If Blake gets drunk and passes out tonight, if all my other options are exhausted, I might just buy Riley a hooker and watch that boy lose his virginity. It would be hot, and it might teach him some important life skills. Then once he’s done and showers off, I’ll let him try his new skills out on me.
I like sex, and that goodie-goodie looks strong enough to pick me up and toss me around like a Neanderthal. I’d be willing to forgo the spanking in exchange for being tossed over his shoulder.
When Oz finally lets his bride up to breathe, I look away from Riley’s piercing stare and offer back the bouquet of flowers I was tasked with holding.
I’m the maid of (dis)honor at this shindig, so my duties consist of holding Lindsi’s dress while she pees, and holding her bouquet while she sins in church.
So far, I’m nailing it.
* * *
“It’smy honor to introduce to you, the brand-new Mr. and Mrs. Oscar Franks!”
Oz leads Lindsi onto the dance floor shrouded in romantic lighting, candles, crystal chandeliers, and six billion yards of elegant wedding gown. The mom of teenagers and local self-defense trainer looks amazing in her ivory gown and sexy heels. Megan Montgomery – Lindsi’s wedding planner – spent the better part of a year planning today. She organized everything right down to the panties Lindsi wears beneath her dress, with the full knowledge Oz will peel them off with his teeth at some point before midnight.
Every tiny detail was coordinated by Meg, so when she told me where I’d be sitting tonight, I knew that if I moved, she’d kick my ass. She’s about eleven months pregnant and already crowning, so if I don’t do as I’m told, I’m legitimately concerned she might beat me up and get placenta water on my dress.
Gross.
I sip my flute of bubbly champagne and pick at the entrée that tastes like awesome. As my beautiful cousin dances with her disgustingly handsome husband and wears a smile that suggests maybe Oz already removed her panties, I grin and watch them sway to a gritty song Blake from the band sings for them.
“Dee?” Pulling out the vacant chair beside mine, Riley and all his innocence sit down close enough that his thick leg brushes against mine. Bending forward with a devilish grin, he catches my eyes. “Long time no see, huh? You look real pretty today.”
Tragically, that one sentence is more than I got from him the whole night of Lindsi’s engagement party.
Sitting back in my seat and crossing one leg over the other, I hold my champagne and grin when the split in my dress shows off the perfect amount of thigh.
Man or boy, it draws his attention and makes my grin stretch that much wider. “Riley Cruz. Hey, cutie. How you doing?”
He takes a sip of the soda in his hand, smiles into the glass, and shakes his head. “Cutie… You know how to emasculate a man. Do you get off on trying to make me blush?”
“Maybe. You’re the guy who wouldn’t make eye contact last time we met. You sat on Oz’s couch and pretended I didn’t exist. It makes a girl wonder… It almost seems like you’re a little too,” I pause for thought, “sweetnot to call cute.”
His soft green eyes track the bare flesh of my thighs and stop at my crotch. Either Riley has seen some shit ‘in the line’ since the engagement party, or, and more likely, his soda is spiked and making him brave. “How would you like it if I called you cute, Dee?” His eyes stop on my boobs. “How would that make you feel?”
I sit taller in my seat and take another sip of my now flavorless champagne. “But I’m not cute. I’m sexy.”
Nodding, he slides a hand along my thigh and stops with the tip of his pointer finger at the slit in my dress. “Exactly. Sexy is sexy. Cute is for puppies.” His blazing eyes meet mine. “I’m not a puppy, Dee. I don’t fetch on demand.”
I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge. And that’s what this is; he’s done with my silly smiles and teasing eyes, so now he’s stepping up. Turning toward him, I bring a hand to his thick bicep and squeeze. “It’s just that…” I let out a dramatic sigh. “You have the body of a man, Riley, but your face…”
His eyes flash. “My face, what?”
“Well, I wanna squeeze your cheeks. I wanna poke them and create dimples, then I wanna brush your hair back and plop a juicy kiss on your forehead.” I glance over the still empty-but-for-the-bride-and-groom-dancefloor and nod toward the band. “Blake, the King’s Chaos front man, well, he’s a little scrawny, a little too skinny for my tastes, but he’s dark and dangerous. He’s a bad boy. A tyrant in bed, I can tell.”
“And me?”
“You?” I look him up and down. “My spidey senses say you still have brunch with your mom every Saturday at nine. You bring her flowers and tuck her into bed, and when she says she’s lonely, you lay your head in her lap and let her play with your hair.” I scrunch my nose. “She chaperones your dates, doesn’t she? You got mommy issues, Riley?”
His eyes narrow to slits. “Sounds to me likeyou’vegot mommy issues. You generalize, and now you’re projecting your shit onto me.”
“No.” I squeeze his arm again, because the flash of anger in his eyes turns me the hell on. “No mommy issues for me. I love my mom, but she doesn’t know who I fuck. We actually do have brunch every now and then, and she plays with my hair sometimes, but it’s a healthy relationship. There’s a line in our life. She stands on one side, and my sexcapades stay on the other.”
Turning into me with a dangerous air, his large hand squeezes my thigh and sends bolts of electricity straight up my leg. “My mom doesn’t know who I fuck, Dee. My mom doesn’t chaperone me anywhere.”
“So, you dofuck?” I lift a teasing brow. “Don’t you make slow, sweet love, Riley?” Funny, the man I thought of as innocent just a minute ago now sends shards of nervousness through my blood. What’s that saying about judging a book by its cover? “Have you ever fucked and ran? Have you ever seen a naked woman before?”
The sweet man who blushed that one time transforms in front of my eyes. I was sure he was made of sugar and rainbows and all things tooth-achy, but the challenge in his eyes says something entirely different.