Page 6 of That Time I Kissed The Groomsman Grump
He didn’t used to be like that. And I’m not talking about the swirl. I’m talking about the mood. Brady Graham used to be fun. Andfunny, which is even better. Being funny is my favorite of all the things a person can be. You have to be smart to be genuinely funny, otherwise you’re laughing at a person, not with them.
As if he can sense a disturbance in the force—him being the force, me being the disturbance—Brady slowly turns, and we lock eyes. My emotions immediately run the gamut. On the one hand, I’m confused. Why isn’t my brother picking me up? I swallow a twinge of disappointment, wishing Beau prioritized me more. But at the same time, my insides go all fluttery over seeing Brady again after six months.
While I stand frozen in place, he starts trudging toward me. Considering one of my main goals was to spend as little time as possible with him this week, this could be a problem. A big, broad, swirly, moody problem.
Still, my job as maid of honor is to sprinkle sunshine all over Kasey’s wedding, and I can’t let Mr. Moody bring me down. If I have to start now—a little earlier than I’d planned—I can kill Brady Graham with kindness. I just wish the man looked a little more likeThe Nightmare Before Christmastoo.
Instead, his jeans are slung low on his hips in a way that absolutely screams sexy. A clean, white T-shirt is stretched across his chest. His very well-muscled chest. In the airport lighting, his auburn hair is dark enough to be mistaken for brown. It’s swooped off his forehead with bangs falling on either side like he just raked his fingers through it.
He furrows his brow, and his usually blue eyes are a clouded gray. An overcast sky at dusk. I take an involuntary step backward. All around us, the space buzzes with the hum of travelers.
“Well, this is unexpected,” I chirp, tryingnotto sound confused, disappointed,orfluttery. Especially not fluttery. “Where’s my brother?”
Brady’s mouth tightens. “He said he was going to text you.”
“He probably tried. My phone died.”
“Right.” Brady bobs his head, and my stomach twists.
Don’t let him see that he gets to you. “So where did you say Beau is?” I paste on a smile.
“I didn’t.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Kasey needed him, so he asked me to pick up the slack.”
I smile even bigger. “Does that make me the slack?”
“That’s not what I said.” Brady’s gaze sweeps downward, taking in my hoodie and leggings. When his roaming eyes land on mine again, my cheeks flush. I wish the man didn’t have that effect on me, but apparently my cheeks don’t care about my wishes.
“Anyway, thanks for picking me up.” I hoist my purse higher on my shoulder.
“You’re welcome.” He glances at his phone. “But we really should get going.”
I nod at the luggage claim carousel. “I just need to wait for my bag.”
“You checked a bag?” Brady furrows his brow. “I figured all you need in LA is a bikini and flip-flops.”
My smile finally falters, but I haul it back up again. “First of all, a flight attendant forced me to check my carry-on. And California has more than beaches. There are mountains too. They say you can ski and surf in the same day.”
He frowns. “You surf?”
“No,” I say. “But I’m sure someone can teach me.”
“Yeah.” He drops his eyes. “I’ll bet.”
“Either way, I wear one-piece bathing suits.” I shrug. “They leave more to the imagination.”
Brady lifts his gaze. “Good to know.”
Ugh. My face starts flaming. Why did I mention any kind of bathing suit? I feel practically naked in the middle of the airport now, so I tug my purse even higher on my shoulder like that might give me some kind of coverage.
Don’t make this even more uncomfortable than it already is, Nat.
“Anyway,” I say, just as the baggage claims carousel rumbles to life. “Hopefully my bag will be first.”
“Fingers crossed,” Brady says under his breath. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, and his jeans are slung even lower than before. But I’m not thinking about Brady’s hips. Or the way his thighs fill out those pant legs. Or the curve of his mouth when he—
Stop it, Nat.
We’re both quiet now, standing beside one another, shifting our weight. As more luggage comes down the chute, winding slowly around the crowded claims area like an endless snake of black suitcases, people crane their necks trying to figure out which bags are theirs.
