“That’s right,” Sharon said. “Who cares!”
“I’m going,” Jennifer said, rushing forward and starting to hug Marcie and then stopping in her tracks. “Okay. Pretend I hugged you and was really supportive. I don’t want to mess anything up.”
“Hurry, Jen,” Marcie said. “Please hurry.”
Jennifer was already grabbing the necessary keys, and heading to the door. “And don’t get anything on your dress!” Marcie called.
Right, Jennifer thought. No problem. It wasn’t like she was having a rash of clumsiness or anything. She rushed out into the hallway and cut past the connected hall where the men were dressing. Bobby’s voice rumbled in the air as a door opened, and she caught a quick glimpse of blond hair and broad shoulders in his honorary best man tuxedo.
Her heart skipped a beat as she hit the red exit button on the side of the door and pushed the lever. Only it didn’t open. She hit the button again, her gaze lifting to find Bobby headed in her direction, those long legs carrying him toward her far too quickly.
“Jennifer,” he called.
“Gotta go!” she said. “Errand for the bride.” She shoved the bar on the door, and this time it opened for her. She rushed away. She was on a quest for shoes, not Bobby. Never Bobby. Always Bobby. Damn him.
She rushed across the paved parking lot and cringed. Someone had blocked her car. No. No! This wasn’t happening.
“I thought only the bride and groom ran away at the altar,” Bobby asked from behind her.
Another squeeze-your-eyes-shut moment followed, this time with the added bonus of heat pooling low in her stomach at the sound of the man’s voice.
She inhaled and turned, trying hard not to show the crushing heat in her chest at the gloriously sexy way he filled out his tuxedo. “I need a ride. As in now. Marcie left her shoes at her house.”
Those twinkling blue eyes turned worried. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go.” He yanked his keys from his pocket and motioned her to the right. To a pickup truck. An F150 like he’d said he had back at the base.
Jennifer stopped dead in her tracks. “You’re in that truck?”
His eyes lit with challenge. “I told you I drive an F150.”
A funny feeling swelled in her chest. “How’d it get here?”
“I drove it,” he said and arched a brow. “Now. Don’t we need those shoes?”
Shaking herself, Jennifer started forward. “Yes. Shoes.” She headed for the passenger’s side of the truck. Bobby followed and unlocked it automatically. It was high. Her dress was snug at the knees, and pulling it up would wrinkle it.
“Need help?” Bobby asked, a second before his arms were around her, scooping her up and carefully setting her in the truck.
Oh, God. He made her feel delicate and protected. Jennifer didn’t want to depend on Bobby and have him be gone, but having him come to her rescue now felt so darn good.
His hand settled on her thigh, his eyes alight with male appreciation. “I wouldn’t want your dress to get messed up. Especially when you make it look so good.” The next thing she knew he was shutting the door of the truck and rushing to the driver’s side.
He climbed into the truck and started the engine. They were on the main road in seconds. “I guess Marcie needed one last wedding disaster before the big moment,” he said, chuckling. The sound was rich and masculine, and Jennifer found herself laughing as well.
“Yes,” she agreed. “I’ll need a honeymoon to recover from Marcie’s wedding.” Too late she realized her misstep and she gulped.
“Where,” he said, casting her a teasing smile, “would you want to go for this honeymoon?”
“I didn’t mean honeymoon,” she corrected, her heart about to explode right out of her chest. “I meant vacation.”
“Semantics,” he said.
“It is not,” she said and bit back another word. He was baiting her, and in her heart, she wanted it to be for all the right reasons. But she was scared. “Is the truck supposed to convince me you’re here to stay? And don’t tell me you got out of the Army. Well, you can always go back in with a simple Dear Jen letter.”
He gave an incline of his head and turned down Mark and Marcie’s street, which was thankfully, not far from the church.
“All right. I won’t tell you I got out of the Army.” He turned into the driveway.
Okay. She couldn’t breathe. “Did you?”
He smiled. “You told me not to tell you.” He popped the door of his truck open. “Stay here and protect your dress. Where are the shoes and keys?”
Keys. Keys. Where were the keys. “Purse,” she said. “My purse.” She grabbed it and handed him the keys. “Shoes are on the bed. I hope.” His hand closed over the keys and caressed her fingers a moment too long. Had he gotten out? Had he?