Chapter Two
Tia
Asking a klutz to walk down an aisle in front of dozens of people in heels is a disaster waiting to happen. Trust me. I'm the disaster.
Unfortunately, I didn't wait to happen.
The wedding hasn't even started yet, and I'm already happening.
"No," I whisper, staring in horror at the water spraying from the fountain like a geyser. It splashes the white wall and sprays the brown carpet at my feet. Jesus is probably not a happy camper right now. I'm pretty sure this church is new. And I'm single-handedly destroying it.
"No, no, no." I reach out, trying frantically to make the water stop. All I manage to do is send a stream of it right into my face.
Goodbye, $400 hair and makeup.
RIP, fancy bridesmaid's dress.
"Please, stop!" I beg the fountain, holding one hand up in front of my face while feeling around for an emergency shutoff—or any shutoff, really—with the other. There may be one. I have no idea. It's not like water fountain maintenance is my forte.
Getting kids into college? That I can do. Dealing with this disaster? Absolutely not. Why does a new church need a water fountain designed in the 1970s anyway?
"Stop!" I cry.
"I don't think shouting at it is going to help," a familiar deep voice chuckles from behind me half a second before a pair of hands settle around my waist, tugging me out of the way.
The frisson of heat surging through me tells me exactly who just saved me before I even look, but I look anyway, hoping I'm wrong.
Nope.
Briggs Ward, brother of the groom and the man supposed to walk me down the aisle, is right there, his hands still around my waist.
Of course the hottest fucking man at this wedding would find me right now. Of course he would.
If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all.
I glance up, meeting his denim eyes. That frisson dies a quick death when I see the amusement tugging at the corners of his lips.
He's as infuriating as he is beautiful, and believe me, the man is stunning.
Those gorgeous eyes are just the tip of the iceberg with him.
There's also the thick dark hair, the full, kissable lips always tipped up in this smile that says he knows something I don't, and more muscles than my brain can even process.
He's effortlessly sexy and annoyingly charming.
He also has this way of focusing on me that's had me in a constant state of fight, flight, or fuck since we met last night.
It's like I don't know whether I want to climb him, flee from him, or karate chop him in the throat.
This is a problem for a few reasons. One, I just met him yesterday.
Two, he's my brother's friend. And three, like my brother, he plays hockey.
The red flags don't come in a brighter shade. If there's anything I've learned in my twenty-four years on this planet, it's to stay away from attractive men, especially if they're friends with my brother or play hockey.
Don't get me wrong, my brother is great.
But he's the exception to the rule. In my experience, most hockey players are cocky, self-serving assholes.
Like Daniel Jordan, the jerk I dated during my freshman year of college.
He had me convinced he was a good guy…right up until I found out precisely how wrong I was.
He was never the guy he pretended to be. He just wanted to win a bet and bragging rights with some of his stupid teammates. And I was the bet.
The whole, ugly truth came out in front of his entire team and three dozen witnesses the morning after I gave him my virginity.
My freshman year was hell because of him and his teammates. And I haven't dated since. I will never be a stupid bet, game, or bragging rights for some brainless athlete ever again.
"You know you're supposed to drink the water, not flood the church, right?" Briggs asks me, chuckling again.
"This isn't funny!" I whisper-hiss in response. Except…it kind of is. The water fountain in the church has gone demonic, I look like a drowned rat, and I'm being rescued by the man I dreamed about last night.
If you don't laugh at your misery…well, then you're just miserable. Might as well get a laugh or two out of it, right?
"What happened?" he asks, his gaze raking down my body. To his credit, his eyes don't linger very long on my boobs, which I'm sure he can probably see through my dress right now.
"I wanted water. The fountain said no," I grumble, trying to wring out my hair. "I think the church needs an exorcism."
"Wrong denomination, babe," Briggs chuckles before kneeling at my feet.
My mind immediately goes to places it shouldn't be in a place of worship.
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…
"What are you doing?" I hiss, swatting at his hand when he reaches out.
His brows furrow. "Turning off the water? I mean, unless your plan was to turn Harlan and Sophie's wedding into a biblical flood?"
Oh, right. The water.
I slide out of his way, pretty sure my face is flaming red.
I watch as he reaches beneath the fountain, twisting something. Within two seconds, the geyser has turned to a trickle and then ceased entirely.
Dammit. I didn't think to check underneath the fountain for the shutoff valve.
"There," he says, rising gracefully. "Problem solved."
"Um…" I blink at him, then grimace. His white shirt is plastered to his chest in spots, soaked through to his golden skin. "Now, you're all wet, too."
His gaze flicks down to his wide chest and then back to me, darker than they were just a second ago. "Not nearly wet enough," he mutters.
"What?"
"I said it's just a little water," he lies.
"That is not what you said."
"I'm sure it is."
See? This is why he's infuriating! He says one thing and then swears he didn't say it, even though I absolutely heard it. He's been doing it since we met last night.
At first, I thought maybe he was drunk, but then I noticed him nursing the same beer all night, so there went that theory.
And then I thought maybe it was some concussion symptom…
until I heard him discussing astrophysics with Vanessa's dad, an actual astrophysicist. I don't think he could have held his own in that conversation if his brain were broken.
So I've landed on my third and final theory: he's doing it intentionally.
"That is not what you sai—"
"You might want to do something about that, babe," he interrupts before I can even finish arguing.
I glance down, a humiliating squeak escaping my lips when I realize that my boobs aren't just visible now. The dress is plastered to my hard nipples, and the light blue fabric is doing absolutely nothing to hide them.
Briggs is clearly enjoying the show. His eyes are locked on my nipples, his hands in fists at his sides, his lips curved into another of those diabolical grins.
"Stop looking!" I cry, slapping my hands over my chest.
He quirks a brow at me. "You can't blame a motherfucker for appreciating the view when it's right in front of him, baby."
"Oh my god!" I scowl at him. "Do not call me baby. Also, I'm not scenery, Briggs. I'm a woman. And you just cursed in church."
"Jesus would understand if he were in my shoes, Tia." His gaze slides down my body again. "And believe me, I'm very well aware that you're all woman."
"You are such a—"
A door down the hall creaks open. One of the guests, an elderly man in a white suit, pokes his head out into the hall. I squeak again, hiding behind Briggs. To his credit, he slides in front of me, his big body completely blocking me from view.
"Coast is clear," he murmurs a few seconds later, as the man's footsteps fade.
The coast is most definitely not clear. He's still here; there is no hiding my nipples…and the bridal suite is on the opposite side of the church.
"This church is going to get struck by lightning today," I mumble, staring down at myself in dismay. "And it'll be my boobs' fault."
"Here, take this," Briggs says, shrugging out of his tuxedo jacket before wrapping it around me. Instantly, I'm engulfed in his scent—spicy and decadent. God, he smells so damned good.
"I…um…thanks?" I mumble, clutching at the lapels to hold it in place.
"It'd be an absolute tragedy to let those perfect tits get struck by lightning," he says, reaching out to brush his thumb along my cheek. "We can't have that, now, can we?"
"W-what?"
"I said it'd be a tragedy if those perfect tits got struck by lightning," he repeats. "I can't allow that."
So, I did hear him correctly.
"You did not just say that."
"Oh, I did. Meant it, too." He winks at me before turning on his heel and striding away. "See you at the end of the aisle, beautiful."
"Looks like you dried in time," Briggs murmurs after the ceremony, looping his arm through mine.
"What?" I glance up at him, startled.
"Your dress," he says from the side of his mouth, ushering me down the aisle past all of Sophie and Harlan's friends and family. "It dried."
"Oh. Right." My hands clench involuntarily around my bouquet. I almost managed to block out the fact that he saw my boobs a few hours ago. "Blow dryer."
He just grins at me, standing so close I can't breathe without inhaling his scent. God, why does he have to smell edible?
I try to focus on making it down the aisle and then out the doors, but all I can think about is the way he feels pressed up against my side. I don't see any of the smiling faces around us. Everything is a blur as we take our place in the receiving line on the steps outside.
"You look beautiful," he murmurs in my ear.
I startle again, turning a suspicious gaze up at him. "What game are you playing, Briggs?"
"Game?"
"Yes, game," I growl. "You've been weird since we met."
He eyes me levelly for a long moment before a slow grin spreads across his gorgeous face. With a shadow from the awning partially obscuring his eyes and the sun spilling light across his lips and chin, he looks part angel, part devil. "Who says I'm not weird all the time, Tia?"
"I'm not sleeping with you."
A deep rumble of laughter escapes his lips, drawing the attention of everyone around us. I scowl at him, but he just steps closer, crowding me.
"You think I'm after a wedding hookup?"
"Seems like it," I grumble, trying to put a little distance between us. "And if that's the case, you can go ahead and get lost now. I don't sleep with my brother's friends. I don't date hockey players. And I'm not interested in you."
Well, that's blunt enough, right?
Wrong.
Briggs just tips my chin up with his fingers, still smiling like I didn't just reject him on the steps of a church. "I'm not trying to fuck you, Tia. If I were, you'd already be naked. I'm after something else."
"Yeah?" I lick my lips, suddenly nervous. "And what's that?"
His brows furrow like he's still trying to work that out for himself. "I'll let you know when I decide."
I can't help the shiver that runs through me. And it's not because I take his words as a threat, either. I think I want to know what he wants from me.
And that has bad idea written all over it.
"Do me a favor," I say, sliding away from him, "don't tell me whatever you decide. I don't want to know."
"Yeah, you do."
I really hate that he's right.