one
Luke
I bringthe champagne flute up to my lips and take a sip of the tart, fruity beverage. I lament the way it doesn't burn going down my throat like a shot of good whiskey.
I pull at the collar of my tuxedo and scowl. Fucking champagne. A man needs the hard shit to get through something like this—or at least a good beer. This fancy, bubbly shit isn't my thing, but I'm here for my father, I remind myself.
I glance over at where he dances with Karen Shay. She's a pretty woman, I have to admit, with her curly blonde hair and petite frame. She's a widow just like my father's a widower. The way I understand it, she has three children too—just like Dad—though my brothers and I have yet to meet them.
My father isn't exactly known for his patience. He met this woman scarcely a month ago, and now he's got a ring on her finger before even introducing us to her children. Not that I really give a fuck. If he thinks we're going to be one big happy Brady Bunch, though, he’s got another thing coming. My brothers and I are all grown. We don't have time to make nice with new siblings. I’m not saying that I'm going to be an ass to whomever my step-siblings turn out to be, but I'm not looking for new family members to sing kumbayah with either. And I know Charlie and Noah aren’t either.
I want my old man to be happy. Our mom died years ago, and I didn't really expect him to stay single and mourn her forever. Plus, I already know Karen isn't trying to replace our mother. She won't expect us to call her mom and shit like that, so I'm good with her.
Still, I might wish my dad well, but I wish he'd go ahead and pull a plug in this thing so we can all go. If I thought I could skate out of here without my presence being missed, I'd be gone in a heartbeat.
I have several designs to sketch out for my clients before work on Monday. I don't really want to spend my entire weekend playing at a new family. Normally I'd be in the parlor inking out new tattoos on the weekend, but I took this weekend off for my dad's wedding. Still, that doesn't mean I can't create some new designs on my time off. I've been working on drawing up a new one to have inked on my own skin—something I know my dad is less than thrilled about.
He doesn't approve of all the tats decorating my chest and arms, but ask me if I give a fuck. They’re part of who I am. Some are symbolic, whereas others are just decorative. We all express ourselves in different ways, and mine is through inked skin.
My scowl deepens when I feel a bump against my side. I look down, ready to snap at whatever drunken fool stumbled into me, but my words die in my throat when I look down at soft brown hair tumbling down an impossibly tiny frame. A little head lifts, and the biggest pair of doe-brown eyes I've ever seen peers up at me.
They’re framed by thick, dark lashes that make them look soft and innocent. My eyes rove down over porcelain cheeks to a pair of puffy pink lips, and my cock twitches. They’re the kind of lips a man dreams about having wrapped around his cock.
“Oops! I'm sorry!” she says in a musical little voice before she smiles at me.
It's like the world has shifted under my feet. Holy fuck, that smile. It’s the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life.
Who is this tiny angel?
I place a hand on her arm to steady her, noticing the way my hand almost wraps entirely around it. She’s so tiny, so dainty. A rush of protectiveness surges through me.
Her flesh is soft in my grasp, and tingles run from my fingertips all the way up through my arm.
I offer her a smile of my own. “And just who are you, sweet thing?” My eyes rake over the peach-colored dress she has on. It’s held up by the thinnest of straps and reveals the tiniest bit of cleavage in its square neckline. It flows to her feet, so, unfortunately, I don’t get a look at her legs, but I can see pink-painted toenails peeking out from underneath the dress in a pair of strappy heels.
Twin spots of pink appear on her cheeks as she blushes prettily. “Lucy.”
“Lucy,” I repeat her name slowly, reverently. “I'm Luke.”
“Luke,” she repeats my name too, and I swear to fuck my cock stiffens in my pants at the way she says my name in a breathy little voice. It makes me imagine her panting it out with her lips right next to my ear as I pound into her balls deep. Fuuck.
I grab a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and hand it to her, but she shakes her head, her pretty brown locks bobbing with the movement. “Oh, thank you, but I'm not old enough.”
My brow furrows and my stomach drops as I place the flute of champagne back on the tray and nod to the waiter. “How old are you, Lucy?” I rake my eyes over her again. Fuck, she looks young. Please tell me I haven’t been standing here perving on an underaged girl.
“Nineteen,” she answers, and I visibly relax. She's young but legal. I'm not exactly old at twenty-eight, but that’s nine years older than her.
I drink in the sight of her again, and my chest tightens.
Fuck it, I don't care. I don't know what it is about this girl, but I'm completely enchanted with her.
“Hmm, so what do you do, Lucy?” I ask her. I'm not normally one to make small talk, but I'm dying to know anything I can about this girl—and it's either make small talk with her or throw her over my shoulder and carry her out of her to take her somewhere and bang her within an inch of her life. My hand tightens around the champagne flute as I feel sticky precum rush to my tip.
Fuck, I’ve never been this hard up for a girl I scarcely know.
“I currently work as a teacher's aide. I'm going to school to be a teacher myself,” she tells me proudly.
I let my eyes rove over her pretty face again, my chest tightening at how sweet she looks. “I bet all the kids love you.”