“Because you’re not supposed to upstage the bride, so I think you should wear this.” He flips the dishtowel toward me. “If you don’t wear it, then everyone’s going to be staring at”—he gestures toward my boobs—“that and not the bride.”
I sidestep him and walk to the hall mirror. Other than this dress being made out of the stiffest fake satin known to mankind and dyed the ugliest color that exists on the color wheel, the dress is perfectly presentable. “The day this dress, and me in it, takes eyes off of Wendy will be the day the sun turns blue.”
Wendy has this ethereal, delicate beauty. I’m as sturdy as they come.
Jack appears behind me. “Wendy wishes she was as pretty as you.” He drapes the towel around my shoulders. “I’m okay with you taking this off for pictures and maybe walking down the aisle, but the rest of the time, you should definitely wear it.”
“I’m not wearing a bath towel to my sister’s wedding.” I pull it off. He jerks it back on. I glare until he lets go and backs away.
Jack’s acting so odd today. Maybe it’s something in the air. I’m all shaky with lust and he’s all full of overprotectiveness. I guess that’s his brotherly instinct.
“Do you have something else? Some shawl-like thing?” He looks around my living room as if I just happen to keep a bunch of lace shawls draped across the sofa.
“No. I don’t have anything like that because I’m thirty, not eighty.”
“I’ll buy one for you on the way to the wedding.”
“We don’t have time.” I slip on the small pumps and grab my purse.
“You need to have something or Travis is going to be slobbering all over your ti—breasts by the time the meal is served. Are you sitting by him or what?”
“Only until the toasts and then I’ll come sit with you.” That should give me enough time to mentally prepare my defenses against the danger that Jack poses.
“I don’t like this,” my friend replies ominously. “You told me that I couldn’t get into any fights because it was bad for my reputation. I can’t guarantee that no punches will be thrown. You better come sit by me earlier.”
“Trust me. I don’t want to spend any more time at the head table than is absolutely necessary. Also, please be aware that my mom is going to ask you a million times when you are popping the question.” I know that as soon as Wendy says “I do” my mom will be on my ass asking when it’s my turn.
“I should propose to you in the middle of the ceremony. That’d give your mom an answer.”
I entertain that devilish idea for a few seconds before good sense and good manners take over. “My sister would kill me, and when I never delivered on the wedding, Mom would be on me again about my inability to hold a man because I’m too involved in my career, so I’m going to say no on the proposal.” Besides, seeing Jack get down on one knee to joke ask me to marry him would be too much. While my head would know it was fake, my heart would want it to be real and I’d replay that over and over in my dreams until I died—lonely and sad. Whew. I’m really holding a pity party for myself. Jack is doing me a huge favor by coming to this wedding and acting as my shield. I don’t need to add to his burden by revealing my uncomfortable feelings. I will get over them. I will.
I tug the towel off my shoulders, toss it onto the sofa behind me, and give my friend a real smile. “I appreciate you doing this for me. Let’s get going. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave.”
“Is that true?”
“Nah. It’s a lie to make us feel better.”
He grunts, which is either approval or agreement, and leads me to his Jeep. I spend the car ride chattering about nonsense stuff—hearings I have coming up, some random courthouse gossip, and the like. Jack isn’t really listening. He makes sounds every so often so it seems like he’s paying attention, but they aren’t at the right moments.
For instance:
Me: “I heard that Parker’s new hire in the clerk’s office is smuggling dog biscuits laced with weed into the jail because she’s fallen in love with one of the prisoners.”
Jack: “Mmmmhmmm.”
Me: “I ate two of them and they aren’t bad. I’ll text you the recipe. The ones with the deer urine are the best.”
Jack: “Sure. I’ll look for it.”
Me: “Be careful of the testicles though. Those can be overly chewy.”
Jack: “Mmmmmhmmmm.”
The alternative to talking, though, is being silent and that’s a bad place for me right now. If there’s nothing to occupy my head, I’ll inevitably drift back to my bedroom and my open dress and Jack standing like a furnace behind me. It would’ve taken only a few jerks to have me on my knees and my dress up over my head. It would’ve taken only a few more to pull aside my thong, spread my legs, and drive into me with enough force to break the mattress in two. I grow wet instantly.