22. Quinn
Quinn
“I think I am going to get a salad,” I say as I skim the menu at the Ale House.
“Why?” Ried asks. “It’s not like you need it.”
My eyes dart over the menu to look at him across the table. “Because it’s healthy? Because I like vegetables? Because this one comes with goat cheese and candied pecans and beets and sounds really good?” I state. “What are you going to get?”
“A Reuben,” he says, setting his menu down with a huff and zeroing in on me. “Do you know why I invited you to lunch?” I ask.
“You really like spending time with me, and the three weddings we’ve been to weren’t enough to satisfy you?” I tease and he just smirks with a nod.
“Do you ever take a break from being salty, or are you just like this all the time?” he asks.
“You didn’t tell me if I got the first question right,” I say, knowing full well my response just answered question two.
“I invited you to lunch because we need to talk about these weddings and how we have…conducted ourselves,” he states, and it’s no secret that his eyes land on the swell of my breasts.
I am wearing a tank top and shorts today because I am not working and because it is hot outside, and because I feel like it.
“You mean how you keep taking advantage of me?” I ask, and his eyes widen. I have to chuckle at the fact that I can make a big-shot lawyer’s eyes do that.
“I’m not even going to address that question,” he says, lacing his fingers together and leaning in across the table. “I think it’s safe to say that things have gone a little… off the rails at the previous weddings.”
“You think?” I ask as our drinks arrive, and I take a long sip of my ice water with lemon.
“Do you agree?” he asks. “Or is it normal for you to rip your dress off at weddings?”
“Only ones in the woods,” I toss him a less than sweet smile, and I can tell it’s ruffling his feathers.
Problematically, I’m pretty sure his feathers were already ruffled when he came in today, and if I had to guess, he is not in the mood for our typical banter.
That said, I am in a good mood and I don’t really care.
“Come on. You’re acting like it’s my fault that you… did the things…you did.”
“What else was I going to do?” he asks. “Your tits were on full display.”
The words come out of his mouth as soon as the waitress walks up, and she shoves her notepad back into her apron pocket.
“I think I’ll come back,” she says, walking off.
Reid pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before going on. “All I am saying is we’ve gotten a little lax with the rules.”
“I agree,” I say, even though there are a million other things I’d love to say right now. He really does seem worked up, and it might not be wise to fuck with him too much.
“Good. So you also agree to behave at this next wedding?” he asks, and I laugh, picking the lemon off my glass and squeezing it into my water. Then I set it aside and lick off my fingers, fully aware that Reid’s eyes follow every movement.
“I will behave as much as you do,” I tell him.
“I’m serious, Quinn,” he says.
“And so am I,” I say. “You’re not fully innocent, you know. You dish just as hard as I do.”
“I’m…aware…” he says the words of admittance like they’re physically painful when they come out of his mouth. “But this wedding matters more.”
My brow furrows at that. “The next wedding is Drew’s. And we still have a minute,” I say.
“Actually, there’s a fifth wedding I need you to attend,” he says and this time it’s my eyes that are widening.
“A fifth wedding?” I ask, pulling out my phone to look at my calendar.
“I know, I know,” he says. “And technically, you don’t have to, but–”
“No, I’ll do it,” I agree. Even though the idea of an extra wedding with this man sounds exhausting, I really do love weddings that much.
I also need all the funding I can get since I just found out that Ashley’s husband agreed to do marriage counseling.
In turn she has to give up their vacation home.
But both Ashley and I believe that with a month’s worth of counseling, it won’t come to that. “Do you have the invite?” I ask.
Because if I am going to do this, especially on short notice, I need details.
“Ryan and Krissi,” I read, skimming through the details. “Beach wedding. Pastel attire. Oh, hey, you can wear salmon to this one too! Get two events out of the tux for Drew’s wedding,” I chuckle at my own words. But a moment later my smirk is falling off my face as I read the rest.
“Problem?” he asks.
“This wedding is out of town,” I say. “As in…Myrtle Beach.”
“It is,” he says, flagging down the waitress who approaches our table with some reluctance.
“We have to fly,” I state the obvious.
“We do,” he says and we order our food. Food I am no longer hungry for, refreshing salad or not.
“Flying isn’t cheap. Especially on short notice,” I say, even though that is in no way my biggest concern with all this.
“I don’t know if I told you this, but money isn’t really a problem for me. Also, I wouldn’t expect you to pay a dime. I’ll even toss in a hundred bucks for a new dress. One that covers your tits,” he offers a smile, but I’m still trying to catch up.
“Listen,” he says, leaning it. “I know it’s short notice, and we didn’t agree to it, but I work with Ryan. He’s a new attorney at our firm, transferring in from the Carolinas. They’re moving officially after the wedding, which is in Myrtle Beach. This wedding is…networking of sorts.”
“Halfway across the country,” I say.
“It’s less than two hours via private jet, which we will be taking,” he says.
“Private jet?” I echo.
“I never fly commercially. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” I parrot, still trying to wrap my mind around it. Normally, I would be elated at the idea of a destination wedding. But Myrtle Beach isn’t exactly known for being the best beach, and the fact I’ll be there with him, well, it kind of takes the appeal out.
“We will be in the bougiest part of Myrtle Beach,” he says, as if he can read my thoughts. Not that it’s probably hard right now. If I had to guess, I am wearing every emotion on my still-shocked face. “Fancy pools, beachfront property, open bars. Five-star food. Warm water.”
Okay. It does sound nice. And finally, I give in.
“Fine,” I nod. “I’ll go with you. But only because I am in a good mood,” I state.
“Are you ever not in a good mood?” he asks.
“I have two more clients signing up for therapy,” I say. “And I feel really good about these two.”
“I’m sure you do,” he says. “And I feel really good about this wedding. Assuming you will behave yourself.”
I snort out a laugh at that. “I don’t think I am the one who needs to be on their best behavior,” I say.
“I mean it. The other weddings are a bit more lax because they’re all just friends of mine. These are people I work with. Professionalism is a must.”
“And I will be just that,” I say, and I do mean it. He might drive me nuts, but I would never purposely hurt his image.
He can do that on his own.
“But it goes both ways,” I say as our food arrives. “No dragging me off into the woods or locking the two of us in a public restroom.”
“Done. And no wearing clothes you fall out of or grinding your ass against my crotch and then acting innocent,” he says, and I muffle a giggle.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” I tease, and he shoots me a look. The giggle escapes. “Fine. And no kissing me unless it’s for show. I’ll play arm candy since this is a professional appearance, but outside of the wedding itself, you have to agree to keep your hands to yourself.”
“Fine,” he says.
“Good,” I say.
“Great,” he ends it.
We eat our meal in more or less silence after that. And I can’t help but wonder if we are both thinking the same thing.
A destination wedding. At a beach. In a resort. Where the water is warm and the sand is white, the sun is cozy, and the alcohol is free…
I just pray we can behave. If we have a hard time keeping our hands to ourselves in the dank, muggy woods, I can’t imagine how it’ll be at a place like Myrtle Beach.