Page 10 of Icing the Enemy

A warmth wanders over my skin, yet it still prickles at his compliment. I glance into my makeup bag, grab the lipstick, attempting to mask the heat in my cheeks. He watches intently while I spread the deep red, matte stain and pop my lips.

“I’m ready. Oh wait. I don’t have any shoes.”

“Just wear your sandals or tennis shoes.” He pauses. “I promise not one single person will be looking at your feet when those eyes are so wickedly beautiful.”

Rewarding Corbin with a close-lipped smile, I slip my feet into my white flat tennis shoes and put Dixie in her kennel. “I’ll be back to check on you soon.”

Dixie’s used to being kenneled so she goes in easily without barking or whining. Corbin extends his arm, leading us out and down to the elevator. We take it to the Skyloft. The music is already playing. The bride is in front of us, getting ready to make her grand entrance.

Corbin leans over and asks, “Should we wait here or go on the other side?”

“No, let’s wait here. I don’t want to miss the groom’s reaction to seeing her.” Her wedding gown resembles one I’ve seen in an haute couture bridal magazine at our shop. I catch a glimpse of the front as she turns to kiss her dad. An A-line skirt and fittedbodice with a bateau neckline. The epitome of simple, timeless elegance.

The bride mouths to Corbin, “Glad you made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Ave Mariasounds, and the intricate metal doors open to the ceremony. She slowly walks down the aisle and finally, I see the groom with a baby in his arms and a little girl in front of him. With one hand, he wipes tears from his eyes.

God, I want a man like that when I grow up. Twenty-one is too young to get married, even if my trust fund requires it. I’m going to keep living my life. It’s not all bad.

Her dad kisses her on the cheek when the officiant says, “You may be seated.” And we sneak into the first available seats.

The ceremony passes in a flash. “I pronounce Bryce and Emmaline husband and wife.”

The guests cheer as Emmaline jumps into his arms, and he takes her mouth to his. It’s more than a peck, and she’s fifty shades of red when her feet float back to the ground.

“I present Mr. and Mrs. Bryce Wynward. Guests, please join us for cocktail hour on the south patio.”

After the small wedding party exits, we head to the south patio. Since we were in the back, we’re the first ones at the bar.

“Have you ever wondered why they call it cocktail hour? Because there’s lots of cock and tail?” Laughter explodes from my body before the words are all the way out.

Corbin chuckles. “She’ll have water, and I’ll have a beer.”

I smack him on the arm. “I’ll have a glass of… wine.”

“Chardonnay?” the bartender asks, obviously amused by me not succumbing to Corbin’s request.

“Sure.”

I don’t drink much and definitely not bottled wine with a cork. The box with a spout is more my speed—a cheap rosé.

Corbin hands it to me and puts a twenty-dollar bill in the tip jar. He takes out his phone and types something in.

“That’s rude.”

His eyes lift to mine. “Just finding an answer to your question. It says in the etymology dictionary that the word cocktail comes from a French word that was mispronounced and in English was pronounced ascocktayand eventually, it became cocktail.”

“So, it has nothing to do with all the …”

“No, I don’t think it does,” he says, clearly amused, as he takes a drink and watches me sip my wine. Damn, this is good and smooth. Wine has never tasted this good.

His friends swarm us. “Shearer, it’s not like you to be late, but I can see why.” He gives me an appreciative smile. “I’m Daniel Flynn.”

Corbin rolls his eyes. “Oakley, Flynn is a former college teammate.”

“And don’t forget, head coach of Bellevue College,” his friend adds.

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