Page 10 of Pin-up Girl

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aubrey

I stood in the middle of my walk-in closet, looking between the dresses and blouses and skirts and trousers…

This shouldn’t be a hard decision. It was likely Clint would be fine if I wore the same thing he saw me in this morning. I should be fine with it.

Instead, I was fighting an internal war, with one side insisting I was getting married for the first time and the other side pointing out this was married in name only. Sure, the whole thing had been my idea, and it was the right decision, but this wasn’t how I saw my wedding happening.

Then again, for a long time when I pictured myself getting married, Deacon was waiting for me by the altar, and there was no fucking way that was going to happen. Even if he abruptly stopped loving the two people he had fallen for, I wasn’t into him. And it wasn’t as if I was holding out to get married at all.

So what did I know about what my wedding should be like?

I called a ceasefire in the mental civil war, and grabbed a button-down top with a cinched waist and a pair of denim capris. I pulled my hair into an updo, securing it with a bow that matched the top. The short sleeves of the top showed off the ink that decorated both my arms, and I loved the contrast of classic-meets-me.

A few hours after agreeing to tie the knot—such cold language for something that should be a warm and loving moment—Clint was in front of my shop in his pick-up.

His Chevy looked like almost every other in town, except that he’d worked with Cash at the automotive shop to do a biodiesel conversion, based on a fuel formula Clint developed.

I didn’t understand all the chemistry behind it, but he did and that was enough for me.

“You ready to do this?” His voice was too bright.

“Absolutely.” Then again, so was mine.

I couldn’t help but study him as I climbed into my seat, despite the fact I’d seen him almost every day for more than half my life. With light brown hair that always looked slightly mussed, framing pale eyes and a solid jaw, he drew the eye immediately. It didn’t hurt that he’d kept in shape, even though he didn’t dance anymore—the man moved with grace and strength. Then again, he did most things that way.

Within a few minutes, he had us on the freeway, heading toward our destination. Salt Lake City was about an hour away, and according to what we’d found online, that was our best bet to get everything done in the same place at the same time.

I didn’t have an issue spending that much time with Clint—he was great company—but today it felt like there was a weak fist around my lungs, squeezing the air out oh so slowly and tortuously.

“You okay?” Clint asked after a bit of silent driving. He brushed a light touch over my hand.

I looked down to see I was clenching my pocketbook so tightly, I’d crunched the corner into a new shape. “Yeah. Fine. Good. I’m good.” I smoothed out the rectangle leather satchel as best I could.

“Having second thoughts?”

“No. Definitely not.” Because this was the right thing to do and an easy solution. A business arrangement between friends. Something Dee needed, and really, she was such a great kid, she deserved the world. “It’s just not how I saw myself getting married, you know?”

“You’ll still have a chance to do it right, when you meet the right person,” he said. “Besides, the perfect wedding doesn’t always mean much.” A sliver of sadness slipped into his words.

“Fair point,” I said.

He and Regina had a fairytale wedding. She came from a wealthy family, they were both members of Ballet West at the time, and that gave her access to an amazing costume designer who made her a literal fairy dress. Gauzy, light, and with flowing wings for a train.

I’d never cared for Regina, she was too much mean girl for me, but I’d always been jealous of the way she looked. She was petite and lithe. Dark hair. Pale skin. Snow White brought to life and given incredible grace.

I was average. Average height. Average weight. Average build. Boring. Blond. A big ass that drew more attention than my face, and no other curves, except when I found a bra that let me pretend I had great cleavage.

Those thoughts wouldn’t serve me today and this wasn’t the time to wallow, so I shoved the negativity aside with the moping about this isn’t how my wedding should go. I was doing a good thing for a good friend.

Sure, I had the Nerd Herd, and my girlfriends were the best. But Clint and I had a different kind of friendship. He’d be my best gay friend, except he wasn’t gay. He was pansexual, and in high school, he got teased a lot about being gay, because he was the only male cheerleader the school ever had until recently.

But like me, he appreciated a gorgeous body and mind, regardless of who wore them.

“Tell me more about what happened with Dee,” I prompted.

I’d done dance once upon a time, and the stresses—both physical and mental—were part of the reason I never pursued it after the drill team in high school. Seeing Dee enjoy the sport was always incredible, because she did seem to enjoy it.

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