Just as the song’s crescendo hit, Marcus popped out of the cake.
In pasties and a leopard print speedo.
The place went nuts.
With her jaw on the floor, Jiya watched Marcus climb out of the cake and strut towards Jamie, reminding her of the opening scene from Saturday Night Fever. Unlike Travolta, however, he was built like an ox and teeming with muscle, effectively stretching that speedo criminally thin. Jamie, who was visibly still in a total state of shock, shook his head, love slowly saturating his expression so completely, Jiya didn’t know whether to keep laughing or cry.
Never one to shy away from attention, Marcus high fived everyone he passed as he danced a circle around Jamie, before coming to a stop in front of him. He presented Jamie his backside and tugged down the speedo—showing off the tiniest sliver of butt cheek—sending the room into hysterics, including Jamie, who now, thankfully, looked as though he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world but where he sat, his fiancé dancing for him half naked.
Andrew came up beside Jiya and put an arm around her shoulders. “Well?”
“This is the greatest accomplishment of your life, Andrew. Soak it in.”
A flash of his white teeth. “That’ll teach you to doubt my judgment.”
“Sorry.” She nudged her head against his chest. “It won’t happen again.”
“Good.”
His thumb stroked her bare upper arm, just once, and she barely managed to stave off her shiver. “For the record, I wouldn’t recommend having Olive pop out of a cake in pasties at Rory’s bachelor party.”
He squeezed her close and shook her a little. “You made it a whole five seconds without questioning my judgment.” They shared a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I guess we’ll be planning another one of these soon, huh?”
“And what about you?” she asked, knowing she absolutely should not. “Always the bridesmaid and never the bride?”
His expression grew shuttered. “Ah, you know me.” He cleared his throat. “Always working. It wouldn’t be fair to subject someone to my schedule.”
Jiya swallowed the heaviness in her throat. As if he could sense her mood dropping, and he always could, his hold on her tightened. And maybe it was the romance in the air or the vodka she’d drunk, but she let him. Let Andrew Prince pull her into his chest and sway them, totally out of rhythm with the song. All eyes were on Marcus—who was now twirling his pasties to everyone’s eternal delight—and maybe that gave her the dangerous permission to press her front to Andrew’s and study the stubble on his chin, the slow rise and fall happening in his throat. She tried not to be obvious about breathing in his earthy scent, even though she got the feeling he was soaking in hers, too.
His hand splayed on the small of her back, respectful in a way that hinted it could easily turn disrespectful, if invited. What would that be like?
To have Andrew, her best friend, walk her into the shadows and let his hands travel south to her backside. That thumb that brushed her arm might sneak a stroke under the hem of her dress, just once, his warm breath on her mouth.
No man had ever put his hand beneath her dress. No man had ever held her even as intimately as this. She’d had flirtations in college, sure. She’d even dated. But whenever the guy showed too much interest or grew too familiar with her likes and dislikes, she put on the brakes. This was why, wasn’t it? She’d only ever wanted Andrew to hold her like this. It was safety and danger at the same time. Safety because he would die before letting anything happen to her and dangerous because he didn’t want forever with her.
He saw her as a friend. Only a friend.
Hadn’t she grown resigned to that fact?
Yes, she had. She’d decided to let Andrew go. To get her head out of the clouds and stop thinking of him as anything other than a friend. As much as she adored the oldest Prince brother, he showed no signs of giving up his bachelor lifestyle, and she? She’d decided to look for her more. More than he could give.
So she had no business being held this way by Andrew.
He had no business holding her like a prized possession. Not now.
Why now?
Jiya looked up and found Andrew watching her intently. “What is this, Andrew?”
“We’re dancing,” he rasped, his gaze slightly unfocused.
“You’ve never danced with me like this before.”
His gaze strayed to her lips, before he resolutely dragged them away. “Do you want to stop?”
“No and that’s the problem.” Come on, Mrs. I Don’t Play Games Anymore, bring up the elephant in the room. It’s not going away. “You’ve been different with me lately. Is it…” She took two bracing breaths. “Is it because I’m dating?”