2. Quinn
Quinn
“Good morning,” Reid whispers as we slowly walk down the aisle together.
For the record, he isn’t the groomsman I was supposed to be walking with, but after our conversations at the rehearsal dinner last night, everyone took a vote over us being paired up.
I’m not sure if it’s because they thought we were a good match or because after the heat level of said conversation no one else wanted to walk with either of us.
“It’s two in the afternoon,” I say, doing my best to keep my voice below the orchestra.
“And here I thought it was Tuesday already. These things really do drag on…”
I roll my eyes in response, wishing we could walk faster.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks.
We are both smiling, for the sake of the crowd, and moving our lips as little as possible.
“The resort beds are nice,” I say. “A perk of being in the wedding party.”
“I meant seeing as how you slept alone,” he adds.
If I didn’t have to compose myself, I’d be scoffing.
“Did you not?” I ask.
“Sleep well or sleep alone?” he asks.
“Both,” I say.
“Does it matter to you?”
“If you slept alone? No. If you slept well? Also, no,” I answer, and he chuckles.
That’s when I noticed people can hear us sparring even if they can’t actually make out what we are saying.
“Hush,” I tell him because the last thing I want is to interfere with Canon in D and the attention to be anywhere but on the happy couple.
That’s wedding etiquette 101. Never, for any reason, take the attention off the bride.
“See you on the other side,” I whisper as we are about to part ways at the end of the aisle.
“You mean hell? I hope there’s alcohol,” he mutters, and I roll my eyes.
Regina gives me a look, and I just mouth, “He’s an asshole,” to which she mouths back, “Right…”
But no more of this. The music shifts to A Thousand Years by Christina Perri, and everyone stands.
I hold my breath as usual, waiting with a tingling spine and the world’s biggest grin as Dani appears.
And I will say–despite the fact that it's the same dress from yesterday in a different color, this one is stunning.
It’s star white, so luminous that it holds the glow of a halo. Hand sewn gems and sequins cascade down the tulle skirt, and I’m fairly certain they outnumber the stars in the sky. Every one of them catches the sunlight pouring into the room, scattering sparkles like stardust in every direction.
She is so extravagant that the room literally sighs in a collective gasp of awe. And as a tear slips down my cheek, I hear an opposing sound and immediately recognize the source.
I glance over at Reid, and sure enough, he is the only person in the entire room not smiling.
He looks amused, yes, but if I had to guess, it’s because he thinks this whole thing is ridiculous.
Luckily, Justin is too captivated by his bride to notice.
Thank God for love-induced tunnel vision. Jesus.
The ceremony is lovely. The vows are beautiful. And the kiss is spectacular. The room erupts at the end of it all, and we follow them down the aisle and outside. As is customary, the bride and groom slip away for pictures, and everyone else heads to the cocktail party in the garden.
I walk up to the bar with a contented sigh.
But as I'm waiting to be served, there's that nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach again.
I glance around at the rest of the guests and realize that I seem to be the only bridesmaid here without a date.
Probably also the only woman here without a date.
And that wretched cliché pops into my head.
Always the bridesmaid and never the bride.
Will it ever be my turn?
The barwoman startles me out of my daze. “What'll it be?”
“What are the specials?” I ask. Because I know Dani came up with a list of cocktails that encompass their personalities.
“For the bride, there’s the Pink Martini, the Strawberry Sangria, and the Muddled Dragon fruit Gin and Tonic. And for the groom–”
“I’ll take the Pink Martini,” I answer. I love a good martini, even though, knowing Dani, this one is probably going to taste like cotton candy.
I click my acrylic nails on the glass bar top (pink, of course) and smile as the barwoman sets the fuchsia-colored drink in front of me. Honestly, it looks delicious.
But before I have the luxury of even one sip, Reid appears next to me.
“Fancy finding you here,” he says.
“Good afternoon, sir,” the bartender warmly cuts in. “Would you like to hear the groom’s cocktail specials?”
“No. I’ll take a whiskey neat,” he answers back sharply.
And with that, I scan the QR code for the bartender’s Venmo, tip her five bucks, and grab my glass.
“Leaving so soon?” Reid asks. “But I just got here.”
“Exactly,” I say with a salt-rimmed smile before turning and walking away.
“Where are you going?” he asks, nodding up in my direction.
“Wherever you aren’t,” I call back and keep walking.
I make it as far as the other side of the garden, purposely standing near a group of people in the hopes that he won’t spot me. Unfortunately, when your bridesmaid’s dress is the color of over-ripened watermelon, it’s hard to hide, even in a crowded garden.
And when I hear the all too familiar sound of his measured stride (of course he has that kind of stride. He’s a fucking lawyer. Even their walk is an intimidation tactic), I have no choice but to try to blend into hibiscus plants.
“Are you avoiding me?” he asks.
“Are you stalking me?”
“No. I just prefer your company over anyone else’s.”
“Oh, really?” I ask, not buying the charm.
Reid’s eyes flash to mine. “Don’t flatter yourself. The bar here is quite low. We haven’t even had the cake yet, and one of the groomsmen is already drinking directly out of one of the beer taps.”
I laugh at that. He might be an arrogant, smooth-talking jerk, but he is funny. I’ll give him that.
“You really enjoy all this?” he asks, and my gaze bears down again.
“Of course I do,” I say. “Believe or not, most people think weddings are a good time.”
“Sure, they’re a good time. Free food, booze, a place where you can let loose with no consequences. Well, unless it ends up on social media,” he says.
“They’re more than that,” I argue. “It’s the beginning of a love story. The beginning of something great,” I smile, doing my best to enjoy the view of the garden.
I can’t deny that it’s hard with him standing there though, and not just because his shoulders are so broad; he is blocking half my view.
He’s wearing a very light, silver-gray suit, and the contrast against the overflow of pink around us is actually very stunning.
But it also contrasts his salt and pepper hair and blue eyes too.
Not to mention it was definitely fitted for him.
Any tighter and I bet I could count his abs through the fabric.
My money is on eight.
“Yeah. A fat paycheck for me in the future,” he says cynically as he takes a sip of his whiskey.
“Is that all you think about?”
Reid smirks and I have to will myself not to focus on the heat rising in my downstairs simply at the way those lips crawl.
“Sure. I mean, Justin’s one of my best friends. Who do you think he’s going to choose when he needs a divorce lawyer?”
And despite all the pink, I am seeing red. “No one. Because he’s not going to need one. Because they aren’t getting divorced,” I snap before walking through the trees in an attempt to get away.
Of course, it doesn’t work. The gala garden is set up like the gardens of Pemberley, and the shrubs and flowers are manicured into a mini maze. But like a cockroach in the pantry, Reid finds a way, and before I know it, he’s standing next to me again.
“Have I upset you?” he asks.
“Oh, not at all. You’ve only insinuated that my friend’s marriage is destined to fail and when it does, you’re going to prosecute her into the ground,” I hiss.
“How about we start over?” he says.
“How about we pretend we never met?”
“That would be such a shame,” he says. “Your witty conversation is the only thing getting me through this hell.”
“And your conversation is the only reason a wedding that would put Cinderella’s to shame feels like I am in hell,” I say.
I am red in the face, but Reid just smiles, though this time it’s softer. Like he’s revealing just the corner of a white flag.
“Fair enough,” he nods, taking a single step back.
It’s enough to allow me some breathing room, but not enough to eliminate his presence as a whole.
He smells like vanilla, sandalwood, and spice. Like a pastry you’d eat in the morning, warmed up with a cup of coffee.
Fuck.
I need to get out of here.
“We need to get out of here,” I let out.
“Why? Am I bothering you?”
“No. I mean yes. I mean, we have to take photos soon,” I say, and it’s true, though it’s not the reason.
The reason is being here, alone, with him in this garden, where the only thing I can think about is whether kissing him is in fact like biting into a fresh baked cinnamon roll, is making every nerve in my body tingle and alarms are going off left and right.
“Do I make you nervous?” he asks.
I answer almost before he finishes the question. “Of course not,” I say, swallowing hard and wishing there was less alcohol in my alcohol. On that note, I’ve hardly drunk any of my Pink Martini.
“Being alone with me doesn’t make you anxious?” he asks.
“No,” I lie. “Why would it?”
“Because it’s hot over here,” he says. “And I don’t think it’s the sun.”
“We’re wearing a lot of layers,” I say, coming up with any excuse I can find.
“It’s the clothes. Right. Nothing else,” he says as he takes another sip of his whiskey. How in the bloody hell can this man be drinking whiskey in this heat?!
“Of course, it’s nothing else. I could never be attracted to you,” I blurt out, and as his lips crawl into another smirk. I swear I can feel them on my skin.
“Really?” he asks. “Because you’re flirting an awful lot for someone who isn’t attracted to me.”
I let out a laugh that comes out way too high. “I am most certainly not flirting with you.”
“This isn’t you flirting?”
“No! If I were flirting, I’d be…charming and playful and trying to get you to kiss me,” I say.
And for some reason, this conversation feels a lot like pedaling on a stationary bike. I’m working my ass off and not getting anywhere.
“So you don’t want me to kiss you,” he says.
“No. Of course not,” I say. “That would be crazy. Why would I want that?”
I laugh. Honestly, I sound crazy.
Because why would I want this sexy stranger to kiss me?
A man who I will likely never see again (and I'd never even want to see him again), meaning there would be no consequences to kissing him.
A man who is probably a damn good kisser if he kisses the way he talks.
It would be a kiss at a wedding in a secluded garden, like something you’d see in Bridgerton.
Why would any romantic woman want that?
“If you don’t want me to kiss you…why are you standing like that?” he asks. “With your chin like that?”
That’s when I realize I’m standing against him. My body is arched towards him. My chin is tilted up towards his.
Reid doesn’t say anything else.
He just lowers his head, just enough that his lips touch mine.
Mine part as an immediate response, and he smirks into the kiss before letting it go deeper.
"There she is," he murmurs.
"What?"
"The woman who's been pretending she doesn't want to kiss me since last night."
"I still don't like you."
"No?" he asks. "You will after I'm done with you."
After that, it’s a mess.
He grabs me. I grope him. His tongue finds mine. I moan. He nibbles my lip. I giggle. He smirks.
The next thing I know he's pushing me backward and my back lightly crashes against a wall. It seems we're behind a leafy bush cutting us off from view of anyone who might wander into the garden.
Reid lifts my hands above my head and pins them to the wall. His body weight is against me and I can feel his rock hard cock grinding against me. I can feel that it’s big but I'd love to have my hands free to find out just how big he is.
His free hand runs over my bodice, his thumb slightly grazing my nipple, and thanks to a dress I can’t wear a bra with, I can feel it, and I shudder.
His hand goes lower and lower and then stays put against my leg.
And I pull my mouth from his.
“Why did you stop?” I ask, practically gasping for air.
“I didn’t want to assume anything…”
I do not think about that long enough to overthink it. “You’re a lawyer. I think you can deduce where I will allow this to go.”
Then his eyes shift from coastal blue back to the deep sea, and before I know it, my skirt is flying up. One strong arm grips me against him, and meanwhile, the other hand cups over my panties. Hard.
I gasp.
“You like that?” he asks, and I nod.
Should I be doing this? No.
Have I ever done anything quite like this? Also no.
Do I want him to stop? I think you see the pattern here.
Reid rubs his palm against my pussy and even through the pink lace of my panties, it’s enough to get me going. I grind against his hand, riding it until my jaw unhinges and I have to bite his shoulder to keep from moaning.
Then he hooks my panties with a finger and pulls them to the side. He runs his fingers from my opening up to my clit, slippery with arousal. The perfect pressure makes me finally release a moan.
"Shh,” he whispers. “You have to be quiet for me.”
In the distance, almost from another planet, I hear our names. Photo time. But it doesn’t discourage us.
Reid picks up the pace, his fingertips teasing me. He rubs faster and I bite harder. My hands grip his shoulders, and I swear if he wasn’t holding me up, my knees would give out.
He continues to rub my clit with his thumb and then inserts a finger into me. I clench around him and push into his hand for more.
“Greedy little thing,” he whispers into my ear.
I don't care how desperate I seem.
Half an hour ago I was feeling lonely and now I'm being pleasured by the sexiest man I've ever seen.
His dirty mouth and talented fingers justify any prudence or restraint I should be showing.
Then Reid inserts a second finger and, as I stretch around them, he instantly finds my g-spot.
Mr. Hot-Shot-Lawyer might be single, but he certainly is experienced. Something I would expect from a man about fifteen years older than me.
"Come for me,” he commands, as if he can read my body.
And come I do.
The orgasm washes over me in violent waves, and I come harder than a tidal wave in a hurricane.
Suddenly I realize I'm biting into his hand that he placed over my mouth to stifle my moans.
“Fuck,” I murmur.
Just as the tide settles, I hear footsteps.
Quickly, we pull apart.
I arrange my panties and dress back into place.
Reid pats his ruffled salt and pepper hair back into place.
Then he goes one way.
And I go the other.
I almost immediately run into Dani.
“There you are!” she says. “What are you doing over here alone?”
“Just…enjoying the garden,” I say, praying she can’t tell how disheveled I am.
“It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?” she asks.
And she has no idea.