Chapter 1 #2
I give him my best bored expression and cross my arms, hoping he doesn’t notice the goosebumps spreading down my skin since his arrival. “Who let the riffraff in here?”
Still holding my stare, he marches in with a grin.
A confident one like he’s got the upper hand, his lone dimple winking through his stubble beard.
“Per your brother, I’m here on official wedding business.
He wanted to make sure the groomsmen’s ties matched the bridesmaid dresses.
You know him. He obsesses over the little details. ”
Stupid Des. Why didn’t he send one of his other groomsmen, like one of his hot biker friends? I’d even take Nova’s boyfriend, Holt, over this man.
“Oh, did you bring it?” Maya asks, rushing forward. “Can we see them side by side?”
“Of course.”
Since I can’t knock that cocky grin off his face like I want without causing a scene, I spin away from the chatter and pretend to adjust my dress in the ornate trifold mirror.
Ignoring him is the best—and only—option.
I’ve almost become a master at pretending he doesn’t exist. It saves me from embarrassing myself before we get into our usual arguing matches.
I take a long breath, hoping to gain back some of my control as every fiber of my body is straining to hear his voice or move closer in his direction. No, no, no. The man is a menace.
I’m able to delude myself for a second until I see his reflection appear in the mirror next to mine, wearing the pink tie over his black t-shirt.
“I think they look good together,” Tristen says, nodding. “What do you think?”
I shrug. “It’s Maya’s wedding. It’s her call.”
“But aren’t you a bridesmaid? Shouldn’t you give your input?”
I stubbornly meet his eyes in the reflection, prickles of irritation coursing up my spine. “Are you telling me how to be a bridesmaid now?”
“I’m just making conversation.”
As if sensing the escalating tension, the boutique assistant enters the room with a flourish, presenting a silver tray of champagne flutes.
“Drinks, anyone?”
The innocent question sets off a bomb in the group. A pink protective barrier forms around me like I might leap at the sight of the bubbling liquid. It’s sweet but also annoying that they think I have no restraint.
“Guys, it’s okay.”
“Get that out of here,” Maya says, shooing the woman out of the fitting area. She switches to Spanish, her cheeks flushed.
“Oh, I didn’t know,” the lady says, her eyes landing on me. And there it is—the look of pity before she sprints away like I might chase after her like a wild animal.
Gosh, I’m ready to go home.
“You okay?” Tristen says from my side.
Of course he’s here for the Reese Humiliation Show. Does he just love having a front and center view to every embarrassing moment that happens in my life?
“Just peachy.”
He leans closer like he wants to say more but doesn’t. Instead, he studies my features, unsatisfied with my response.
With a wince, I turn to leave, but he catches my shoulder, halting my departure.
“Your zipper is undone.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“I got it.”
My reply dissolves on an intake of air when the warmth of his knuckles glides against the sensitive skin of my spine.
He tugs the zipper fruitlessly. With each failed attempt, his fingers brush against me, callouses of a man who doesn’t shy away from heavy labor.
Every breath I take is coated in his spicy aftershave, almost distracting me enough to relax into his touch.
“What are you doing? Zip it already,” I snap, my senses overloading.
“I’m trying. It’s stuck on something,” he says, his breath stirring the hairs at the nape of my neck. The warmth of it sends an unexpected shiver through me. “I have an idea.”
I let out an ear-piercing screech when he pulls the zipper down instead of up. Frantic, I cup the front of my gown, hoping not to flash everyone—especially him.
“Tristen Davis.”
“Sometimes you have to go backward to go forward.” A perfectly timed ziiip sounds and he cinches the back of the dress. “Got it.”
I jump away from him, mumbling a rushed thanks as I dive into the huddle of curious bridesmaids, their eyes bouncing between the two of us.
He shakes his head, his dark shaggy hair whipping back and forth. Lines of annoyance crease between his brows, the ones that my brother calls Tristen’s Reese Lines. It’s quiet for a moment before he finally speaks up.
“Well, I probably should get going.”
“We’re going to the Denver Bazaar next if you want to join us,” Julia suggests.
I’m barely able to contain my groan.
As if he’s expecting me to say something, his eyes meet mine.
I duck behind Lola’s larger frame.
He clears his throat. “The Bazaar? Eh. Sounds like a lot of shopping. Not really my thing. I’ll let you ladies enjoy the rest of your day.”
Everyone says goodbye, and he shuffles through the archway into the main shop without a second glance behind him. As soon as he’s gone, my heartbeat slows and my nerves fizzle out, and the sweet comfort of my control eases back into me.
“You ok?” Lola asks, pushing lavender-colored glasses higher up the bridge of her nose. It’s the same purple shade as the highlights through her hair. “Boyfriend problems?”
I blink a few times, confused. “You mean my ex that’s in prison?”
“Uh, I mean the one that just left.”
“Tristen?!” My jaw drops. “No, no. Absolutely not. We can barely stand each other.”
“That’s not what I saw.”
I bristle at her matter-of-fact librarian tone. “Then you need new glasses.”
“Reese,” Maya hisses.
“It’s okay,” Lola says with a booming laugh. “The more she complains, the more she proves my point.”
Mia and Nia nod in unison, adding fuel to my irritation.
“There’s no point to be made besides that the man drives me absolutely crazy on a daily basis.” I tap my finger into my palm, emphasizing each word.
“I think I read a similar romance book last month,” Maya chimes in, smirking.
I throw my hands up and let them flop back, sending a puff of glitter from my dress. “Even if he were the last person on earth, I would never in a million years consider dating him.” When none of them appear convinced, I add a resounding, “I don’t even like him,” like it’s an open-and-shut case.
“Famous last words,” Nia remarks, raising a perfectly plucked brow.
They chuckle for a moment before turning back to each other to discuss different shoe options. Lola climbs up on the alteration podium with nothing but smiles, but my mood has soured at their poor attempt at matchmaking.
Tristen the-bane-of-my-existence Davis . . . How does the man get under my skin even when he’s not around?