Jumping from the table, Rafferty pulled out his phone and looked through it for a minute. Then to her surprise, he started to play a slow Taylor Swift song. Gently, he took her hand, helping her off the table. “Dance with me, Mia.”
Going willingly into his arms, she rested her head on his shoulder. “Dancing is for the reception.”
Wanting to stay away from Rafferty and doing it were two completely different things. Tonight, she was going to give in to him. Tonight, she wanted to be in his arms.
“Let’s call this the reception then,” he whispered into her hair.
“Reception then,” she repeated.
As the song ended, she tried to pull out of his comfortable warm arms, but he held fast, and the same song came back on again. So she stayed. The song played on repeat for so long, she was caught up in the fuzzy haze of alcohol, the tingly lightheadedness of being in Rafferty’s arms, and the imagery of the song that when he kissed her, she kissed him back. It was love, Taylor said so, and Taylor knows about these things.
CHAPTER11
Rafferty knewthe moment she passed out. Was it because she was in his arms, and they were dancing? No. It was because he was kissing her when it happened. What an ego boost. Now he was left holding up a limp body in the basement of an empty church.
If Mia hadn’t been passed out, she would’ve loved it; in fact, she would’ve been the first person he would have called for help if she wasn’t the drunk person. Grabbing his phone, he shut off the song. He was happy he picked the right song for the event. It had been glorious to have her in his arms, even if it had been for two songs when she was drunk. Though he had to admit, he didn’t think she was pass-out drunk until she actually passed out.
Shifting her easily, he picked her up into his arms. With her there, he grabbed the nearly empty whiskey bottle and left her little room. He couldn’t get the image of her out of his mind: She was getting ready for her wedding. She was in a tight white dress, and her hair was the brown she used to have when she was younger. And, of course, she was happy to be marrying him.
Wait. Did he even want to marry her? He wanted to think that the idea was so farfetched it had never crossed his mind. That he hadn’t sat in that church waiting for the wedding that didn’t happen, imagining him and Mia in front of the church, promising forever in front of everyone they knew.
When he left the little room, he was relieved that the groom and bridesmaid were gone, along with everyone else. So nobody saw him carrying the passed-out woman through the church. Rafferty chuckled at Mia’s insistence that the groom and the bridesmaid were related to each other. Only Mia would even think that.
He was successful in getting her out of the church, across the parking lot, and past puddles and mud. Though now the sun was shining, it hadn’t erased the evidence of the downpour that had happened just hours before.
Getting her into his car was a challenge, as she was dead weight, but after a few minutes, he had her buckled in. Turning on the car, he cranked the air conditioning—he had to go back into the church, and he couldn’t leave her in a hot car.
That set, he went back in to see if anyone was still around. He didn’t want to leave the building unlocked, and he didn’t have a key to lock it.
To his surprise, he found the pastor still in his office. Knocking on the door frame, he stated, “I think I’m the last one still here.”
The man looked up at him and smiled before saying, “Okay. Good.”
“Do you get a lot of weddings that fall apart?” Rafferty wanted to know.
“More fall apart during the first year than the few minutes before.”
“Then it’s good that she bolted today.” Rafferty didn’t know why he was still talking to the man, but he hadn’t been to a wedding where the couple ended up not getting married before.
“Yes. I don’t know your name, but I’ve seen you around town,” the pastor stated.
“Rafferty Brooks. I sell insurance in town,” he said, in case the man was looking for insurance. You never know.
“Nice to meet you, Rafferty. I’m Pastor Ruston Abbott. You must be a friend of the bride?” he asked, probably because the groom wasn’t from town, and the bride was.
“Mostly a friend of a friend of the bride. I kind of crashed,” he said sheepishly.
“It was a good one to crash.” Ruston smiled at him.
“It was. A runaway bride. Well, I’m going, so you can lock up.” Because Rafferty had a drunk Mia to put to bed.
“Thanks, Rafferty,” the pastor said as Rafferty went back to his car and to his drunk friend of the bride.
The drive to her place was so short, it was almost not worth the hassle of getting her into his car earlier. It was only a few blocks, and he probably could’ve carried her. Probably should have carried her. Would’ve loved to carry her in his arms as far as needed. Except then they would’ve been the talk of the town, and Mia would hate him anew.
Once he had wrestled her out of the car and up the stairs to her apartment, he was glad he hadn’t carried her all the way. She wasn’t heavy, but shewasdead weight.
Once in her bedroom, he laid her on her bed, and she sat straight up and started to fight her way out of her dress. Where was this person when he was trying to get her out of his pickup? The one who can undress while passed out?