Page 21 of Bedding The Best Man (Bedding the Bachelors)

The first thing that struck him was the clutter. It seemed that every square inch of available space not used for sitting was covered with stuff. As Bri ungracefully kicked off her shoes in the middle of the living room, he walked over to a low, modern-style coffee table to check out what all the strange objects were. In a million years, he never would have guessed her secret obsession.

Ashtrays. Every flat surface was packed with ashtrays. Round ones, square ones, glass ones, plastic ones, metal ones, some shaped like animals, freestanding ones, ceramic ones—every possible kind of ashtray he could imagine, Bri had it in her apartment.

If he hadn’t already been hopelessly in love with her, he knew that this strange eccentricity would have been enough to push him over the edge. But that ship had sailed long ago. She unknowingly held his heart and always would.

“What the hell, Bri?” he asked, before he could stop himself. “You don’t even smoke.”

She giggled and walked over to a console table, picking one up. It was small and white, with a gold rim around the edge. The two “G’s” emblazoned on the center were familiar.

“You like my crazy collection?” she asked, with a proud smile. “This one is a vintage Gucci ashtray from the nineteen-seventies. It was five-hundred dollars. I bought it on eBay,” she said, then hiccupped. She placed it back on the table with great care then stumbled to the kitchen and picked up another one. It was a hula girl in a grass skirt holding half of a coconut, and her dark porcelain hair had a chip missing. “This is one of my favorites—I call her Leena. I got her at a flea market in Santa Monica.”

He picked up a square crystal ashtray off the coffee table, emblazoned with “Disneyland Hotel,” in sixties-era lettering. When he realized his jaw was gaping open, he snapped his mouth shut.

“Good Lord, Bri,” he breathed, overcome by…what? Awe? Confusion? Admiration? He had to admit, anyone who had clearly put so much time and effort into collecting something was dedicated—if not a little wacky.

“I know, it’s weird,” she said, putting the hula girl back down. “But I think they’re so cool. Nobody makes ashtrays anymore. It’s a lost art. These used to be everywhere, and nobody thought twice about it. An ashtray was as necessary as a toilet or a coffee cup. And now, nada.”

“Nada,” he repeated, putting the Disneyland ashtray down.

“You don’t find them anywhere, so I like to think of it as preserving a little bit of Americana,” she said, starting to pull her hair out of its loose knot on top of her head.

“Well, that’s very interesting,” he said, at something of a loss for words.

She yawned dramatically, stretching her arms over her head, her halter top hitching up to reveal a little bit of her flat stomach.

“All right, you need rest,” he said, crossing the room to where she stood. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he gently turned her around and guided her to the hall that he figured led to her bedroom.

He marched her down the hallway, and tried doors until he found the right one, opposite the bathroom. Unlike the rest of the apartment, this room was immaculate. Her queen-sized bed was neatly made with a cozy-looking quilt. The surfaces were neatly arranged, and a huge cabinet stood on one wall. Filled with even more of her damned ashtrays.

Shaking his head with a smile, he led her over to the bed and started to flip back the quilt.

“Mm,” she said, almost asleep on her feet. “I am so tired.”

“I’ll bet, babe,” he said tolerantly, arranging the pillows for her. For a split second he panicked, wondering if he should try to get her into pajamas, and then decided to skip that as much for his own sanity as for her modesty.

Bri sat down heavily on the bed and smiled up at him, her eyes squinty. Then she flopped backward, and he tried to help her get her head on the pillows and her feet under the covers. He pulled the quilt up and tucked it around her, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder. His instinct was to kiss her on the cheek, but he resisted.

“Gabe?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” she said sleepily. Her eyes closed, and she curled into the pillows. “Do you think you could, you know,” she mumbled, “stay with me?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Bri.”

Her eyes fluttered open. “Please? I—I’ve been so lonely. So cold. I just want to feel warm again.”

Gabe swallowed hard. The last thing he should be doing was hopping into bed next to her, even in an innocent way. Looking at her and hearing her soft pleas, however, there was no way he could say no.

He sighed and cursed himself. “Yeah, sure,” he said, quietly, and walked around to the other side of the bed, flipping the light off on his way. He didn’t have to stay long; he could jump up as soon as she was asleep, which, judging by her level of drunkenness and her nap in the car, would be pretty soon. Kicking off his flip flops, he sat down on the opposite side of the bed from her. As he sank into the mattress, he had a horrible revelation.

This was probably Eric’s side. He pushed the thought away and slid over next to her. She’ll be asleep in no time, and you can go as soon as she drifts off, he reminded himself.

Gabe crossed his ankles as Bri snuggled in next to him. He was determined not to get too comfortable, or to let her get comfortable on him, but he couldn’t resist laying a hand on her shoulder. He told himself he was just doing this to be a good friend. Even as he thought it, though, he knew it wasn’t entirely true. To keep himself awake, he started counting ashtrays in the dark. He didn’t even notice when his eyes started to get heavy. Pretty soon, they were closed, his breathing regular as he fell fast asleep.

Chapter Eight

Brianne woke hours before dawn. Her mouth felt as dry as the soles of her shoes, and she tried to pull herself together enough to go in search of a glass of water. She rolled over to find her bed was curiously full. Aghast, she panicked. She had gone out and done what Evie had suggested, and now she had a stranger in her bed, and she had no idea how to get rid of him, or what his name was, or even if she had done anything with him. As she still appeared to be fully dressed, she could hope that nothing much had happened, but she couldn’t be sure.

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