Page 32 of Best Hex Ever
“I’ve been asked to let you both know that the party will now be retiring to the Western Parlor,” he said shortly, then vanished back inside.
“Are you ready to go in?” her mother asked.
“Yes, I’ll be okay.”
“I know it’s a lot, when you find someone like that it…feels scary. Like all your walls are collapsing.”
“Mama, this isn’t about Scott,” Dina replied. She was almost sure she was telling the truth.
“Of course it isn’t.” Nour threw Dina a wink over her shoulder then strutted back inside.
Dina took a moment more outside in the moonlight until her heart settled back into a calm rhythm. She looked up at the moon. “This weekend isn’t about me, or my baggage. It’s about Immy and Eric.”
Dina knew that this apprehension in her gut would melt away the moment she fell into conversation with her best friends, so she stopped dallying and stepped into the warmth of the house.
She followed the sound of laughter and clinking glasses to what she presumed must be the Western Parlor. The wedding group had thinned significantly. Eric’s parents, and Scott’s mums—along with a sleepy Juniper who had snored through the entire three-course meal—seemed to have taken their leave for the evening.
Immy’s writer friends were curled up beside a tall mahogany bookcase, and Dina heard snippets of their conversation, the words “Lovecraft” and “massive racist” being the more notable ones.
She smiled over at Rosemary but decided to leave them to it. Immy and Eric were sitting beside each other in front of a grand fireplace. Immy had kicked off her high heels and was toasting her feet beside the glowing hearth.
“Dina, come sit here!” Immy squeaked, beckoning her over. Scott, who was sitting on another sofa in conversation with Eric, looked in her direction, his gaze roving up and down. Dina offered him a smile and plonked herself down beside him, kicking off her heels.
“Mulled wine? Or is it too soon?” Scott asked, proffering a steaming jug scented with clove and other delicious spices. He’d taken off his suit jacket and uncuffed his wrists, offering a peek of the tattoos underneath. It was alarmingly sexy.
She flushed with embarrassment, remembering the way she’d fallen asleep in his arms.
“There are soft drinks too, or tea?” Scott offered.
“She’s just being difficult. Dina loves mulled wine,” Immy remarked.
“Fine, I’ll have some. But only because the bride says so.”
Chuckling, Scott poured from the jug and handed Dina an extravagant-looking crystal goblet of mulled wine, complete with cinnamon stick and floating star anise.
“You know,” Dina began, struck by a sudden flirtatiousness that had absolutely nothing to do with Scott’s sexy forearms, “they say that star anise is an aphrodisiac.”
Eric tipped his head back and let out a belly laugh.
“That’s not a problem for our man Scott. What was the nickname those ladies at the rowing club gave you? The full eight?”
“What does that mean?” Immy asked. Scott was rolling his eyes so far that Dina thought they would fall into the back of his head.
“In rowing, the eight is the biggest boat,” Eric explained. “And you have to remember we wore these tiny little Lycra all-in-ones that didn’t exactly leave anything to the imagination. So Scott became rather famous—or should I say infamous—for his, um, pronounced package.”
Dina squirmed involuntarily in her seat as desire lit her on fire.
“The full eight, huh,” she said, surprised at the huskiness in her voice.
Scott angled his face toward hers, and it sent a new ripple of heat over her skin.
“Eric is being hyperbolic.”
“No, I am being complimentary,” Eric countered, giving his best man a loaded look. There was some strong wingman action going on tonight, Dina thought to herself.
“And did you get to wear this tiny little Lycra thing too?” Immy asked her fiancé.
“I sure did.” Dina saw the want in her friend’s glance as the pair practically eye-fucked each other.
