“Mom. Don’t accuse me of stealing in front of a cop’s parents.”
As expected, that got a laugh from Edward and Maggie Lawler, both of whom seemed like nice people. Maybe they knew about her public mischief conviction, maybe they didn’t. She didn’t go around advertising her criminal record but she wasn’t ashamed of it either. She’d fucked up. She was certainly paying for the mistake.
She pushed reality aside and focused on the remainder of today’s spectacle. “So when’s the bouquet thingy slated to go down? I do want to watch all the desperate singles scramble in hopes of catching some of the magic.”
“No watching for you,” Nia said, shaking her head. “You have to join in.”
Make that a no with a side order of hell no. “Have you had too much champagne? Because you obviously have me confused for somebody else. I’m happily, determinedly single, dude. And I’m definitely not desperate.”
The second she got clear of this group, she was out of here. Easier to apologize two weeks down the road once Nia returned from her honeymoon than to try to wrangle permission tonight. Nobody would be surprised if she acted impulsively or selfishly anyway. Hell, imagine the mass disappointment if she didn’t publicly screw up at least once before the day’s events concluded. The world as everybody knew it would be totally off-kilter.
“I see that look.” Nia clamped her hand around Sara’s wrist. “You’re not getting out of this.”
Fine, she’d let Nia drag her wherever. But as soon as the blushing bride let go—and she would have to let go at some point—Sara was making tracks for the nearest exit.
The DJ’s table was their first stop. Like any good disc jockey, he hung on every word the bride said, nodding in all the appropriate places. He let the current song play out, then he took to the mic. “The bride would like all the single ladies to step onto the dance floor for the traditional tossing of the bouquet. Time to see which lovely lady will be next to say ‘I do…’”
Sara rolled her eyes. “With all the needy single women here, this could end up being a brawl in taffeta and satin. Maybe I should grab my phone and record it for your ‘wedding memories’ montage.”
“Nice try.” Both hands on Sara’s upper arms, Nia walked her to the center of the floor. “You will stand right here and be part of the fun. No brawling. Got it?”
“Fun that’s no fun. Got it.”
Nia rolled her eyes, then abandoned Sara on the rapidly filling dance floor. Females pressed in from all sides. From cute little miniature princesses who should have been tucked into junior beds hours ago to silver-haired seniors who’d rejoined the single ranks by way of widowhood. Those, Sara could handle. Smile at. Even identify with.
It was the twenty– to forty-year-old participants who bugged the shit out of her. Women who needed to get a lobotomy if they believed for a millisecond that catching a bunch of overpriced flowers meant they were next in line for a happily ever after. Among the giddy-looking bunch—Susie Ballantine, six feet to Sara’s right. And Lindsay Lawler, less than an arm’s length to Sara’s left. Pink satin and plastic smiles. So this is what hell looked like.
At least she didn’t have to worry about the bouquet. If it happened to come this way, Susie and Lindsay would be diving in front of her to snag the damn thing. She’d just stand where Nia had planted her and wait the stupidity out.
Somebody had moved a chair near the edge of the dance floor. Nia stepped up, her shiny new hubby holding her steady as she rotated her right arm in a series of exaggerated warm-up stretches. She rolled her neck side to side, then cracked her knuckles.
“Everybody ready back there?” Nia called over her shoulder.
A resounding “Yes” rewarded the excited bride. Nia faced squarely away from the eager throng. The DJ did his part as a drumroll erupted from the sound equipment.
And from the edge of the dance floor, Curtis grinned at her. Not at Susie or any other woman. There was no mistaking it—his eyes and wide, sexy smile were meant for Sara alone. Like a stupid deer caught in the headlights, she stared back. Like the deer, she stood utterly immobile, despite the screeched warnings of an impending collision.
“What the hell?” she asked when something heavy whacked her on the head. Then, “Shit!” as she used old high school volleyball techniques to swat the bouquet away.
All around her—scrambling. Hooting. Shrieking.
Forget sisterly obligation or maid-of-honor duty, she was done. She pushed against the flow. Only a couple more feet and she’d be in the clear. She broke free of the estrogen-charged frenzy and threw her arms up as if she’d scored a touchdown. Victory was hers.
Whap.
The bouquet. In her outstretched arms, out of fucking nowhere, without a nearby desperate female to shunt it to. So much for victory.
“Congratulations.” This from Curtis, now oh-so-conveniently standing in front of her. Also laughing his ass off.
“Nice. So glad my pain amuses you.”
He sobered and stared her down. “I would never laugh at something that truly hurt you. But that—” He coughed out another chuckle. “That little number is going to keep me amused for a long time.”
“With your lack of faith in a long time, you’ll have forgotten it by Monday.”
“Guess it’s a good thing I have the highlight reel,” he said, waving his cell side to side.
She sucked in her breath at the sight of the freeze frame on his phone’s screen. “You didn’t.”
“Incorrect, troublemaker. I absolutely did.” He tapped the arrow in the middle of the screen, grinning as the horror replayed in front of her eyes.
“Delete that,” she said, lunging for the evil device.
“Can’t.” He jerked the phone out of her reach. “I had orders from the bride and groom to record the bouquet toss.” A laugh ripped from his too-sexy mouth as a fairy-sized version of her swatted at the bouquet as if it contained toxic waste. “Oh man, this is good stuff. Bet it gets thousands of views on YouTube.”
“I bet you’re wrong.”
The bouquet made a good club. One well-placed swing knocked the cell from his hand. The thing took flight. Over a few craned heads, across an empty table and onto the floor. Where it had landed was anybody’s guess.
She smacked Curtis in the stomach with the bouquet. It worked even better than an elbow. Then it was hustle time. Between the tables, scouring the floor as quickly as possible with him hot on her heels—literally.
“It’s over here,” a guest from the Lawler side of the list called. A male guest. Without a date at his side. Worth a shot.
She hip-bumped Curtis and got the lead. Distraction time. She grabbed the guy’s tie while reaching for the phone with her other hand, and went in for a lips-parted, full-throttle kiss. Hooting and laughter erupted around her.
Attention, she got. The phone, on the other hand, she lost. Plucked from her grasp mid-tongue sweep.
“Shit,” she said, disengaging from the least satisfying kiss in the history of kissing.
“Ditto, honey.” The guy wiped his grimacing lips. “I have to eat with this mouth, you know.”
Seriously? She’d lost the damn phone and some dweeby guy with over-styled hair had the nerve to dis her?