23. Jeanie
23 /
jeanie
Furry Fan Club
When I wake, Nathan, Mini-Wolf, and I are tangled in a fluffy duvet. As I attempt to unravel myself, the doll squeaks, causing Nathan to stir.
“It’s too early.” He steals one of my pillows to cover his face.
“It’s your fault we stayed up all night.” We passed out at dawn with tired, burning eyes and scratchy throats from talking.
Sitting up in bed, I glance at a half-naked Nathan.
Last night was surreal. In a fit of bravery, I gave in to my desires. But now? The veil of darkness where anything is possible has lifted. With the morning sun, I’m conflicted.
Guilt niggles its way in.
How can I claim to want Roman back and in the next breath mess around with Nathan? I push it away and remind myself I’m divorced, Roman’s probably done worse, and last night was a one-time event. Everything is back to normal, starting now .
My phone’s alarm wails, causing Nathan to burrow deeper under the pillows. I’m running late for my new maid of honor duties.
After I dress, Nathan drags himself out of bed. He insists on accompanying me to the lobby. We’re waiting for the bridal party to arrive when he darts behind a large marble column, yanking me with him.
I peek to see what spooked him. A large group of people, some wearing Wolf Savage merchandise, some with furry wolf paws, and a few with full-body wolf costumes roam the lobby.
“So, I shouldn’t tell your furry fan club where you’re hiding?”
He gives me a stern look.
I step in their direction.
“You don’t want to do that.” He tugs me back.
“What will you give me?” I playfully bat my lashes.
Nathan spins me into his embrace and presses my back against the column. In the process, he’s stealthily hooked my leg around his hip. The connection ignites memories of last night.
“What won’t I give you.” His brows pop.
My eyes glass over when he coils his hand around my ponytail and gently tugs, forcing me to tip my chin until our lips brush. I suck in a breath. I don’t have time to negotiate when he does things like this. He’s too persuasive. Too hot. The promise I made to myself earlier dissipates because I want to kiss him. Just once.
Our lips touch and, oh God, he tastes like temptation. His kiss is soft and then sweet, but turns intensely greedy and dangerous. Our bodies wind closer, tighter .
I break away with heavy breaths. Are my breasts heaving? I glance down and see they are, in fact, heaving. My eyes widen.
My heart rate accelerates when I make eye contact with Nathan. Lust deepens in his darkening gaze, and a feral rumble emanates from his chest. He looks like he wants to ravage me.
One more time won’t hurt.
We dive into each other again like a category five hurricane of body parts wrapped around each other. His tongue searches my mouth in hot, determined sweeps. Strong hands cup my butt cheeks and lift me from the floor until I’m swept up in his addictive fervor. Our centers press close, rubbing needy spots, teasing my itch.
“There he is!” someone yells.
Nathan stiffens and then groans in defeat. Our mouths disconnect. Our foreheads touch as we inhale each other’s ragged breaths. My leg drops, and Nathan lowers me to the floor like we’re deflating. Excited screams pierce our shrinking bubble. Fans stampede in our direction.
“We’ll finish this soon,” Nathan says.
“If you survive your fans,” I say, knowing full well it’s me who may not survive him .
“I’m the alpha of this pack.” His cocky attitude resurfaces. He stands taller, his chest puffed.
With his amped demeanor, he steps out from our hiding spot, ready to play the part of Wolf Savage, famous dancer and sex god. His transformation is utterly mesmerizing .
Now alone, I rub my fingers over my scorched lips, replaying our steamy kiss. I’m not sure how it happened. One second, we were joking around, and in the next, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Left unchecked, we might have ended up back in our room, naked.
I hold on to the column for support as the corresponding images dash through my mind. I inhale deeply, trying to summon some willpower.
I need to get a handle on this. Fast.
I’m transfixed as Nathan interacts with his fans. His showstopping personality dazzles every person in his line of sight. In Wolf Savage mode, he oozes masculinity, exotic heat, and something I don’t expect—absolute kindness.
Nathan takes his time with every single fan, from the most outrageously dressed to the shyest. He autographs headshots and poses for selfies. He swing dances with a little girl while her mom captures a video. My heart clenches when she presses her cheek to his side in a hug. Everyone is charmed, not just me.
“How does it feel to be adored by that guy?” Sophia moves to my side and extends a hand in the direction of the commotion. If she didn’t before, it’s clear she knows who he is now.
“It feels unreal.”
The level of attention he gives me is as dreamlike as the deal we made. My lips still burn from his fiery kiss. My nipples still beam like headlights. I hold my stomach, where heat churns low and tight. There are so many urges and feelings to unpack, but I need to abandon them to get through my day.
Nathan is wrangling fans when I leave with the bridal party. For some reason, I’m sad when I can’t catch his attention one last time before I go.
In the hotel’s valet lane, the bridesmaids crowd inside the Beefmobile.
Roman has hired a driver for the day. I suspect not so much out of the goodness of his heart, but for the marketing power it delivers. There will be thousands of photos of the Beefmobile all over South Florida’s social media by midnight. Back home, online orders will skyrocket.
The driver delivers us to a bridal shop in historic Coral Gables. Underneath a crystal chandelier, the ladies sip champagne while lounging on pink velvet sofas, surrounded by lush vegetation, chirping birds, and trickling water fountains.
Sophia appears through a set of ornate doors in her wedding gown. Her dress is sleek and modern with a plunging neckline. She glides across the space. An elegant train puddles around her heels when she steps in front of a three-way mirror.
Behind me, the ladies ooh and ah.
I’m immediately misty-eyed, but not for the reason I expect.
“Roman isn’t good enough for you, Fifi,” I say, telling her the truth. The more I learn about her personality, the more I believe Roman preyed on her desperate need to be loved and accepted .
Sophia chuckles. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
I take her hand in mine and squeeze. That’s what a best friend would do, right?
The seamstress makes final adjustments to Sophia’s gown. As they do, the salesperson suggests a dress for me. It doesn’t match the bridesmaids’ dresses with its tropical pattern, but Sophia insists it’s perfect because it’s special, like me.
I don’t even know how to take her compliment. Her genuine comments always catch me off guard. No matter how hard I look for her angle, I’m starting to wonder if she even has one.
At dinner, we sit on the terrace under the banyan trees at Casa Veintitres, a trendy restaurant. Because we’ve had too much champagne, we’re carrying on far too loudly.
“Ladies, spill! We need the tea on the one that got away,” Amelia asks the group.
“The smuttier the story the better,” Iris says.
One at a time, the ladies take turns relaying stories of blind dates, past loves, one-night stands, and hate bangs. Between them, they have so much experience with love and heartache.
Meanwhile, Roman was the first boy I kissed as well as my first breakup. There’s only ever been him. Sometimes I think Dex is naive, but after some self-introspection, I realize I am too.
“There was this one guy,” Sophia says.
Everyone hoots. She hides behind her napkin as a million questions fly in her direction .
Sophia jumps into a story about someone she met after high school. “I guess you never forget your first love,” she says, concluding her story with a sip of champagne.
As the chattering continues around her, Sophia’s smile falters. The brightness she always carries slips behind the clouds for a few moments as if she’s lost in a bad memory. It appears again, but dimmer than before.
On the way back to the hotel, the driver cruises down Ocean Drive. The bridesmaids hang out of the sunroof of the Beefmobile. They wear glow-in-the-dark necklaces while dancing to a remix of an old-school Spanish song. Passersby wave. Someone blows an air horn, making them scream. They’re having a blast, but not Sophia. She’s alone, gazing out the back window, acting uncharacteristically morose.
“You want to talk about it?” I ask as I join her.
She fiddles with the hem of her dress. “How do you know you’re making the right decision?”
“You don’t,” I say with a snort. “In my experience, life is a series of misfires, and occasionally you hit the target.”
“How can you say that? Your life has always been perfect.”
I shoot her the side-eye.
“Besides Roman,” she says to clarify. “For as long as I remember, you’ve been the it girl. You always made the right decisions regarding college, a house, your family, and a successful business. You make life look easy.”
Her words strike me dumb. Because, one, I didn’t know she kept tabs on me after our parents parted ways. And two, I’ve always labeled myself a misfit who trudged through life one event at a time, doing the best I could.
Yes, I got lucky many times, like with my business, but there’s one significant and glaring test I failed. Looking back, I realize I treated Sophia terribly. I was jealous that she lived with my dad while I only saw him once a month.
A flash of realization hits. The same scenario is happening all over again. I’ve been blaming Sophia for my divorce. The truth is someone can’t steal a husband if he isn’t willing to leave. And, it seems, Roman was long gone before they met.
Has my anger always been displaced? I clear my throat and focus on answering her question.
“I don’t know.” I squirm. “I followed my heart. Things worked out, for the most part.” I give her a wry smile. “I don’t regret marrying Roman. I have a great kid and wonderful memories.”
“What are you going to do now?” she asks.
I thought when I won Roman back, we would return to our suburban life and nothing would change. If my wedding-wrecking plan doesn’t work, what will I do?
Until this moment, I hadn’t considered I might fail. It’s never been an option.
“I need time to figure that out,” I say because I don’t know.
“All while banging hunky Nathan,” she says with a grin. It’s become our little joke.
“It’s a difficult task, but I’ll power through. ”
We snicker like schoolgirls.
The Beefmobile parks in front of the hotel. The bridesmaids say their good-byes, hug, and make plans for the next event.
Despite everything, the outing was good. That is, until an agitated Roman appears from the revolving door of the lobby like he’s been waiting for me.