Chapter 5
TRASH THE DRESS
Aubrey
Ledger is wearing Crocs with his rolled-up suit pants and popping gummi bears into his mouth. The other guy is noshing on baked chickpeas, his suit jacket slung over his arm, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, revealing seriously strong forearms.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t check out Dev’s arms as we walk back to the car.
Or Ledger’s hands as he reaches into a bag, tosses a red bear into the air, and catches it frog-style on his tongue.
An arrow tattoo curves across the light skin of his wrist. I bet that hurt when he got it.
I bet he didn’t even flinch under the needle.
But I should stop checking them out. I definitely should stop. The last thing I should be thinking on my former wedding day is that my brother’s best friends are hot. About the hotness of any guys, for that matter.
“I guess we have our answer. They sell Crocs,” I say, then hold up my Slurpee. “And this is better than champagne.”
Ledger proffers an orange gummi, lifting it high in the air. “And this is better than wedding cake.”
“I don’t know. The cake is pineapple-flavored,” I say.
“Who gets pineapple wedding cake?” Dev asks with a snort.
“There was a mix-up with the caterer,” I say. “So I said I’d settle for pineapple wedding cake.”
Dev stops a few feet from the car, meeting my gaze with intensity in his green eyes. They’re flecked with gold—sometimes they look green, sometimes hazel. Mercurial eyes. “Don’t settle when it comes to cake or men. You hear me, Aubs?”
My chest warms. “I hear you.”
“But is pineapple cake settling?” Ledger muses. “It sounds kind of good to me.”
Dev tilts his head, seeming to consider the proposal for a beat, then agreeing. “You know, it kind of does. But it’s not on my diet.” He fishes into the chickpea bag and munches on one, and as we reach the car I’m struck by the Just Married sign dangling from the trunk.
Well, that won’t do.
“Allow me to handle this,” I say, then uncap the marker I just bought, kneel, and fix the sign.
I cross out Just Married and instead I write…Runaway Bride!
It’s not entirely true, but it feels true enough.
The trouble is a runaway bride can’t exactly ride a roller coaster in a wedding dress. “I can’t wear something this long to the amusement park.”
Dev crinkles his nose. “Do you want to go…shopping?” It sounds like he’s gargling dishwasher detergent.
I can’t resist teasing him. “The outlet mall is a couple miles away. You guys want to go?”
“Sure,” Ledger says, like, if there’s a fate worse than wearing Crocs, he’s found it in shopping.
Dev winces then pastes on a fake smile. “Whatever you need.”
Ha! I’ve found Dev’s kryptonite. He dreads commerce. But he loves helping more.
I have another plan though. But first, I need better shoes. “Can you pop the trunk?” I ask Ledger.
Fishing out the key fob from his pants, he complies. I root around inside my bag and grab my black lace-up boots my brother left for me. I’m going to owe him a lifetime of babysitting his twins for saving me today.
Hopping on one foot in the parking lot, I yank off a satin pump and toss it in the trunk. Then I tug on a boot and tie it up. I flamingo my way through the next one, then chuck the other white heel in the trunk too.
After slamming it closed, I clomp over to the passenger side, grabbing my purse from the floor of the car. “I’ll be right back,” I tell the guys.
I march into the store and grab what I need, paying with my phone and ignoring the messages that have lit up the screen like a Vegas slot machine.
I leave the store and find both men standing on the sidewalk, looking a little perplexed, until I wield a pair of scissors. I park my butt on the hot concrete. “Sometimes, you just need a new style.”
Concern flashes in Dev’s eyes. Ledger’s too. Maybe they’re worried I freaked out over a veil but am somehow willing to murder all this lace. “I bought the dress myself. This isn’t an heirloom,” I explain.
Dev’s expression flashes with understanding. “You’re gonna trash the dress.”
I’m impressed he knows what that means. “Yup.”
Ledger shoots him a curious look. “What is that? Is that a thing?”
“It was this whole trend for a while,” Dev explains as I gather up the material.
“The bride ruins the dress on purpose after the wedding while a photographer snaps pictures. The bride and groom run through the ocean, or get covered in paint. Or they stand under a waterfall with her in the dress. Or she’s caked in mud in her dress on the side of the road, and he kisses her. ”
While I snip the first chunk out of the dress, Ledger asks Dev, “How do you know that? You keep up on wedding news?”
“It’s not wedding news. It’s just news. And yes, I keep up on it. Try reading a paper once in a while.”
“A paper? How old are you?”
With the scissors, I bite off another satisfying heap of lace and tulle.
“Dude,” Dev says. “I’m five years younger than you! And they have papers online. There’s this thing called the Internet.”
“And here I thought the Internet was a portal to doomscrolling hell,” Ledger says, then they go silent.
For several seconds, I hack up the dress, only stopping when I realize they’re staring at me. I look up.
“Whoa,” Dev says, a little astonished.
“Holy shit,” Ledger seconds, sounding impressed.
Pride radiates through my chest, down my arms to my fingertips. I might not know how to pick men, but give me a pair of scissors? Your girl is a gold medalist. I’m feeling pretty damn good about my handiwork so far. “Not too bad?”
Dev’s eyes are wide, his lips parted. “You’re a scissor virtuoso.”
That gives me an idea. Who doesn’t find ripping a sheet in half satisfying? This hits a similar nerve. I waggle the scissors at them. “Want to help?”
Dev raises a finger. “Would you want a pic of you trashing the dress?”
I want nothing more. “Yes!”
Dev dips into his pocket and grabs his phone while I offer the scissors to Ledger. “Want to slice some more off?”
With a when in Rome shrug, Ledger kneels in front of me, taking the tool, then wincing for a quick second.
Maybe he knelt on a rock? But that flash of pain is gone almost as soon as it appeared.
I gather up some of the material from the back of the dress, then twist it around to the front. “Start here.”
“Got it,” he says, studying the fabric for a beat before he takes the hunk of material, grazing my thigh. A little charge of electricity shoots up my leg.
That’s nice.
But he flinches, then freezes. Great. Just great. He’s weirded out by touching me. That would be my luck today.
Ledger doesn’t even raise his face. He’s frozen in place, staring down at my thighs while I look at his short, dark hair. It’s different from Dev’s. Different from Aiden’s. A clean, neat look.
I like it, but that doesn’t matter. I don’t want him to be uncomfortable. “You don’t have to.”
He swallows noticeably, maybe sorting out his thoughts. “I just didn’t realize you were wearing stockings,” he rasps out, his gaze still locked on the sheer white thigh-highs, only a few shades lighter than my can-never-hold-a-tan legs.
“I like stockings. Tights. Thigh-high socks,” I say breezily.
He swallows again. Rougher this time. Then, like he’s collecting himself, he gives a soldier’s nod. “Okay then.”
His voice makes it sound almost like he’s…aroused?
Oh.
Oh, my.
Is that why he’s acting odd? What a wild thought. “Don’t cut the stockings though. I like them.”
As he snips, he mutters, “Me too.”
He diligently works the scissors across the rest of the dress, leaving a jagged edge in his wake. I glance up at Dev, who’s snapping photos of the moment.
I could see it on a postcard sold at a roadside gas-and-go. A woman with red hair, beach curls, a face scrubbed free of makeup, and a guy in Crocs and rolled up suit pants slicing up her wedding dress outside a 7-Eleven under the sun.
Congratu-fucking-lations on your un-wedding day.
That’s what the postcard would say. When Ledger is nearly done, he stops, lifting the scissors and waving them at Dev. “Want a turn?”
Dev lowers the phone. A flirty grin spreads across his handsome face as he meets my gaze. “I sure do.”
Ledger rises, gives the scissors to Dev, then takes his phone. Trading places, Dev kneels in front of me, while Ledger takes a pic of us. I focus on the beautiful damage Dev is doing to the tulle as he finishes with a “Done.”
It’s now a minidress.
I stand, a pair of scissors in one hand, and a huge swath of dirty, destroyed dress in the other.
Yes, the dress finally feels like it fits.
There’s just one thing left to do. I tug off my engagement ring, then reach behind my neck to undo the simple silver chain I’m wearing with a sparkly star on it—my eighteenth birthday gift from my grandma before she passed.
“Always be sparkly, Aubrey,” she’d said.
But it’s hard to unclasp the chain with this ring in my hand.
Reading the situation, Dev offers an, “I’ll do it.”
A little shiver shimmies through me. “Thanks,” I say, then he moves behind me as I brush my hair to the side, giving him room to see my neck.
His fingers skim my nape, and the breath nearly whooshes from me, but I purse my lips in time.
Aiden hardly ever touched my neck, but I think I’d love some neck attention.
Only, it doesn’t last long, since Dev has the chain unclasped in seconds.
As Ledger watches the whole scene, I drop the ring on the chain, then Dev clasps it back on me once more.
This time, there’s a hitch in his breath. “There you go.”
I drop my hair, and he moves around me.
I strike a pose for them. “What do you guys think?”
They both stare at me for longer than I’d have expected with something like heat in their gazes. Or perhaps that’s just admiration? I’m not sure I should be trying to assess the motivation of men today, or any day.
“You look…” Dev begins, but his voice is gravelly. “Great,” he manages to say.
Ledger nods a few times. “Nice new style.”
I don’t know what it says about me that their compliments make me feel better than any I ever got from Aiden.