Page 1 of Spinning Out Of Control

PROLOGUE - KIRA

I feel him before I see him. Like a cool breeze on the back of my neck that makes the hairs on my arms stand up.

Twisting my hands in my lap, I try to keep my focus on the scene in front of me, where my best friend is draped in a beautiful white dress and marrying the love of her life. But focus is impossible when those eyes–so icy blue they’re almost white–burn into my skin every time he looks at me.

From the corner of my eye, I spot him. His chiseled jaw, practically sculpted from marble and covered in a dusting of salt and pepper hair, a full shade lighter than the hair on his head. He should be looking forward, like everyone else. He should be watching as the bride and groom say their vows and promise to love one another forever. But it doesn’t matter. Just like all those other times, Sexy Silver Fox’s gaze is focused solely on me.

For months, he’s been there in my peripheral vision. The night James proposed to Georgie. The engagement party, the rehearsal dinner–even the last-hurrah drinks at a swanky bar downtown last night–he was there, looking at me while I tried my hardest not to look back at him.

But my resolve is getting weaker with every passing second. He’s everything I shouldn’t want. He’s every mistake I’ve already made once and vowed to never make again.

I clasp my hands in my lap, trying to tamp down my desire and focus on my friends at the altar, but I can’t stop my mind from wandering…

He’s a bad idea.

Maybe if it’s just one night…

No phone numbers. No promises of tomorrow. No giving too much of myself away in search of a release…

Fuck it. I’m going in.

1

WARREN

My god, I really hate weddings.

It’s not the ‘promising eternal love’ that I can’t stand, though I suppose it would be on brand for a man like me to hate weddings for some stereotypical reason. Like maybe if I were someone who genuinely enjoyed playing the field and sowing my oats all over town. Or even if I was a commitment-phobe with deep-seated mommy issues, then my disdain for weddings would be more palatable, or at the very least, more understandable.

But those things don’t ring true for me. I’m not the guy who swears he’ll never settle down while making tacky ball-and-chain jokes during cocktail hour. My dislike for this specific kind of affair is simple.

Weddings are a masterclass in reminding a person that they are utterly alone, and every other person in the room knows it, too.

Even if you bring a date, it's impossible to ignore the 'when are you going to settle down?' or the 'hey, the right person is just around the corner!' placating from well-meaning acquaintances and strangers alike. It's not like I can blurt out “I’m not dating anyone because the only person who’s piqued my interest for far too long is twenty years younger than me and so far out of my league, we don't even exist in the same universe!”

These days, I only RSVP ‘yes’ to someone’s wedding when decorum and common human decency requires it. Unfortunately for me, common human decency stepped up and overrode my desire to sit on my couch and watch competitive baking shows. A long-time colleague and friend of mine—someone who, just a few short years ago actuallywasthe stereotypical, perpetually single rich bachelor—was married tonight under the setting San Francisco sun. I was determined to be a stoic crab during the ceremony, but when James Adler turned to see his bride coming down the aisle and ran to meet her halfway with a searing kiss, my emotional walls came crumbling down. I've known the man for nearly a decade and seeing that emotionally closed off person turn into a sack of goo for the woman he loves had me sniffling and trying to play it off like I'd caught a bit of dust in my eye.

Even now, when the dinner plates have been cleared, and the reception has begun in earnest, I can't help the smile on my face as I watch the two lovebirds sing a dorky version of Elvis karaoke on the stage at theedge of the dance floor. I've been to a lot of weddings, and exactly none of them have had karaoke as an entertainment option.

As the groom's sister and sister-in-law sing an out of tune version of Sophie B. Hawkins' “Damn I Wish I Was Your Lover”, two blondes in rose-colored dresses slide up to the bar. Xander the bartender is busy shaking a martini, so the shorter woman with the wild curly hair reaches over the bar top and helps herself to a bottle of champagne. I go perfectly still, like if I don’t make a move, she won’t be able to see me standing here.

"I'm just saying, it's a little old school and not in a cool, retro way," she says as she pops the cork on the bottle of Cristal and winks at Xander. He blushes, clearly charmed by this woman who bypassed his job in her pursuit of booze. I can't say I blame him. Her aura is nothing short of enchanting.

"No one said you have to go up there and sing, Keeks," her friend says as she takes the bottle and tilts it to her lips.

"Oh no, not singing would be against The Pussy Posse Code of Conduct. If one of us publicly humiliates ourselves, we must all publicly humiliate ourselves. It's part of the blood oath you all signed when I started the group chat."

The women laugh as they walk away, and I stand like a stunned trapped animal. I’m unable to move, to think, to fucking breathe. I've found myself in close proximity with that little loud woman a few timesbefore, and every time she’s the same effect on me. One look at Kira McKenna's bouncy blonde curls, her mysterious, stormy gray eyes, and those curvy hips and toned legs that go one for miles and I'm no better than a frightened mouse in front of a hungry tomcat.

This is simply ridiculous. I am not a shy person. I am suave. I am debonair. I once asked Jennifer Aniston out on a date in Cannes, for fuck’s sake.

She said no, but that’s neither here nor there.

There is no reason for me to find myself tongue-tied in front of a gorgeous woman.

And yet, each time I’ve found myself in Kira’s presence, I’m frozen. So instead of letting on that I’m an awestruck fool, I act indifferent and hope that no one catches on to the glances I sneak in her direction.

Feigning a lack of interest in Kira McKenna is a skill that I have honed to near expert-like precision over the last few months, because avoidance is a lot easier than admitting the truth to myself.

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