1. #fucklove
ONE
#FUCKLOVE
Rose
Fuck love.
I knock back the rest of my gin and tonic and lean forward over the artfully arranged table setting, propping my chin in my hand.
Fuck ’em.
Through the coral peonies, white hydrangea, and various heights of candles in the table centerpiece, I watch my brother twirl my best friend Jackie around on the dance floor.
Flynn’s talking to her while smiling widely, probably trying to distract Jackie from counting her steps.
And by the dreamy look in my friend’s eyes, he’s doing a good job.
I take a deep breath, push my palms onto the tabletop, and straighten in my chair.
My brother is happy. My best friend is happy. This is the best possible outcome for two of my favorite people. This is good. No, it’s great .
I throw up some jazz hands for effect. A couple passing by gives me the side-eye.
Whatever.
Reaching into my cleavage for my flask, all I find is my roll of fifties I keep for emergencies. I pout, remembering that my other bestie, Trish, said my metal flask ruined the line of my bridesmaid dress and made me leave it behind.
Ugh. Propping my chin again, I contemplate all the reasons I should be laughing and smiling with the rest of these yahoos.
I have awesome best friends and two lovable, if moronic older brothers. Who, even if they are in love with each other or someone else, still all love me.
I’m graduating college a whole semester early. With honors.
I have huge boobs, and I know how to use ’em.
Also, I’m ridiculously rich.
I should be poised to take on the world. And yet, I’m having a pathetic, chiffon-wrapped pity party for one at the bridal table.
Hashtag first-world problems. Hashtag drama llama. Hashtag get over yourself.
I catch Mike’s eye, my brother’s partner at the auto shop, and we both nod in greeting. He’s sitting next to a pretty brunette two tables over. Of course he is.
I’m happy for them. For all of them. Really.
It’s just that all this coupledom happened so fast . I finally found my ride or die girl posse on my twenty-first birthday. That was only six months ago. Six months and three friends. Then two brothers and a male interloper joined the party, and suddenly I’m the last woman standing.
I’ve always hated math.
Shimmying my breasts into place for optimal cleavage, I look around for a waiter to bribe into becoming my personal gin-and-tonic errand boy. Or girl. I’m an equal opportunist to anyone who gets me a drink.
Eyeing the room, I slump back into my cleavage when all the waitstaff circling me are balancing full trays of hors d’oeuvres. No drinks.
This wedding needs to get its priorities straight.
Reaching across the table, I steal the glass of champagne from in front of Trish’s place setting and down it in one go.
These glasses are for the bridal toast later. Whatever. Needs must be met and all that.
I steal Ian’s champagne glass next, knocking it back, then line it up with the other empties in front of me.
“That’s quite a line of dead soldiers you got there.”
Blinking my professionally enhanced lashes at the man pulling out the chair next to me, I smile. He may not be offering me a gin and tonic, but if there’s one thing that might get me out of my self-pity funk, it’s a good-looking man. Especially if he’s offering me a different sort of cock tail.
I pluck Jules’ glass of champagne from in front of him and take a sip. “I was raised that if you’re going to do anything, you should do it right. That includes getting drunk.”
The man laughs, which does great things for his eyes. Brown eyes the color of that awful-tasting dark chocolate that health experts say is good for you.
He sits, crossing one leg over his knee, angling his body toward mine.
I take another sip, blatantly ogling the man. He has dark, silky hair and long lashes that, as he gives me a long once-over, sweep down toward high cheekbones. Lashes so lush you want to smack him for being born a man.
I cock my head to the side. “Who are you?”
His smile kicks up on one side. A look I’m sure is well-practiced, but nonetheless effective. “I’m Bodie.”
I offer the hand not holding my drink. “Rose.”
He nods, smile still in place. “I like that name.”
I shrug, thankful he didn’t say something lame like most men do when I introduce myself. Because let’s face it, I’m not delicate like my namesake, and I sure as shit ain’t sweet.
“So how do you know the happy couple?” His voice is lazy and low, but still clear over the din of music reverberating around the barn.
“Friend of the bride.” I finish the glass. “You?”
“Same.”
I frown. “Huh. Didn’t think Jackie had that many friends.” I raise one brow and look him over again. “Especially man friends.”
He mimics my expression. “And why is that?”
Standing, I reach across him and grab Holt’s glass, knowing I’m giving him a good showing of the girls in my deep-v bridesmaid dress. Settling back in my seat, I smirk when it takes Bodie a second to lift his eyes back to mine.
“One, because she was too much of a workaholic before she met me to make friends. And two, that man currently twirling her on the dance floor”—I tip my drink at my brother—“would be jealous as hell.”
He acknowledges my words with another nod and a smile. His small actions tell me he’s a laid-back type, a guy not easily flustered.
They’re my favorite kind to mess with.
“I guess it would be more accurate to say that I’m more co-worker than friend.” He leans back in his own chair, the fabric of his suit jacket grazing my bare arm. “Though now that Jackie and I are working together more, I’d say it’s trending in the friend direction. Hence the wedding invite.”
Ah. He’s a NASA nerd. Which is surprising, seeing as he looks more like a Ralph Lauren model than aerospace geek. “And what is it that you do at NASA, Bodie?”
It’s subtle, but there is a shift in his shoulders, an additional veil of confidence that settles over him. “Astronaut.”
I nod—“Cool”—then look over the table for another glass to steal.
In my peripheral vision, I see the veil drop. His once smirking mouth drops open.
I flare my nostrils to keep from laughing and turn toward him again, feigning confusion. “You expecting a bigger reaction?”
He shrugs, looking sheepish. It’s cute.
I pluck Flynn’s glass by the rim with my fingers and settle back in my seat.
“Listen, Bodie.” I cross the arm not holding the glass under my chest, squeezing in and up.
His eyes drop to my plumped-up cleavage before meeting my eyes once more.
I’ve always known how to work what I got to my full advantage.
“Two of my best friends are astronauts. Jackie is a genius and Jules a perverted badass.” I sip my stolen drink.
“Plus, I just helped my other best friend, a best-selling author, no less, get out of jail.” I let the base of the champagne glass rest in the valley of my boobs.
“And that doesn’t even include all of my impressive attributes, of which there are many.
” His eyes flicker to my chest again, and I tease him, leaning forward to give him a better view.
“If you’re aiming for a better reaction, you have to bring more to the table than a job title. ”
Vance
My night just got a whole lot brighter.
I take another sip of my drink, but the voluptuous blonde’s smile warms my insides much better than the whiskey in my glass. “Not so easily impressed, huh? I guess I’ll just have to try harder.”
“No need.” She tilts her head back, exposing a long column of tanned neck, and swallows the contents.
Watching the muscles contract as she swallows is more fascinating than studying microcosms in microgravity.
Rose smacks her lips, scanning the table for another glass to steal, frowning when she realizes there are none. “Now, tell me. You the kind of guy willing to do what it takes to bring a girl to orgasm?”
My usually quick-witted mind blanks for a moment as I replay what she just said, my own glass halfway to my lips. Then I smile. “Care to find out?”
“No.”
“No?” All good feelings leave.
“I don’t want to find out and be disappointed.” She points to her lap. “I’m asking you for an orgasm guarant ee .”
The scotch I just sipped burns my nose as I laugh, morphing into a cough. “Well then”—I clear my throat, eyes watering—“consider yourself guaranteed.”
“Awesome-sauce.” She stands up, smoothing down her dress and patting the back of her updo. Quite a few people turn to look.
I have a feeling Rose is a lot like those asteroid showers I used to stay up late to watch when I was kid.
From a distance, their paths light up the dark sky, their glow beautiful in contrast. But now that I’m thirty-six and an astronaut, I know the true destructive power of what just one of those burning rocks could do.
And yet, all that knowledge doesn’t make me any less enraptured by the woman before me.
“So.” She places her hands on her hips and looks down at me. “We doing this or what?”
Rose’s enticing allure is also making me break one of my hard and fast rules.
Which is never hook up at weddings. The women attending these things are full of expectation s .
Turned on by the promise of happily ever after.
For a determined single guy like me, hooking up with someone with happily ever after on the brain could be a bachelor death sentence.
So I don’t do that.
But this girl—I watch her breasts bounce as she gives her neckline a tug—I could break my rules for this girl.
I stand, my head a few inches above hers. “Are the shuttles to the hotels even running yet?”
“Oh, we’re not going to the hotel.” She grabs my hand and tugs. “That’ll take too long.”
I stagger forward, easily led by this Southern siren. “Impatient, are we?” We weave through other tables, most empty as the dance floor gets more and more packed.