Page 14 of Bridesmaid to Bride

I’m pretty sure I could get lost in it all.

But then my traitorous brain reminds me: Foster. I’m supposed to be meeting him right now. And with that thought, I lean away, my shoulders sagging. “What if this Foster guy goes running in the other direction the minute he sees me? Dad would be so disappointed.”

“Are you kidding me? Not a chance.” West studies the side of my face. “But we need to get this blob off your ear.”

“Who knew my knight in shining armor would come armed with wet paper towels and bad jokes?”

“Ah, but you forget, m’lady,” he says, “I also come with an endless supply of trivia and a killer recipe for microwave nachos.”

“Stop.” I laugh, rolling my eyes. “You’re ruining my transformation into badass lawyer mode.”

“Never,” he promises, and the sincerity in his voice is my undoing.

I have to stop thinking this way, especially now, as I’m on my way to woo a billionaire… and speaking of that. “So you’ve met Foster. What did you think of him?”

7

The Slick Entrance

WEST

I’m nursing a glass of something fizzy and pretending the bubbles are speaking to me. I’m trying— really trying—not to give Eva that up-and-down look that’ll betray me, but holy hell, she’s lighting up the evening. Sundress hugging her in all the right places, hair flowing down her back like some damn shampoo commercial. And there I was in the bathroom with her, up close, touching and smelling her. And I helped her look like that—for another jackass.

Taking another sip does nothing to cool me off. It’s not just the way that dress clings to her curves or how her laughter tickled the nape of my neck in that bathroom—it’s the fact that I know that inside, she’s as beautiful as she is on the outside. I know, corny as shit. Again.

I arrived late to this thing after having to shower and change, so I tried to make an invisible entrance. Eva doesn’t see me yet, which is a good thing because I’m checking her out way too hard. So I’m leaning against the bar with all the nonchalance of a guy who didn’t just have to jerk off in the shower after our nothing-burger encounter.

Then there’s Foster, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Lawyer. When she asked what I thought about him, I froze. I don’t like the dude, but it’s not my place to say. I just told her I could tell her dad really liked him. And right now, Foster’s got her full attention. He’s all pearly whites and designer everything as he—

Shit. There goes that head tilt of hers—the one that should come with a warning label. Her laugh rings out, clear and melodic, and I swear it’s got an invisible string attached to my dick. But she’s eating up Foster’s attention, and why wouldn’t she? The guy’s smooth.

And here I am, computer scientist dude, wishing I could telepathically inform her that Foster’s charm is kiddie pool deep. Instead, I resort to taking another gulp of my fizzy friend, letting the carbonation sting the back of my throat—a cheap substitute for the burn of jealousy.

“Oh my God. West Quinn!” I hear from the beach, and I turn my head and wave to a group of women in bikinis.

“Can we get a picture with you?” one says.

My spirits lift, and I head over to the railing. “Of course.”

After they stand around me and get someone to snap a set of pictures, they thank me, and one adds, “We all voted for you to be the next Groomsman to Groom!”

“Thank you so much—fingers crossed!” Admittedly, my balls just grew a bit. I grab my phone and head to the Groomsman to Groom website to check my stats, finding that I have over twenty-thousand votes. Yow! That’s awesome!

Then I scroll to the comments section, where I read:

BlueVineHighAlum: I can’t believe Weirdo West might get his own show. GROSS!

My mood plummets like cement in water. Really? Someone from my high school had to come and comment bomb me with that fucking high school nickname? That thing’s going to haunt me forever.

Focus, West. I put my phone to sleep and push the comment out of my mind. Weirdo West was years ago, and that dork isn’t me anymore. The new West is having a night in the high-society jungle, and I’ve got to look smooth for the cameras. I push away the old wound and move closer to a group of women and, coincidentally, Foster and Eva. I’m almost ready to work the room—as soon as this drink kicks in.

“Did you ever try that pastrami sandwich at Katz’s?” Foster asks, his voice oozing New Yorkness.

“Only every time I crave a taste of heaven.” Eva’s laugh is breezy. “So how was golf today?”

Foster leans back like a man whose ego has its own zip code. “It started a bit rough. But I made a decent comeback—the story of my life.”

“Is that right?” Eva’s eyebrows rise.

---