Page 75 of Burn

“Right, sorry. Only Blake calls you Morgan. I’ll try to remember.” He squeezes her arm, then turns and steps back tothe altar. Four men stand to his right, and the guy beside him also looks familiar. His hair is slightly darker than Charlie’s, he’s a bit taller, and there’s a toughness to him, amplified by a boxer’s nose and a thick, jagged scar that runs from his eyebrow, across his temple.

Where the hell do I know him from?

Lex nudges me with her elbow, “You okay?” she whispers as music starts to play.

I nod, but I don’t break my stare. The last bridesmaid is stepping into place when he turns to look at Charlie and notices me. He offers me a curt nod before returning his attention to the aisle.

“Family and friends, please rise for the entrance of the bride,” the old priest says in a shaky voice.

Nearly sixty painful, tear-laden minutes later, I’m released to the cocktail hour.

“Mind if we steal her for photos?” Blake asks in a blissed-out tone. “She was supposed to be in the wedding party, but with the fire, we figured…”

“Of course,” I smile, then shift my attention to Lex. “I’ll be near the bar when you’re done.” I point at a tall table. “That table, right there.”

By the look on her face, I know she’s thankful to know where I’ll be waiting. Blake grabs her hand, pulling her away. She keeps her eyes locked on mine until they round a corner. Only then do I turn and walk up to the bar. The cater staff are a far cry from the usual bartenders back home, dressed in black pants, white shirts, black vests, and a tie. The girl who approaches me looks barely of voting age, and her voice is high when she asks, “Do you want the bride’s or groom’s cocktail?”

“I’ll take a beer, please.”

She points to a sign on the bar. “We’re only serving their signature cocktails right now.”

I lean to get a better look, making a face when I read the options.Blushing Bride Punch -a mixture of prosecco, peach schnapps, cranberry juice, and Sprite, served with a glittering straw. Alternatively,The Groomzilla -a mix of vanilla vodka, Irish cream, chocolate syrup, and heavy cream, with a rim of crushed Oreos.

“You can’t be serious,” I deadpan.

Her eyes shift, looking for someone to rescue her. I lean into the bar, flashing her the most charming smile I can muster. My eyes drop to her name badge. Leah.

“Leah,” my voice is a low purr. “If I drink either of those, someone is gonna need to clean up my puke. Do me a solid and find me a beer. Any beer. I’m begging you.”

Her cheeks flush, and this time when she looks around, I know she’s ensuring no one will see the beer she pulls from the cooler.

“Just one, and you didn’t get it from me.” She blushes and chews on her bottom lip.

I take the bottle and slide a twenty across the bar.

“Thank you, Leah,” I say as I wink at her.

I walk to the high table and lean into it, sipping the icy beer as I scan the crowd. Small groups of people cluster together, and even removed, I can tell these people don’t give a shit about anyone besides themselves. They laugh too loud, touch too much. Now and then, I feel someone’s eyes on me, but I ignore them, waiting for my girl to return.

The afternoon sun is sinking toward the horizon when a man stands on a chair and yells, “Everyone can come inside and take a seat. We’re going to serve dinner.”

The crowd filters inside, and I look around for Lex. I drink the last of my beer but stay rooted to my spot. Another young waiter approaches me and says, “Hey, man. You need to go inside now.”

“No,” I say in a low, commanding voice.

The kid looks ready to shit himself, and his voice is less steady when he replies, “They’re going to introduce the wedding party. They told us to make sure everyone is seated inside.”

I turn to face him, standing to my full height. He blanches as he stares up at me. I’m about to get really irritated with him when two hands slide around me, a nearly empty champagne flute in one. Lex’s voice is warm butter when she says, “Easy, tiger. Let’s go sit down.”

The kid scurries away, and I turn to face her. She’s flushed, and her eyes are so vibrant and sparkly. When we make eye contact, she laughs. It’s light, silly, and I think this girl is tipsy. I reach for the glass in her hand and drain the last sip. Her mouth drops open into a perfect little O of mock betrayal, and I bite back a grin.

“That was mine!” she gasps.

A silent chuckle shakes my chest, and I lean down, pressing a kiss to her mouth, tasting the notes of champagne on her tongue. She exhales, a long, soulful sound that washes over me. I move back, ending the kiss. Her eyes stay closed.

Oh yeah, she’s buzzed and so cute like this.

“Come on, Donnelly. Let’s go meet the sharks,” I say, pulling her toward the doors.

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