11. Noelle
ELEVEN
NOELLE
When I walk in, I’m about to tell her congratulations when she spouts off, “Thank God you’re here.
Louie’s idiot sister can’t figure out how to bustle this dress.
She practiced four times at every gown fitting I had done because I just kept losing weight because of the stress of planning a wedding like this. ”
“I’ve never done it before, but I can try,” I admit.
She holds out her hand with a huff. “Give me your phone. I’ll pull up the video tutorial.”
I unlock my screen and hand it to her.
“Of course, reception sucks,” she mutters, turning on her heel, reaching behind her, and handing me my phone.
The video is already queued up. I watch some stranger’s well-manicured hands demonstrate how to loop and tie and tuck, while Lauren cranes her neck impatiently.
“Just do it like that,” she says.
The bustle is delicate work, silk and tiny buttons that don’t want to cooperate. My fingers shake, but I steady them. I breathe through it and follow the tutorial as best I can, slipping loops over hooks, adjusting the folds until the hem rises evenly.
“Higher. No, not like that—smooth it out. I don’t want it puckered in pictures,” she snaps.
Her bridesmaids hover in the mirror’s reflection, glassy smiles plastered on as they sip champagne and watch me, inches from what ass she has left, that I may as well be kissing.
I bite my tongue, keep my head down, and finish. When I finally step back, the gown drapes neatly, the train tucked away like it’s supposed to be.
Lauren turns, twists side to side, studies her reflection, then gives a satisfied little sigh. “There. I knew you’d come through.”
I force a smile and hand her phone back to her. “Happy to help.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me Dash was coming,” she says, like an accusation.
“I had no idea.”
There’s whispering behind me, sharp and snide, until one of them says, “He’s probably using you as a wing woman, or an excuse to see if he still has a chance with Lauren.”
My eyes snap to Lauren’s the second I hear using you .I expect her to shut it down, to correct them, to say something.
She doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t.
“I’ve done what’s asked of me at every turn, because I want you to have the wedding you’ve always dreamed of having.” My voice is steady, but the heat behind it builds. “So now I’m going to ask you to muzzle your peacocks. I’m a guest.”
The room stills, feathers metaphorically ruffled, and for once, all those glossy, over-fluffed bridesmaids shut their beaks.
The door opens, and a woman walks in. I see Dash standing with Louie in the hall.
“I was coming to do that for you,” she says as she takes Lauren in.
Louie’s sister.
“Oh, Lana, it was no big deal.” Lauren smiles. “Noelle offered.”
I internally roll my eyes as I place a smile on my face. “I’m going to grab a drink. See you all out there.”
When I walk out of the room, Dash is wearing a smirk, which tells me he more than likely heard everything.
He hands me a glass of wine, then holds his arm out for me to link mine.
“Thank you.”
“You’re not my wingman, Noelle, and I sure as hell have no intentions of playing yours.”
The words land harder than I expect, because it’s not teasing, not detached. It’s … something else. Something that makes my stomach flip.
I glance away, trying to breathe through the sudden tightness in my chest. He can’t mean it the way it sounded. The way he’s still looking at me.
I force a light, dismissive laugh. “The dress has you confused, Sterling. Before midnight, I’ll be in fuzzy jammies, makeup gone, hair piled on top of my head. Reality check.”
“Maybe I like reality better,” he says, too low for anyone else to hear.
I laugh. “Dash, come on; I’m not your type.”
His mouth opens, ready to volley back, but I lift a hand and cut him off.
“And before you get that smug look, you’re not mine, either.”
That earns me the exact thing I was trying to avoid.
His grin deepens, amusement dancing in his eyes. “All right then, what is your type?”
I roll my eyes, but he doesn’t let me skate past it. He leans in, waiting.
“Okay,” I say slowly, ticking off my list with my fingers.
“Someone who loves to read and discuss books. Someone who thinks a perfect Saturday night can be spent at home with a book and a pot of tea instead of bottle service in the city. And”— I pause, smirking now—“someone who isn’t used to a personal cheering section every time they walk into a room. ”
His brows lift, that grin still curling like he’s won something. “So … boring.”
“Simple isn’t boring,” I correct. “There’s a difference.”
We’re still grinning at each other when the waitstaff gestures toward the back, where our table waits in exile with the cousins no one wanted up front.
“Closer to the bar back here, anyway.” He winks.
“I want a seat with an obstructed view, so I’m not so easily summoned.” I shrug.
“Perfect. I plan to obstruct your view all night.” He wags his brows as he pulls out an empty chair where my back is to the bridal party.
I slide into the seat, smoothing the silk over my lap, trying to decide if it’s the glass of wine I drained that begs me to ask or the fact that there is zero harm in asking.
“Question?” I ask as he sits down beside me.
“I got answers.” He chuckles.
“What made you change your mind?”
He looks me over with the kind of fond appreciation that makes a girl blush. But it’s Dash, and it’s me, so …
“You,” he states simply.
I point to myself and bat my eyes. “Me?”
He grins, and yes, it’s blinding.
He opens his mouth to respond, and that’s when someone says, “I knew that was them!”
We both turn and look at our tablemates.
“You’ve got to be shitting me?” Dash laughs. “How the hell are you guys?”
Adam, Carlton, Vik, and Edwin. Louie’s college crew.
“Good. Living the dream,” Adam answers and looks at me. “You look pretty.”
“She’s always been a stunner.” Dash waves to a waiter.
Vik laughs maniacally. “I bet Louie is kicking himself right now.”
Carlton scolds him. “We talked about this. Do you need to go back to the hotel with Darrin and sulk about being a millionaire?”
“Maybe I do,” he sputters.
Turns out, they weren’t just old roommates and college friends.
They were the guys who stayed up coding together until sunrise, ate ramen at desks stacked with Red Bull cans, and built the skeleton of the start-up with Louie, who talked them all into selling for millions but never brought them into another project again.
They’re all smart—likesupersmart. Carlton talks quantum computing between bites of steak, Vik casually mentions consulting for a robotics firm, Adam explains the good and bad of machine learning, and Derrick … sulks.
Dash pleasantly surprises me by not needing to talk about hockey or his success. He actually fits in instantly, and when Adam squints across the table, he snaps his fingers. “We played lawn chess at your party.”
Dash laughs, full and shameless. “You mean parties ? We played many games, my man.”
Adam shakes his head. “And you beat me, drunk, every time.”
Groans circle the table, everyone tossing in their own half-embarrassed stories, and I find myself laughing, too, the kind of laugh that makes your cheeks ache.
Through the toast, through dinner, through round after round of banter about bad dorm food and even worse IPO pitches.
I sip my wine and enjoy the conversation at our table. Honestly? It’s fun.
“Remember the toaster app ?” Carlton grins, leaning forward. “We pitched an entire concept around being able to pick your exact shade of brown on your phone. Like toast was the great unsolved mystery of modern life.”
Vik groans. “Half the time, it burned; half the time, it froze the app. One investor literally asked us if we were high.”
“We were,” Adam admits.
The whole table erupts.
Dash shakes his head. “The future is breakfast tech.”
Derrick jumps in next, wagging his fork, “No, no—the worst one was Uber for laundry. Louie actually wrote a pitch deck with the tagline ‘Spin into the future.’”
Adam laughs. “It would’ve worked if midterms hadn’t gotten in the way of pickup and delivery.”
I nearly choke on my sip of wine.
“And don’t forget the doggie Fitbit,” Vik adds once the laughter dies down. “A heart monitor and step tracker for dogs. Except the collar was so heavy that none of the dogs would move. The beta test was just sad puppies lying down.”
The table erupts again, this time with a chorus of groans.
Adam mutters, shaking his head, “We really thought we were going to change the world with that one.”
Dash leans toward me, voice low, just for me. “I get why you had to come. Good memories.”
“Gotta hold on to them.” I glance over my shoulder at the head table. “She wasn’t all bad. She deserves to be happy.”
Adam snorts. “I remember Louie working up the courage to ask you out on a date, and Lauren answered your phone instead.”
“OG cockblocker.” Dash chuckles, shaking his head.
Then he turns and looks me in the eyes. “I remember Lit class. Thought you were that natural kind of pretty you don’t see every day.
” His eyes hold mine. “Couldn’t figure out if you were really that special mix of smart, sweet, and stunning, with just enough sass these geniuses couldn’t manufacture if they tried. ”
Heat crawls up my face, and before I can breathe, he turns back to the table, grin cocky again.
“But she friend-zoned me by introducing me to Lauren.”
The guys howl, ribbing him with a fresh round of“ouch” and “rough break, man.”
I lift my wineglass to my lips, pretending it’s all just banter, even though my pulse is skittering like it knows better.
“Truth is,” he says, and this time it isn’t cocky; it’s plain, “back then, I wasn’t ready.
Hockey was everything, but I was also grinding at school because if hockey didn’t work out, I had to make sure my family was taken care of.
I didn’t think I had the time to put into anything else … not the way it deserved, so … Lauren.”