Chapter 15
Levi
The Wedding Part 3
Whew! My best man duties are almost complete. We finally got through the long, tedious photo session. How many poses of the bride and groom standing next to each other do you need? Josh on the left...Josh on the right...Josh standing behind Sydney with his arms around her...I half expected the photographer to suggest Josh pick her up and hold her over his head. Then there was the somewhat discomforting best man and maid of honor photos. It’s unclear to me whether we should have posed for photos considering we’re fake dating, but Bailey and I did our best to pretend our relationship is real.
Putting that behind me, I enter the reception hall which is already filled with guests. Tantalizing aromas of garlic and tomato sauce fill the air. They must be serving an Italian menu, my stomach rumbles with anticipation.
I spot the gorgeous maid of honor helping Sydney pin up the long train on the bride’s dress. The bridal party are all still wearing their fancy clothes, but I’m relieved when I see that Josh has shed his tuxedo jacket, so I do the same. Bailey motions for me to join her after she finishes fastening that long train, so it won’t get in Sydney’s way when she dances.
“I think I like you even better without the tux jacket,” Bailey says.
“Oh? What do you like exactly?” I strike a male model’s pose—one you’d see in a glossy magazine advertising pricy cologne—puffing out my chest and giving her a smoldering look through half-closed eyes . She bursts into laughter, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
"Wow, someone’s been practicing in front of the mirror," she teases, still giggling.
I break the pose and laugh along, shrugging my shoulders. "What can I say? Modeling agencies are missing out."
She shakes her head, with a surprised grin. "I can't believe you actually did that."
"Anything to make you laugh," I reply, giving her a playful wink.
She rolls her eyes, but her smile remains. "Well, mission accomplished.”
A noise across the room catches my attention. My eyes quickly land on Nana. Her lips are pursed like she just sucked on a lemon and her disapproving stare activates the teenager in me. I want to stick out my tongue, but I resist. Instead, I give her a jaunty wave.
Guests stroll up to the buffet, forming a long line. “Shall we fill a plate?” Bailey asks.
“You don’t have to ask me twice,” I say as we join the end of the line.
“Did you see the glare Nana gave you?” Bailey asks while we wait for the servers to start serving.
“Which one? She’s given me several today,” I reply.
Shaking her head, Bailey says, “I’m not sure what Nana has against you.”
“I think she’s very protective of you and she’s worried I’ll break your heart,” I say, trying to shrug off the feeling of not measuring up in Nana’s eyes.
“Nana’s second ex-husband was a Golden Star. Maybe she’s predisposed to not liking hockey players.”
Well, that explains a lot. Hockey players get a bad rap for being ill-suited boyfriend or husband material, whether we deserve it or not.
Bailey leans towards me and whispers behind her hand. “Personally, I’m starting to fall for a hockey player, but he doesn’t know it yet,” she says with a wink.
Her reply hints that we’re still fake boyfriend and girlfriend, but I can’t wait until we dispense with the “fake” monikers.
~*~
After the meal and the speeches and toasts—I told a funny story about one of Josh’s failed biology experiments that got a laugh out of the crowd—a DJ asks the bride and groom to take the dance floor. They sway to a slow tune that I haven’t heard in a long time. When he calls the bridal party for a dance, I grab Bailey’s hand and lead her to the floor. She rests her head on my shoulder with a soft sigh and it feels so good to nestle her in my arms. We don’t attempt any fancy dance steps; I’m lost in holding her close and swaying to the music. I could be content to stand here all evening with Bailey in my embrace.
“Today was fun. I was kind of dreading it, but after I tried on the dress and it fit, and I saw you in your tux, I changed my tune,” Bailey says, her cheeks turning pink at the admission.
“Me, too...Dreading the day, I mean, not seeing you.” Bailey’s shoulders shake at my clumsy remark. “I agree, it’s been fun.”
“Guys are lucky. All you do is rent a tux and voilà! You look like a million bucks,” she grumbles.
“Hey, they had to let the hem down on these pants. I had to spend an hour in a waiting room with day-old donuts and no cell reception.” The minute the words leave my mouth, I realize how lame they sound.
“Poor baby,” she replies.
Holding up a restraining hand, I say, “Okay, I admit we have it easier than women. But these tux pants are too tight, the bow tie keeps flopping out of place, and the shoes hurt my feet.”
She grins up at me as we sway back and forth, our knees occasionally bumping together, but thankfully I haven’t stepped on her toes. Yet. This is one of those times where I wish I’d listened to my mom and taken dance lessons.
“I’m wearing a push-up bra that’s a size too small,” she whispers. “It’s all they had at the bridal shop, but it’s almost cutting off my circulation.”
My eyes automatically rotate downward, then I quickly restore them to gaze at her face. “Sorry, I had to peek,” I mumble, then clear my throat. “Um, if it makes you feel better, I think the bra is doing a fantastic job.”
She smacks me on my arm, then grins. We sway for a few more seconds, then Bailey says, “I think your pants fit just right.” She gives me a flirty wink and rests her head back on my shoulder.
The slow song ends far too soon. It’s followed by a high-energy tune and everyone around us starts twisting and jumping to the music, so we join in.
“Aren’t you worried you’ll split your pants?” Bailey shouts over the throb of the music.
The thought did cross my mind. The grumpy tailor is going to be even grumpier if I bring back ripped pants. “I’m hoping they used sturdy thread,” I shout back.
She flings back her head and laughs. My heart flips at the way her hair looks so silky as it flies around her face. I desperately want to rub a strand between my fingers to see if it’s as soft as it looks, but with Nana sitting across the room, I don’t dare do that.
We gyrate along with the crowd, neither of us good dancers, but we’re giving it our best effort. Gaining confidence that my pants aren’t going to split at the seams, we keep dancing through song after song. All I know is that my crazy, clumsy dance routine makes Bailey laugh. Her smile, along with the soaring temperature in the room, warms my heart, but unfortunately also makes me sweat profusely.
“Uptown Funk” . . . “Shut Up and Dance” . . . “Happy”.
The crowd moves to the beat like a giant throbbing mass. Executing every jump and spin in rapid succession, the pulsating rhythm defines my moves. My torso twists and turns in sync with the fast-paced beat. Bailey keeps up, doing her own set of steps.
Riiip!
After one of my more athletic dance movements, I realize that the seam holding the back of my trousers just split. Guess that thread wasn’t as sturdy as I hoped.
“I just split my pants,” I yell to Bailey while toning down my dance moves from jumping and twisting to simply jogging in place.
Her eyes grow wide. “What? Oh no!” She glances at my pants, then puts her hand over her mouth. Despite her best attempts, her shoulders shake with laughter.
“Let’s go sit,” I say, pointing towards a couple of unoccupied chairs. As we scurry off the crowded dance floor, I resist putting my hand over the seam which would draw more attention to the problem. “Can you find my tux jacket? I hung it on the back of a chair during dinner. That should help cover my wardrobe malfunction.”
Giggling to herself, Bailey goes in search of the jacket while I sit. When Nana stops Bailey’s progress, I hold my breath, hoping Bailey doesn’t share my predicament with her grandmother.
They have an animated conversation, Bailey waving her hands and laughing while Nana nods and tosses me an occasional glance. The longer Bailey talks, I watch the older lady’s lips morph into a full-blown smirk, telling me that by the end of the conversation, Nana knows all about my wardrobe situation and is amused by it. She grabs her purse and the pair heads towards me, I brace for whatever’s going to happen.
A scolding about dancing too energetically?
Another discussion about Bailey’s tender heart?
A reminder that the best man should, at all times, act with decorum?
“I hear you have a wardrobe malfunction,” Nana says with a chuckle, obviously having no sympathy for my embarrassment.
“Um, that’s correct.”
“I’ve got a needle and thread in my purse. If you give me the pants, I’ll sew them up in a jiffy,” she says.
“Really?” I squawk, sounding like a surprised goose at her unexpected, generous offer. I figured she’d be happy to let me twist in the wind, well, my backside anyway.
Bailey laughs uproariously as she glances between me and her grandmother.
Nana’s eyes narrow. “Did you think I’d leave the best man in such a pickle?” Not sure how to respond, I remain mute, and she plows on. “How about you find a restroom, remove the pants there, and hand them to me. Promise I won’t peek.”
“Let’s go,” I say, leaping to my feet. The women follow close behind me as we head to the restroom. I quickly enter and in a few seconds remove the ripped pants and hand them to Nana. Bailey talks to me through the closed restroom door, reporting what’s happening.
“She’s rummaging through her purse. . . She found the sewing kit. . . She’s sewing the pants up. . . That was quite a rip!” Bailey says between giggles.
“Excuse me,” a male voice says.
“Oh sorry! My boyfriend ripped his pants and we’re doing an emergency fix,” Bailey says.
The door swings open and a man wearing a full suit, white shirt, and tie—a wedding guest who obviously hasn’t been dancing—strides in. He pauses when he sees that I’m pantless. Pointing to myself I say, “I’m the boyfriend whose pants are being repaired.”
He laughs, then turns back towards the door. “Tell you what, I’ll go to another restroom so you can have a little privacy. Good luck with the pants.” He’s gone before I can reply.
Maybe he’s the one who needed privacy.
Shoving that thought aside, I shout through the door, “How’s Nana doing? It’s a little chilly in here.”
“You’re a hockey player. You play a game on a slab of ice. How chilly can a restroom be?” Bailey fires back.
“I don’t play without pants!”
Peals of laughter float through the door. Then I hear female voices talking in hushed tones.
My heartrate ticks up a notch. Are the pants beyond repair? My backside is feeling quite a draft.
“Is there a problem?” I ask.
“I’ve got your pants repaired, but no more jumping or gyrating around the dance floor,” Nana says in a stern voice. “You young folks don’t know what dancing is. In my day, we learned how to dance properly—”
Bailey’s voice cuts her off. “Nana, can we just give Levi his pants?”
The older woman snorts. “Levi, I want you to know that I don’t guarantee my work. If you split the pants again, it’s on you,” she replies.
“Point taken. I’ll try to contain my mad dancing skills.”
Both women laugh. The door swings open a couple inches, and my pants appear through the opening. As I slip them on it occurs to me that Nana probably saved me a fifty-dollar repair fee from the tuxedo shop. I guess I owe her one.
Making sure everything is tucked and zipped, I waltz out the restroom door. Bailey’s leaning against the wall waiting for me, a smile splits her pretty face the moment she sees me. Her understated beauty in that gorgeous outfit is like a punch to the gut, although I like her either way, in flannel and jeans, or dressed up in a fancy dress. On impulse, I lean in and kiss her cheek.
“What’s that for?” she asks.
“For rescuing me from my wardrobe malfunction,” I say as I rub my thumbs on her cheeks.
We gaze at each other for a couple of long beats, and I pull her into my embrace. Bailey licks her lips in anticipation. Time slows, and as I’m bending towards my fake, hopefully soon to become real, girlfriend to meet her lips with mine, a female voice says, “How do the pants fit?”
Suppressing a frustrated sigh, I swivel to face Nana.
“They fit fine, thank you” I say, keeping my arms around Bailey.
“My sewing skills are top notch,” she boasts. Bailey catches my eye and I bite my tongue in order not to laugh. “The bride and groom are getting ready to depart, you two should be in there supporting them,” she says, nodding her head towards the reception area.
It occurs to me that Nana’s actions feel like she’s doing everything in her power to keep Bailey and me apart. My ego feels bruised, especially after all the warnings about Nana’s matchmaking skills. I certainly wouldn’t call what happened today matchmaking.
Even though I disagree that the newlyweds need our help and I’d prefer to stand here and kiss the maid of honor, I take Bailey’s hand and we walk back into the reception area. The bride and groom are still mingling with guests, so we sit in a couple unoccupied chairs. “This was a great third date.” I stare into Bailey’s chocolate brown eyes and add, “But I sure didn’t win over your grandmother.”
Frowning, Bailey says, “I didn’t expect her to react this way. She usually tries to pair me with every available guy.”
I shrug, ignoring my still stinging ego. “What’s our next date gonna be? Bowling? A movie? Dinner?”
“You don’t want me near a bowling ball,” she replies with a laugh.
My curiosity is piqued, but by the look on her face, that’s a story for another time. “I’ve got a hockey game on Wednesday, then we go on a two-game road trip over the weekend. How about dinner after the game?”
“Hockey and dinner sound wonderful.”
“Don’t wear cashmere,” I tease.
She giggles. “Roger that. I’ll wear something comfortable.”
A few minutes later, Sydney asks Bailey to help her change before she and Josh head to the airport, so I don’t have an opportunity to sneak in another quick kiss, plus Nana seems to be always lurking nearby.
The older woman gives me another stern “I’m watching you” look as I slip into my tux jacket and leave. I’m not sure what the older lady’s beef with me is. I fulfilled my best man duties. I didn’t drink too much and dance on a table. Instead, I danced the night away with her granddaughter, just as I promised I would, only stealing a few kisses.
Nana’s warning about Bailey’s tender heart pops into my head. Surely, I can keep my promise to not break Bailey’s heart. Right?