Chapter Twenty-Five Everleigh
Chapter Twenty-Five
Everleigh
Eleven years earlier . . .
I never went to homecoming or prom. No school dances for girls who started college at twelve. My mom thought I was too young to know what I was missing. Ridiculous.
When I wasn’t studying biochemistry or marveling at the complexities of the brain and spinal cord in neuroanatomy, I binged all the love stories.
Every book. Every movie. The future Dr. Reichart knew love stories provided neurochemical rewards associated with pleasure from oxytocin and dopamine.
But Everleigh loved the escapism and exhilarating dream state overflowing with heartachingly beautiful love and the satisfaction of a happily ever after.
“Give it a break,” Victoria teased. “I’m the bride.”
I stepped away from the mirror in the hotel suite her parents reserved for the weekend.
Of course she was the bride. But Victoria attended two proms and four homecoming dances.
She’d been a bridesmaid in friends’ weddings.
This was my everything, all wrapped up in an A-line halter floor-length chiffon dress—blush pink.
Pearl bow ankle strap heels. Hair in an elegant braided bun.
I showed my advanced maturity and stuck my tongue out at her before lifting my skirt and stepping aside.
Victoria slid in front of the mirror and smirked at my reflection. “Did you get rid of your v-card yet?” she whispered.
I blushed. It was kind of her to keep it between us as the other bridesmaids and Victoria’s mom fussed by the window over someone’s lost earring.
“Not yet,” I mumbled, fidgeting with my bracelet, anything to keep from looking at her.
“Not yet? What are you doing?”
“I haven’t had time,” I hiss, barely containing my voice to a whisper. “You’ve had the week filled with too many activities.”
Victoria rolled her eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for my wedding to get in the way of your sex life.”
I pinched her arm.
“Ouch.” She rubbed it, scowling at me for a second before grinning.
“You’re the one who said I needed to have sex.”
“Five minutes, Everleigh. Ten, tops. Just lift your dress and get it done. Is Will having to court you or something? He doesn’t live here. Stop trying to make him your boyfriend. Just have him pop your cherry, say ‘thank you, kind sir,’ and be done with it.”
I cupped my hand over my mouth and snorted.
Victoria grinned, smoothing a stray hair back into place.
“Found the earring,” her mom declared. “Let’s go, ladies. The limo is here.”
All eyes were on me for ten seconds before the next bridesmaid made her entrance. But the only eyes that mattered to me were William Landry’s. It wasn’t my wedding, but it felt like my fairy tale. Will lifted his hand over his heart briefly as if I were taking his breath away.
No man had ever looked as handsome as Will did in his tux, hair neatly parted on the side, face shaven around his mustache, and that irresistible look in his eyes, like we shared a secret.
My cherry nearly spontaneously popped right next to the altar. When I took my place and faced the guests, he winked.
Dead.
I swallowed and focused on anyone but him so I wouldn’t pass out.
The string quartet played “A Thousand Years” as Victoria’s dad walked her down the aisle. I planned my wedding to Will.
Our house in Montana (because I knew I’d find a job wherever he wanted to live).
Two kids spaced three years apart.
A bird named Marie Curie.
And a Yorkshire terrier—Rosalind Franklin.
My romantic heart skipped so many beats during the ceremony because even when I wasn’t looking at Will, I could feel his gaze on me. The butterflies in my tummy multiplied, making my hands feel clammy around the bouquet.
After vows and rings were exchanged, the minister pronounced them husband and wife, they kissed, and the bridesmaids paired up with the groomsmen to follow them into the building.
“Dr. Reichart,” Will said, offering me his arm.
I grinned at the guests. “I’m not a doctor yet,” I whispered, swallowing my giggle through a smile.
“Does that mean you can’t give me a thorough physical after the reception?”
I tightened my grip on his arm, hoping no one heard him. Once inside, we were forced to go our separate ways for the formalities dictated by the wedding planner.
It wasn’t until after the sit-down dinner, toasts, and cutting of the cake that the wedding party was free to mingle. I jumped in my seat, feeling something like a spider on my neck. Will smirked, standing behind me.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He ran his fingertips along my skin where it met my dress. “I’m investigating.”
“Investigating?” I tried to control my breathing, but it was impossible with his fingers caressing my skin.
“Looking for zippers, hooks, buttons . . .”
“Whyyy?” I asked slowly.
“I need a game plan so I don’t destroy your dress later when I take it off.”
Gulp.
I knew the answer to the question, but his official confirmation made my insides turn into molten lava. Victoria’s instructions replayed in my head. Five . . . ten minutes, tops. Pop the cherry. Cordial goodbye. The end.
But I didn’t want wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. I wanted yearning, foreplay, and unbridled passion. Making love for hours. Refuel. Repeat.
Could my vagina handle a marathon with no formal training? I didn’t know.
“I think your attire is far more complicated than mine,” I said.
“Stand up.” He helped me scoot back in my chair.
When I stood and faced him, he slid a hand around my waist and walked us backward a few steps until the dim light and a tall planter hid us.
“Map me out,” he said.
I wrinkled my nose. “Huh?”
“If my attire is complicated, then map everything out. My buttons. My zipper.”
With a nervous laugh, I shook my head. “I think I’ll be just fine.”
“Are you too chicken?” He gave me a challenging look, eyes narrowed.
I swallowed and touched his tie, tracing it around his neck. Will’s hooded eyes studied me like we were already naked, and the temperature in the room rose ten degrees. My fingers found every shirt button, including his cuff links.
“Easy peasy,” I said.
“What about my pants?”
My heart drummed until all I could hear was a deafening whoosh pulsing in my ears.
“I’m sure it’s a standard button and zipper.”
“That’s just a guess.”
We had a brief stare-off before I surveyed our surroundings for curious onlookers. Then I touched his belt and the button behind it. My thumb found the tip of his zipper.
“Keep going,” he murmured.
Again, I swallowed, hands shaking as I slid my index finger along his zipper. I felt something else too.
“There you are,” Mel, one of the other bridesmaids, said.
I jumped so fast my heart lodged in my throat and nearly suffocated me.
“Victoria needs to pee, and her personal assistant is MIA. Come on, we have to help her.” She pulled at my arm.
I looked back at Will, and he winked again.
Jesus.
I got caught with my hand in the cookie jar. Did Mel see me? Did anyone else?
“Where were you?” Victoria asked when we reached the bathroom. “I’m dying here.”
She was also a little intoxicated, wobbling on her feet as we guided her over the toilet. Mel held her dress, and I had the pleasure of pulling down her underwear.
“She was giving one of the groomsmen a hand job,” Mel said.
“What? Oh my god! No I was not!” I glared at Mel, and she smirked.
“Oh come on, Ev, just get it over with already.” Victoria rolled her eyes while peeing for days. It was a miracle she didn’t wet herself.
“Get over what?” Mel leaned forward to look at me.
“Nothing,” I mumbled.
“Not nothing,” Victoria said. “She’s a virgin. And I told her doctors aren’t virgins.”
I closed my eyes and sighed. Drunk Victoria was not a good friend.
“Everleigh, you’re a virgin?” Mel didn’t exactly whisper.
The DJ probably heard it and could have announced it between songs.
“I’m seventeen,” I reminded them.
“You’re not buying alcohol. It’s your body. Spread ’em and go for it,” Victoria said.
By that point, I took everything she said as nothing more than drunken musings.
Mel laughed. “Spoken like a blushing bride.”
“I’m ready for you to wipe me.”
She could have wiped herself, but I played the part of a good friend (one of us had to), and I wiped her.
“I was sixteen the first time,” Mel said, adjusting Victoria’s dress while I washed my hands.
“Fourteen,” Victoria confessed, which earned her judgmental looks from Mel and me. “What?” She shrugged. “I was an early bloomer.”
Mel shook her head and laughed. “Whatever. But seriously, Everleigh, you’re in medical school. Don’t be a virgin. Not cool.”
I wasn’t keeping my virginity because I thought it was cool. Just the opposite. I had been actively trying to lose it all week.
“Let’s go dance, then you can do all the groomsmen if you want,” Victoria giggled.