Two Wedding Crashers (The Dating by Numbers Series Book 2)

  Beck pushes a long strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture so gentle, as if he’s been doing that for years. “It’s a little past two and I brought burgers and waffle fries, figured the grease might help you out a bit. But now I think about it, grease helps with a hangover headache, not a migraine.”

  I shrug my shoulders. “I bet grease helps with anything. I’m ready for it, bring it on.”

  “Mind if I eat with you? I’m starving.”

  “Of course not.” I toss some pillows to the ground and pat the bed next to me. “I’m not about to make you eat lunch by yourself when you brought me food. That would be very rude.”

  “Very rude indeed.” With ease, Beck brings the food and drinks over in one swift transfer, balancing all the liquid like a professional. Placing a tray on the bed, he hops up next to me, his long legs stretching out further than mine. Instead of the shirtless, board-short wearing man I’ve gotten to know, Beck is dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a plain white T-shirt. The sleeves cling to his arms, and the tan he’s acquired makes the white of the shirt pop.

  And then there is just something about a man not wearing socks and shoes with jeans. Something about him being barefoot in jeans is a bit of a turn-on for me. And even though I’m still feeling a little off, I’m not feeling off enough to not notice how extremely attracted I am to the man next to me.

  My conversation with Zoey floats through my mind as Beck opens up the plate covers, revealing two giant burgers and waffle fries. Live in the moment. It’s what Beck has said to me over and over again in the last few days, every chance he’s felt my resistance.

  I think maybe it’s time I truly listen.

  “Thank you for bringing this over. You’re the best fake wedding date ever.”

  “Not fake, Saucy, there is nothing fake between us.” He winks and then takes a huge bite of his burger. Talking with his mouth full, he asks, “Do you want to watch some TV?”

  I chuckle. “I mean we’ve done everything else together for the most part, might as well watch some TV like an old married couple.”

  Leaning over me, his broad body pressing against my petite frame, he snags the remote from the nightstand on my side of the bed and says, “Believe me, we haven’t done everything together. If we had, you’d know it.” Turning on the TV, he shoves a waffle fry in his mouth and adds, “What do you want to watch?”

  “Not too particular, just no sports.”

  “Not that kind of guy, so no worries there.”

  A little surprised, I pop a fry in my mouth as well and ask, “No? Not a huge sports fan?”

  “Nah, fell out of touch with life for a bit. During that time, I read more than anything so, I’ve become a reader.”

  “Fell out of touch with life. What does that mean?” I know I’m being nosey, but I don’t care.

  “A story for another time,” he answers, shutting down the topic before I can ask him more. “How about Seinfeld? Does this work?”

  “Uh, yeah, that’s cool.”

  Still reeling from Beck’s little hint into his life that I shouldn’t care about, I take a bite from my burger while he opens a bottle of water for me. “You’re going to want to drink up, hydrate as much as you can. I’ve had migraines before and they’re killer. Do you get them often?”

  “Not really. I think this was more of a tension headache than anything.”

  “Tense?” he asks the question so casually, as if he already knows the answer.

  “Just a little.” I shy away, not wanting to look him in the face. Is he going to bring up last night? I hope not. I’m not in the mood to hash things out.

  “So what happened last night? You kind of ran away from me.”

  Well, there goes hoping. Should have known he’d bring it up. Beck doesn’t bullshit around, and if there is anything I’ve come to understand over these past couple days it’s that he gets straight to the point. He doesn’t tiptoe, or neglect an issue for that matter. Yet, in some ways, I’m annoyed too. He ran off on me the other night with one mention of Christine, whoever she is, and hasn’t offered any information about why he ran. Clearly, it was a hard topic, as he does seem to call a spade a spade. How do I play his question now? He’ll been angry if I put myself down . . .

  “Yeah, about that. Weird, huh?” I answer, trying to play coy.

  “Really weird.” He chuckles. “Especially since we were having a good time. One second, I had your sweet mouth all over mine, and the next, I was staring at your retreating back. I thought I’d get a solid kiss good night, but you stole that away from me before I could take it.”

  “Gosh,” I shake my head, “What a bitch move.”

  This makes Beck laugh wholeheartedly, from the depths of his rock-hard abs. The sound eases the tension I’ve been feeling. I’ve been overthinking this. I feel like I was given this opportunity to experience this man, to allow him to help me step out of my comfort zone, and instead of holding back, I should take a chance on what I can only imagine will be a night I’ll never forget.

  Forget my reservations.

  Forget what the future will hold for now.

  Forget the last year and all the doctor visits.

  And forget about the end of this trip.

  Just focus on the here and now, because that’s the only thing I can control.

  And right now I want to feel. Not think.

  Chapter Twelve

  BECK

  I give myself one more once-over in the mirror and adjust the collar of my button-up shirt. The air has cooled down thankfully, so the grey pants and white dress shirt I’m wearing actually feel comfortable, not stifling. But just in case I get a little hot, I unbutton the top few buttons of my shirt, giving myself a little airflow.

  I spray on some cologne, making sure not to apply too much, and check my dress shoes—all tied. Looks like I’m ready. Then why the fuck do I feel so ill-prepared?

  Maybe because over the last few days I’ve become somewhat attached to this little raven-haired beauty. I know tonight is the last night I’ll see her; she leaves early tomorrow morning, and my body is already aching over her departure.

  Fuck, this wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to grow attached to anyone on this trip, and yet, it’s happened.

  When I saw Victoria without Rylee by her side today at the pool, I immediately grew concerned. It didn’t take very long to get information out of Victoria about Rylee’s whereabouts or a key to her room. Victoria and I could be friends, which I appreciate.

  I didn’t think twice about getting things to help Rylee feel better. It felt like second nature, and if that isn’t fucking scary, I don’t know what is.

  I haven’t truly cared for another person in over eight years. Fucking eight years. It’s been so goddamn long since I’ve felt an inkling of something for another person. And now, on a goddamn island, I have to like someone who lives over three thousand miles away from me.

  Good job, Beck. Way to fucking pick them.

  Taking a deep breath, I glance in the mirror. The corners of my eyes are weathered, my face almost drained, but there is a spark of hope in my eyes—hope for tonight—despite not being the man Rylee thinks I am.

  Fuck, she must think I’m some goddamn knight in shining armor, swooping into her hotel room with the cure for her migraine. I want to be that man. I want to be the man everyone looks at and thinks he’s a good human, but that’s not how I feel.

  I feel like a goddamn fake.

  Someone checking the boxes on how to be a good person, hitting all the marks for people to like me, but deep down, I know my soul is tarnished. I’m not the man I’m perceived to be.

  I’m ashamed.

  I’m an illusion, a torn individual with a charismatic personality.

  And yet, I can’t stop myself from flirting with Rylee, from taking what I so desperately want—one night with her. One night with those light blue eyes staring up at me, seeing the man I wish I was. Someone worthy of her.

  Taking a d
eep breath, I pull my phone from my pocket and dial Cal’s phone number.

  “Beck, how are you?” his gruff voice answers.

  “Good, Cal. How about you?”

  “Doing well. The wife and I are about to go to dinner.”

  “Ah, sorry about interrupting. I wanted to give you a quick call before I head to the wedding.”

  “Yes, I meant to text you earlier. Sorry about that. How are you feeling?”

  I nod even though he can’t see me. “I feel confident, in control. I’m going with a girl I met here.”

  “Is that so? Having a little bit of fun on the island?” His jovial tone is different from his normal straight-to-business attitude, and I like it. He almost seems like a friend right now rather than a guardian angel. And yes, I truly believe Cal is my guardian angel. Without him in my life . . . No, don’t go there.

  Chuckling, I shift on my feet, head tilted down. “Just a little. But I wanted to let you know I’m feeling good and will be drinking water the entire night.”

  “That’s good. Have you had any cravings since you’ve been down there?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “None, I truly think I’ve put drinking behind me.”

  “You might think that, but the craving will always be there, even if it’s buried deep within you right now, it will always be there. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir,” I answer, hearing the toughness in his voice once again.

  “Okay, have fun tonight, and if you need me, you know how to reach me.”

  We say our goodbyes and I stuff my phone in my back pocket. I adjust my waistline and belt and roll up my sleeves, because keeping them down was a joke. I check the time and see that we have about half an hour before the ceremony, and it will take ten minutes to walk to the venue. It’s time to pick up my date.

  With a deep breath, I walk out of my room and take the few steps to Rylee’s where I knock on the door and stick my hands in my pockets while I wait for her to answer.

  From the other side of the door, I hear her moving around the room, and I can also hear the slew of curse words popping out of her mouth after there’s a clunk on the floor. My lips turn up in time for Rylee to open the door.

  Holy . . .

  Shit . . .

  She looks . . .

  This is going to be one hell of a night.

  She’s dressed in a teal low-cut dress that drops to her feet with a killer slit kissing her panty line. From beneath the slit, there’s a line of lace that matches the dress color, which I can only assume is her underwear. It must be a whole ensemble because it matches perfectly. I’m growing harder by the second.

  Her hair is curled in light waves and half up and half down. There is a white flower behind one of her ears, and she lined her eyes with black, making them bluer than I’ve ever seen.

  Fuck me.

  She looks like some exotic island princess, and it’s making it very hard to remember what the hell we’re about to do, because all I want to do is back her up into her hotel room and lick every damn inch of her body.

  “Hey, I dropped my clutch. That’s why it took me so long to answer. Are you ready to go?” She looks me over and casually licks her lips, not hiding her feelings at all. It’s refreshing coming from her. “You look good, Beck.”

  I don’t say anything. Instead, I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her in close. I place a very gentle kiss on her lips, a whisper of a touch. I needed one small taste, something to get me through the night without losing my goddamn mind over this woman.

  When I pull away, I rest my forehead on hers. “Fuck, Rylee, you look stunning.”

  “Really?” Her voice is small. How the fuck can she not know? She’s . . . there are no words, but fuck. How can she question this?

  “Yes, so fucking beautiful, you’re making it hard on me here. I want to take you to this wedding, fulfill the wedding crashing promise we have, but damn it, all I want to do is peel this dress off your sexy body and fuck you on every surface of your hotel room.”

  Her breath catches in her throat, and she takes a deep breath. “I, uh, I got the dress from Macy’s.”

  And once again, she has me laughing from the pit of my stomach. I shake my head and give her one more chaste kiss before pulling away and sliding my hand into hers.

  “You really know how to make a man feel good about the compliments he’s handing out.”

  We walk hand in hand down the steps of the hotel and onto the street toward Whitehead Street. “Telling a girl you want to fuck her all over a hotel room is hardly a compliment.”

  I pull her close and nuzzle into her ear as we walk. “Then clearly you’ve been hanging around the wrong men. Stick with me, Saucy. I’ll show you what it’s like to be worshipped.”

  A gorgeous smile passes over her lips while she continues to move forward. Maybe, just maybe, she’ll be mine all through the night.

  I sure as fuck hope so.

  She’s incredibly beautiful,” Rylee says, her eyes full of hearts.

  Normally I wouldn’t be so affected by a wedding, especially since I have a failed marriage under my belt, but the newlyweds were so prolific in their vows and so honest. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man stand up in front of a large group of people and proclaim his love like that for a woman he so passionately and desperately needs in his life. It was heart-warming, and it made me want to fist bump the fuck out of that guy. He spoke pure poetry to his new bride and even shed a tear.

  He’s in love. He has the type of love I’ve never shared with another soul, certainly not Christine.

  At first, I thought I had that kind of love with her. We were high school sweethearts, after all. But it didn’t take long to work out that’s all we really were, and when reality struck, we realized we got married way too early; we went down a treacherous path that carved our tumultuous and rocky future.

  But it was refreshing to see love at its finest and truest form. It gave me hope, not for me, but for future generations.

  “That was a truly touching ceremony,” I say honestly.

  “It really was.” Rylee pulls her phone from her clutch and starts typing away. Curious, I look over her shoulder and see that she’s typing in her notes app.

  “Attention, everyone. The bride and the groom would like to invite you to cocktail hour while they take pictures. Drinks and appetizers are being served over by the pool. Please join us.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Zoey says, dragging Art along with her.

  “I smell beef,” Chris says, his nose leading the way with Justine trailing behind.

  Victoria takes a look at her watch and says, “I’m going to head back to the hotel. You’re not going to ditch my friend, are you?”

  I shake my head. “I’m stuck to her all night, don’t worry.”

  Victoria gives me a curt nod before taking off, leaving me alone with a typing Rylee. I wait a few minutes before I finally ask, “Are you writing your novel over there on your phone?”

  She doesn’t answer me.

  So this time, I poke her. “Hey, do you want a drink?”

  Nothing, just more typing, her fingers moving a mile a minute.

  “Yeah, beautiful night. The sky is so clear, I agree.”

  Nothing.

  “Planned on fucking you against the window of my hotel room tonight. I keep picturing your tits pressed against the sliding glass door as I enter you from behind.”

  Type. Type. Type.

  I lean forward now, my scruff tickling her jaw. “I’ve thought about it ever since I met you. I got off from the image in my mind this afternoon while in the shower.”

  Type. Type. Type.

  Oookay.

  Getting closer, I pull her earlobe into my mouth and nibble on it before saying, “If you don’t acknowledge me in the next few seconds, I’m bending you over these reception chairs and spanking that sweet ass of yours until you cry out in pleasure.”

  Her body goes stiff when my hand slides up the slit of her dress.
br />   “What’s going on?” She truly sounds clueless.

  “Uh, have you not heard anything I’ve said to you?”

  “What? No, sorry.” She types a few more things and then sticks her phone in her purse, giving me all her attention. “I had the most brilliant idea and wanted to make sure I got it all down.” She links her hand with mine, and I welcome the warm connection. “What were you saying?”

  I shake my head and lead her toward the pool where the food and drinks are. “Nothing, you’ll just be surprised tonight.” We pass a few servers handing out pre-made drinks, but I bypass them and take Rylee straight to the bar. “What would you like?”

  She looks over the selection. “Hmm, how about a rum punch?”

  Signaling to the bartender, I say, “Can I get a rum punch and a water?”

  When I turn back toward Rylee, her brow is pulled together. “Why aren’t you getting a drink?”

  It’s a question I get asked whenever I’m around people who don’t know my situation. Adults drink socially, that’s what we do, and it looks odd, especially at an event like this, when you’re holding a glass of ice water rather than a glass of alcohol. I get it, and honestly, I’m not mad about it. I was the one who dug this grave and have to sleep in it.

  “I don’t drink.” I keep my answer simple, short, and to the point, trying not to open up the floodgates for other questions.

  But when you’re hanging out with a creative mind, it doesn’t seem as easy to move past what I don’t want to talk about.

  “You don’t drink? But, haven’t you had a drink since we’ve hung out?” I shake my head. I would have remembered that drink, because it would have been eight hard years going right down the drain.

  “Nope, always water. It’s all I drink besides coffee in the morning and an occasional soda, but that’s rare. I think this afternoon was the first time in a few months I had a soda.”

  “Really? Wow. Is it because you’re a health nut or something?”

  Clearing my throat, I answer, “Something like that,” just as our drinks are put on the bar counter. I toss a tip in the jar in front of me and hand Rylee her drink.