“What an ass,” Mr. G answered.
“Yeah, he apparently thought the whole thing would be funny after I wouldn’t go to bed with him last night.”
That one got Mr. G. He nearly missed a step but recovered smoothly and quickly, “Well, perhaps you should have slept with him, then?”
“We’re saving ourselves for our wedding night.”
I met the arch of his brow with one of my own. “Is that so?” he asked, taking my hand and placing the flowers in it. “If that’s the case, maybe you’ll make one small exception for him. You know, he did have to dress in this penguin suit and all.”
Our eyes were locked on each other in this unscripted banter while the photographer took our photograph.
“He’s the one who accepted the job—being a good friend and all.”
He took my hand and led me off to the side while the bride and groom began their wedding dance. “You must have forgotten he was forced into this whole thing.”
“Hmm,” I smiled at the bride and groom, falling into a beautiful ballroom style of dancing, “I don’t recall him telling me he was in the wedding.”
“Wow,” Mr. Gorgeous played along. “He really is a dick.”
“Yep,” I said. “Leaves me to fend for myself, it’s why I probably will be leaving him alone to deal with the rest of this after I give my regards to the family I showed up for.”
“You weren’t impressed with his skill of dancing, then?”
“Not in the least.”
“Well, I can’t fault you. He only learned it a day ago.”
“Talented,” I said, looking around for the Johnsons while talking with this guy I’d somehow attracted like a moth to a flame.
“Well, save a dance for me,” he said, and then was gone.
Okay. I wasn’t going back to my table, so I searched out the older woman I was determined to get the flowers to. Gorgeous guy or not, I was done with this whole wedding affair.
I found her, and she was sitting with the Johnsons. Two birds, one stone.
“Ashley Taylor?” Mr. Johnson’s gray eyes met mine as he stood. “You look fantastic, dear.”
“These are for that sweet woman over there,” I said as I handed the flowers to him, and pointed toward the elderly woman in a conversation with who I presumed was his wife. “It is nice seeing you. My dad sends his best wishes but hasn’t been feeling well these days.”
“I’ll give these to my mother,” he said as he reached over and laid the bouquet on the table. “Is he still having difficulty after losing your mother?”
“He’s just stubborn. Doing his own thing—it could be his way of grieving, but let’s not bring that up.” I smiled at the kind man, “We are so grateful for all you’ve done and so excited for today.”
“Well, I’m honored you accepted, sweetheart,” he said nicely. “I have a dance with my daughter. I’ll catch up with Mark in the morning. Good to see you, kid.”
I nodded and was left standing there, watching Mr. Johnson slide through the crowd and out to his daughter.
Fingers interlacing with mine caused me to jump. I looked over at Mr. G, standing at my side as if we were a serious couple, and all jokes were cast off to the side in the whole husband-wife thing.
“May I ask what you’re doing?” I asked softly.
“Holding your hand, waiting for our dance, of course.”
“You are quite bold,” I said. “Listen, it was nice, but I seriously need to get out of here.”
“You’re not leaving me again. I lost you once—last night—after not being on top of my game. I’m not losing you again.”
“Funny,” I answered. “If you want to play this game, then who the hell are you?”
His eyes slid down to where I stood almost a foot shorter than him—in heels. “Most people call me Mitch,” he said. “And you?”
“Most people call me Ash.” I smiled. With each word this guy said, he slackened the imaginary ropes of tension tethered to each of my nerves. “But to the people I’ve just met, I’m Ashley.”
“Well, since we both confirmed our husband-and-wife future back there, I believe I’ll stick with Ash.”
“You are presumptuous, aren’t you?”
“I get what I want, yes.” He grinned, not letting that comment naturally escalate into the douche bag category where it belonged.
“And if you don’t?”
His eyes fixed mine onto them, “Trust me. I’ll have you in my bed tonight.”
I melted into a pile of God knows what with the sound of his sultry voice, his daring smile, his ocean-blue eyes I was now swimming in. I had no response to that, but the heat between my legs that he’d conjured with that response told me that I was about to be the one sending out the morning-after text like Liz had.
The difference was this was a guy that I think I would hate myself for not fucking—not the other way around.
The music changed, the atmosphere changed, and the next thing I knew, I was in his arms being twirled out on the dance floor. Thank you, mom, for insisting I take the dance classes I swore I’d hate you for. I fell into perfect step with each salsa and tango move this guy kept switching to.
Luckily, we didn’t cause too much of a scene, but for the first time in too long, I felt wild and carefree. We both laughed, made silly trick dance moves together, and suddenly I was lost in some carefree world with this Mitch guy. I wasn’t letting go of this gift of liberation I was experiencing.
The best part of this was that he had no idea who I was. I didn’t have to see his brow creased with fake concern for dad and me in our losing my mom. That’s what this trip seemed to have turned into. It was like having to relive her death everything someone asked how we were doing when in truth, I still had no answer for that. It only sent the emotion of rage to the surface, which was unfair to anyone who showed concern. It was a constant battle. Hell, I still hadn’t gone to her grave. Part of me couldn’t accept her losing the battle with cancer she fought so hard against. Now, I knew why my dad wasn’t jumping at the idea to come to this wedding. This whole trip was conjuring raw emotions.
As I twirled and was caught at the waist by Mitch’s strong hands, he was somehow healing these freshly reopened wounds. Thank God I ran into him with my drink, and now, he might be able to enjoy the fact that he always got what he wanted. Except for this time, this was what I wanted—not him. If I took him up on an offer to sleep with him, it would be for me, not him; and looking at how handsome he was, I highly doubted he would have hurt feelings if we used each other for one night and then went our separate ways.
Chapter Four
Ash
Quite a few drinks later, I was in my dream guy’s arms as we fumbled through the door and into his hotel room. My body was practically ignited in flames from the exclusive elevator ride up, Mitch’s hands all over me while we kissed as old lovers reunited would.
He tasted so good. His cologne was keeping me steadily under his trance of needing this more than I knew. His hands were soft, yet firm in pulling my arms above my head while his lips pressed along my neck.