Chapter 31 #2
I weave through the lobby toward the elevator as Drew’s words from last night and three years ago echo through my mind. Only, they weren’t just words—they were warnings.
For a moment, I let myself imagine what could happen if I say to hell with Drew and go after everything I want with Gretchen.
He could cut me out. He could cut her out too.
Maybe with time he could make peace with it.
But what if he can’t? Gretchen and Alexis were best friends and one person’s betrayal irrevocably mangled that relationship.
Drew could see what I’ve done—the feelings, the secrets kept, the year worth of texts and phone calls—and think it the same thing. A betrayal.
The air inside the elevator is stale, suffocating. I undo my bow tie and release a few buttons on my shirt. Even as the doors open to the ballroom floor, I still don’t know what I’m supposed to do.
Gretchen is my friend as much as Drew is. How do I navigate this without losing one of them? Or worse, both.
Back inside the ballroom, the music thrums, feeding off the packed dance floor.
I scan the dimly lit space for the girl with the midnight hair, matching black dress and heart of gold that makes my knees go weak, but I can’t find her anywhere.
I step back outside the ballroom to the place I last saw her and spot an exterior door on the far wall.
Through the doors, I come to a terrace. And there, off to my right, at the far corner of the balcony, stands Gretchen.
Back to me, that black dress sweeps low, down to the soft skin at the lowest part of her spine.
Back fully exposed, her hair hangs in long waves, wisps blowing in the wind.
The satin molds to every curve from shoulder to upper thigh before flowing loosely to the ground, fabric fluttering in the breeze.
She turns as she hears my steps, eyes flashing with surprise. “You came back.”
“I sent Alexis home.”
“Oh,” she whispers.
“I’m sorry, but I was eavesdropping on your conversation earlier. And I need you to understand something.” I close half the distance between us. “I don’t like Alexis. I don’t want Alexis. I never should have asked her to come here and I would never choose her over you.”
She averts her gaze. “But you did choose her. Last night I thought that—” She sucks in a breath. Her hand tightens around the stone railing with a white knuckled grip. “Why did you ask her to come?”
“Because I’m an idiot and I’m sorry,” I plead.
“You never told me you met someone.”
“I didn’t. She was just a bartender at one of the bars from your brother’s bachelor party.”
“But you got her number.”
“She put it in my phone. I didn’t ask for it.”
Confusion splits her face. “But you did ask her to be your date.”
A rush of air escapes my lungs and I shrug. She turns to look out over the city.
The more I say, the less I can explain. They’re not the answers she deserves, but any more would pull her brother into the middle and I can’t do that to him on his wedding day. Drew’s far from perfect and maybe he’s gone overboard on the over-protective big brother act, but his intentions are good.
I offer her the only thing I can. “I’m so sorry, Gretch.”
Her tired eyelids drift shut. “I forgive you.”
“You shouldn’t.” She opens her eyes, meeting mine. “You shouldn’t because I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I don’t deserve you.”
Her brows crease as she cocks her head. “Then you don’t know how good you are.”
The mistakes of the past twenty-four hours alone prove that’s false. Not to mention the mountain of terrible choices I made through college up to a year ago, some I didn’t even remember the next morning.
“But you don’t even know the worst parts of me,” my voice breaks, rough and ragged.
“I don’t need to know the details to know the truth. The last year has to count for something.”
“What makes you so sure I haven’t done anything stupid over the past year?”
She shrugs. “A feeling.” A heavy breath expands her chest. “Unless I misread that, too?”
“No,” I rasp. “I haven’t done anything…stupid. ”
She nods down at her hand fidgeting over the railing. “Me neither.”
Two muted confessions that speak ear-splitting volumes. I’d hoped as much, but I never dared ask if she’d been seeing someone else because it was no place of mine to stop her.
I have no plan here, yet I close the gap between us anyway. All I know is that I need to be closer. Every tear she’s shed today, I want to be close enough to swim in them. Close enough to count the freckles atop her nose. Close enough to feel the air sweeping in and out of her lungs.
“What now?” Her voice cuts over the dull throb of dance music vibrating the wall. Question and hunger blaze in her eyes.
The thread that’s been holding my self-restraint snaps and I throw an arm around her waist, my palm pressed into the skin of her back as I coax her around the dark corner of the terrace. Her back against the wall, I push in close, my lips in a pleading hover above hers.
She fists the open collar of my shirt and I sweep a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. I brush my thumb over her bottom lip, making her breath hitch.
“Why didn’t you bring a date tonight, Gretch?” The question but a wisp of air floating from my mouth to land on hers. I already know the answer, but I’m a selfish man who wants to hear the words pour from her lips.
“Because you weren’t supposed to have a date either.”
My mouth claims hers. I take everything I’ve craved since she walked into that rehearsal dinner last night. She meets my intensity on contact. Our tongues sweep and sway and tangle in an unbridled frenzy.
My body flush up against her, my hands explore, roaming frantically down every curve and back up again.
I cup her breasts in my palms. The soft flesh swells above the bodice of her dress as I push them together and up.
I rip my lips away from her mouth and slide my tongue over the peaks and valleys of her cleavage from one far side to the other in one languid stroke.
My thumb grazes her nipple through the fabric of her gown.
She whimpers and I fuse our mouths back together to swallow that sound, to hold it inside and never let it go.
Our heads turn and swivel, mouths, tongues and teeth clashing. My hands move all over her while she keeps us flush against each other with every give and take of her own body to stay connected to mine.
We pull back, foreheads coming together, chests heaving as we suck air into our lungs.
I trace a leisurely path with my palm from her face, down her neck, collarbone, and back over her chest again.
My hand on her waist, I pinch the soft flesh of her ear between my teeth.
She takes in a rapid breath, tugging me even closer.
I reach around to cup her backside and give it a rough squeeze.
“Your ass in this dress, Gretch. It’s been driving me crazy all night.”
I buck my hips forward and she moans. My smile caresses the hot skin of her neck.
I reach lower, finding the bare skin of her thigh through the slit of her dress. She hikes her leg up to my waist, granting permission. My hand glides up her smooth tanned skin—nothing but bare flesh all the way up.
Palm on her ass, my breath heavy on her jaw, I say, “God, you’re sexy as hell.”
Her exposed leg high around my waist, she’s nothing but naked skin up to the apex of her thigh. Two layers of cotton stand between my hard-on and the bare space between her legs. She shifts and I do the same, our bodies chasing that friction. We moan in unison, mouths rushing back together.
I rock into her and she writhes to meet my every move.
Her hands coast up, down and all over me. Pushing into the neck of my shirt, weaving underneath my suit jacket. Every touch traces an exquisitely torturous path over my body—sparks, electricity, a raging inferno at every point of contact between us.
God , the amount of times I imagined being able to touch her like this, to kiss her, to feel her body against mine—it’s so much better.
In a world with no sordid pasts, no big brothers, no broken promises, there wouldn’t be anyone else—it would be Gretchen and only Gretchen. Forever.
But that’s not reality.
Gretchen flattens a palm against my chest before slowly lowering it over my torso. She grazes past my belt until she’s gripping me through my pants. A groan rushes out of me—it’s everything my body wants. My senses overload as awareness rushes in all around me.
Drew. Wedding reception. Promises made. Promises broken.
I peel my lips from hers and drop my head to the crook of her neck. After a few ragged breaths, I push myself off the wall, stepping out of her reach.
Heaven help me, I’m too much of a coward to even look at her. I’ve done it again. I’ve messed everything up.
“I’m…I’m sorry.” I run a hand through my hair. “That was a mistake.”
“What?” she rushes out, lungs panting.
“I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”
If I allow myself a moment to second guess it, I will. A jagged-edged boulder of regret lodges in my throat as I turn and walk away. With every step, my heart thumps to the rhythm of the music pulsing through the wall. Every beat screams for me to go back to her.
*thump… it’s her.
*thump… she’s the one.
*thump… don’t let her go.
I don’t go back.
I return to the reception in time to carry out my best man duties for the garter toss. What kind of best friend would I be if I didn’t participate?
The best man who takes advantage of the groom’s sister on the other side of this very wall, that’s who.
I don’t see Gretchen for the rest of the night.
When I return to the hotel the next morning for the send-off brunch, it’s only to see her.
I know I messed everything up, but I promised I’d take her to Mullins Book Collectors today.
Though I don’t have a great track record in the promises department, I’m hell bent on keeping this one.
It’s the least I can do for what I put her through yesterday.
Only, she’s not there.
Her parents tell me she ducked out of the reception early last night because she felt sick. And this morning, before the sun came up, she told them she planned to get an early start and begin the drive back to school today instead of tomorrow.
The person that’s come to mean the most to me in this world is in a car driving a thousand miles in the opposite direction and it’s all my fault.
I start to text her, but my fingers won’t move. Shame and guilt consume me whole. I played whiplash with her sensitive heart. I stirred up ghosts from her past. I played right into the caricature of how Drew sees me.
My best friend was right—guys like me don’t get chances with girls like her. And they sure as hell don’t get second chances.