“Christ. What is that?” he sputtered. It was a far cry from the beer Brad typically favored. It could probably do more damage, too.
Steve patted him roughly on the back, causing Brad to cough again.
“Stuff that’ll guarantee you don’t sit through this wedding sober. That’s all you need to know. You’ll get used to it,” Steve said.
“I doubt it. Hey, what time is it?” Brad asked, his head already spinning. He hid the flask in his jacket pocket, not sure drinking more of it would be a good idea.
“Time to head out. I think we should stop at the bar for a drink first, kill some time.”
“I’m picking the poison this time,” Brad teased.
“Got it, boss. But I’m not letting you drink fufu crap either. We’ve got an image to uphold.”
“Do we, now? How about we compromise with beers? My treat.”
“Fair enough. And hey—don’t forget the wedding gift. It’s on the bed.”
Steve smiled like he was up to something.
“What did you do, Steve?”
Steve put his hands up like he was trying to prove his innocence, but his shit-eating grin flashed like warning lights.
“Nothing. Nothing, I promise,” he repeated when Brad wouldn’t stop glaring at him.
“What are we giving them?”
Steve had offered to get the gift if Brad would spring for the hotel. It seemed like a fair trade at the time, but Brad sorely regretted it right then.
“Um. A fondue set. From 2008. But it’s still in the box and hasn’t been used, I promise. I also threw in a fondue cookbook that’s new for good measure. I got the receipt and everything.”
Brad stifled a laugh. “Would this happen to be a fondue set you got for your wedding?”
Steve shrugged, guilt and mischief still plastered on his face. Brad shook his head.
“You’re impossible, man. Impossible.”
“Just remember that when I set the pick for you at the wedding so you don’t have to talk to Julia or Chris. Or when I feed you drinks all night. I’ll make myself useful, you’ll see.”
“Good point. Let’s go have that beer,” Brad said, grabbing a hold of the large, seemingly elegant box and heading out the door Steve held for him.
They dropped the gift off at the reception hall before bee-lining it for the hotel bar.
When they got there, they found it littered with other wedding guests, distinguishable because of their dressy clothes—too nice for anything else that would have been going on in town, even on Christmas Eve.
Brad groaned. It would be bad enough to run into all these people in a few hours, but now, when he was trying to relax and calm his nerves, he would have to field questions, or at the least, combat stares and hushed whispers in his direction.
He’d also conveniently forgotten it was Christmas Eve.
He took in their surroundings as they walked.
The hotel was tastefully decorated for the holiday with a red-and-gold-decorated tree in the corner, lights bordering the walls, and red and gold napkins at the bar.
Even the patrons were showing their Christmas spirit with red and green dresses and shirts, Christmas tree pins placed on lapels, even Santa hats on a few scantily clad women.
The speakers blasted what sounded like Mariah Carey’s Greatest Christmas Hits a few notches too loud, making it scratchy.
Too bad he didn’t feel festive in the least. He tried not to think about how he and Julia would have celebrated the holiday if they’d still been together.
It would have been nine years dating as adults, he calculated.
Almost a decade later and he was back to where he’d started.
Well, with a few extra zeros next to his name at the bank.
That little detail helped him feel at least a little better about the situation.
“Well, look who decided to show. I was beginning to think you were going to chicken out.”
“Little sister,” Brad said, reaching out to embrace his younger sister, Paige. “When have I ever chickened out of anything? You look fantastic, by the way.”
She did an obligatory spin, and he laughed.
“Thanks. And only ever since you were little, and shit didn’t go your way,” Paige teased him. “You clean up nice, too, though. Have you seen Mom?”
“Not yet. Why?”
Paige’s lips curved into a crooked smile that meant she was in one of her wilder moods.
“She asked about you, and she doesn’t look happy.”
“Shit. Did she say why?”
“Something to do with a rumor of you bringing a date. I told her I wouldn’t speculate.”
“You’re a gem. And this,” Brad said, pointing to Steve, “is my date.”
“Wow, I know Julia flipped your world upside down, but I didn’t think you’d take it this far,” she said, winking. “Good to see you, Steve.”
“You, too, Paige. Save me a dance tonight, will you?”