We settle in, and when Pachelbel’s Canon begins, my heart rises to my throat.
Memories of other weddings claw their way to the front of my mind, and I force them away.
Stay present.
Focus on the here and now.
I zoom in on the bride and groom, though I hardly know them. They’re Jillian’s colleagues and I’m simply her plus-one. Still, when the groom promises to love his bride so long as they both shall live, I choke up.
Ugh, emotions, you bedevil me.
I root around in my purse, hunting for a tissue. I dab my eyes, then steal a glance at Jillian. Even through the silky black hair curtaining her face, I see she’s biting her bottom lip, holding in a tear or two, I bet.
I offer a few tissues, which she takes, mouthing, thank you, then swiping her cheeks.
Once the happy couple exchanges their I dos and their first married kiss, we stand and clap. They walk down the aisle, hands clasped, gazing all lovey-dovey at each other.
What would it take to get to that place where you know you want to be with someone forever and ever? I can’t picture it. Didn’t see anything remotely like that while I was growing up.
When the bride and groom leave the ballroom, I grab Jillian’s arm and squeeze. “Thank you for making me your date. I don’t know a thing about those two, but I’m so stinking happy for them,” I say with genuine emotion.
“Me too. Weddings get to me,” she whispers, then her eyes stray to Jones.
I squeeze her arm harder. “Maybe your guy gets to you,” I tease under my breath.
She swats my arm. “Stop knowing me too well.”
I shrug happily. “Can’t help it. It’s our curse and our blessing as besties.” I tip my forehead to the exit. “Let’s get you to the reception so you and Jones can play footsie under the table.”
She arches a brow. “And maybe you and the running back?”
“Ha. Let’s focus on you.”
My first job tonight is to be her wingwoman. And my job as her friend is to deliver my message.
Once we make our way to the reception, I hunt for my opportunity. I’ve watched Jillian fall for this guy over the summer and into the football season, and he damn well better know exactly what he’s got on his hands.
A prize.
When the dancing begins, I motion for Harlan to come closer so I can whisper in his ear.
“Hey, there,” he says, as he sheds his suit jacket, tossing it on the back of his chair. “You ready to cut a rug, sweetheart?”
“Not quite. But soon. First, though, I need to chat with Jones—and you’re going to help me.”
“Hit me up,” he says, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. His forearms—his strong, muscular forearms—are a little distracting.
Fuck, they’re a lot distracting.
But I soldier on. “Make some magic happen for me on the dance floor. You take Jillian for a whirl, and I’ll grab her guy, since I need a quick chat. And then you and I can dance together to our hearts’ content.”
“Whatever the lady wants,” he tells me, his eyes traveling down my body then back up, “the lady shall get.”
“Are you mentally undressing me?” I ask, feeling quite bold.
“Seems I was,” he says, unrepentant and confident as hell. “What do you know?” With a wink at me, he moves over to Jones and whispers something, nodding my way. Then they switch places, Harlan asking Jillian for a dance and Jones locking eyes with me.
“May I have this dance, Katie?”
“You absolutely may.” We step onto the parquet floor, and I set my hands chastely on his shoulders as we sway to an Adele tune. “I was hoping to chat with you.”
His eyebrows shoot into his hairline. “Let’s talk, then.”
Jillian is head-over-heels crazy for Jones, and she’s about to go out on a limb for him career-wise. I need to make sure he’s the kind of man who will treat her like a queen. “Listen,” I begin. “I’m a ride-or-die kind of gal. I’ve known Jillian since college, and she’s my girl. I’ve got her back anytime she needs it. You know what that means, Jones?”
“Means I don’t want to run into you in a dark alley?”
I flash a big Texas smile. “You got that right, partner,” I say, slipping in a touch of my once-upon-a-time Texas twang.
“I hear ya, boss.” Despite our slip into comic stereotype, Jones gives a crisp nod of understanding.
“You better treat her well,” I add.
Seeming earnest enough, he answers, “I will.”
But I’m taking no chances. “I mean it. If she risks her job and her reputation for this romance, do not let her down. I know that you’re a foot taller than I am and probably a hundred fifty pounds heavier, but I don’t care. I will kick you in the balls if you hurt her.”