Page 23 of Any Cowboy of Mine
When he pulled away, her lips stayed parted, her eyes closed. She was afraid to open them and find that the kiss hadn’t really happened, that it hadn’t been as earth-shatteringly wonderful as it was—better than any kiss her imagination could have drummed up.
“Wow. Um, sorry. I don’t know where that came from,” Brad sputtered. His face was flushed a pale pink, a color that matched the tulle and lace bordering them on all sides, but was much better suited for him than furniture. Sophie brushed one of the warm patches of skin with her thumb and smiled.
“Don’t apologize. Unless you don’t plan on doing it again. Then you can be downright weepy with regret.”
Brad smiled and licked his lips, biting the bottom one in a way that made her want to take him straight away, audience or not. He tucked his finger under her chin and brought her mouth to his again, stopping just before they touched.
“I don’t want to stop, that’s the problem,” he whispered. His warm breath on her lips sent a shiver of desire down her chest, into her abdomen. Her heart beat loudly, but this time she didn’t care about the way it announced her every intention because her hand on Brad’s chest showed their hearts beating in unison.
“Let’s not, then,” she replied, leaning in to close the last of the distance between them. One of his hands still tangled with hers, and the other rested on her thigh, making her very aware of the tiny bit of fabric some might call a dress standing between him and the part of her that wanted him most.
The music stopped abruptly, and the bridal march began, cuing all the guests that it was time to stand and admire the bride. Static grated the recording this far back in the hall and they jumped, both sober with the reminder of why they were there.
Brad held her hand tightly as they both watched the doorway. He stood behind her but close enough that she could now feel his breath on her neck. Goose pimples rose on her skin from her shoulders to her ankles. Brad’s other hand slipped around Sophie’s hip, resting there, his thumb rubbing the small of her back.
She felt safe.
Suddenly, Julia was there in front of them, her father to her left. Even though she didn’t want to be judgmental, Sophie couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under Julia’s eyes, the way her blond curls looked frayed at the ends. Even her arms looked like she’d stopped running, though her tan and her breasts looked the same as when they’d all been in college. She was beautiful, as all brides were and should be, but Sophie could plainly see the sadness captured in her smile.
Brad’s breathing was calm and measured behind her, something Sophie marveled at. She was worried seeing Julia, especially in her wedding gown, would spark Brad’s memories and interest again, but he was resolute as far as she could tell, his fingers rubbing the outsides of hers, interlacing their hands every moment or so. She turned her head to face him, and he pecked her cheek, a gesture that was at once sultry and intimate, like they’d been together years and not minutes.
When she turned back around to the aisle, Julia stared at her, tears built up in the corners of her eyes, her mouth open and chin trembling. Sophie gulped and tried to pull away from Brad’s grasp, but he held her in place. She followed Julia’s gaze to her hip, where Brad’s hand sat like it had been carved out for him. Julia turned forward, and with her right hand, wiped a solitary tear from her cheek. Her steps were hitched, off the cues of the march now.
What was that?
Surely Julia couldn’t begrudge Brad for finding a date—albeit a last minute one—when she was the one who broke off their relationship to be with his best friend. Still, Sophie, a woman who had seen her share of heartache, knew that look. It was the same one she’d had when her father had walked out of their home, his new bride in the car she hadn’t bothered to turn off so he could load his belongings and say goodbye to his daughter. It was the same look she’d had when she’d read the letter of intent from Drew, wishing it was a ring instead.
There was no mistaking it. The bride-to-be was both heartbroken and in love with someone—it just wasn’t the groom.
It seemed she and Julia had something in common after all, and his hands were turning Sophie around for another kiss. Good or bad, this might turn into a night she would never forget.
That was the last thought she had before Brad’s lips found hers again and her mind went blank.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The After-Party
The reception hallsure was ornate. No, that was an understatement. It was lavish, a damn Pinterest event gone wild. He’d never imagined that this small hotel in his even smaller hometown could be done up like this—lilies and peonies hung from the ceiling lights and sprung from vases on each table, neither flower one of Julia’s favorites, interestingly. She was a classic red rose gal and considered all other flowers weeds by comparison.
White lace and satin ribbon were strewn tastefully over every surface, gold accents hidden in the layers, giving the room the impression that royalty might be arriving any moment. With the hired photo booth, gold- and white-themed yard games in the corner of the room, and small, gold float frames with a different photo of Chris and Julia at every place setting, the rest of the event reeked of Julia’s taste. When he first walked in, Sophie on his arm, Brad realized there wasn’t a hint of Chris in the room. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that no matter who the groom was, the hall would be done up in the same way—photo worthy but wholly impersonal.
Most of the photos were from their childhood, time in college, and even early adulthood. Brad had been cropped out of them but had duplicate copies of most of the pictures at home in frames or on his computer. It all served to remind him how inextricably tied he was to the newlyweds. Not that any of it really mattered to him. Honestly, he had other things on his mind.
Like being unable to take his thoughts or hands or eyes off Sophie. The way she moved—to the music, but also to her own rhythm when she walked—had him hypnotized. Her hips made gestures he wanted to reciprocate, if only he could coax his body to move that way. She also had the adorable quirk of throwing her head back in fits of laughter when she was in a group, unabashed and unapologetically loud, then crawling back into herself, hiding her smile behind her palm with flushed cheeks when Brad’s gaze landed on her.
It was like two different people were fighting for dominance beneath Sophie’s skin—a shy, quiet, and thoughtful woman warred against a feisty, gregarious one. Brad imagined that a different man might have a problem with her indecision, but he couldn’t imagine giving up either of the sides he saw in her. To him, she was perfect, caught in the in-between. She was incredible to watch, to touch, but more than any of that, she was incredible to talk to—more so than he’d realized at the bar earlier.
He opened up to her in a way he’d never been able to with other women, Julia included. Part of it was her willingness to share her family history. Though it had broken his heart, it helped put his own life into perspective and trust her in kind. He told her about the farm, that it had been in the family for close to two-hundred years, that it had begun as a homesteaded property his great-great-grandmother had started. He told her how he wished he could buy it from his folks, but as she could probably tell, his mom would be reluctant to sell to him now that there was a disconnect between them. His sister would most likely purchase it for her husband, joining their two farms. While it made him happy knowing he would always be welcome there, it wouldn’t be the same as if he could make the farmhouse his own. He longed to write stories where his writing career had taken off originally, to work the property that had shaped him into the man who stood before her.
By the third song and the end of his first beer, Brad had forgotten all about the reason they were all there. It just felt like a really great first date with a fascinating woman he’d surely ask out again. Sure, he’d been a little uncomfortable watching Julia and Chris say their “I-Dos,” but mostly because Chris was barely able to stand he was so drunk and Julia looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. Even Sophie commented that Julia seemed sad. Even if he hadn’t had the history he shared with Julia, he’d still have been uncomfortable.
He wasn’t the only one either.
His mom had sat ramrod-straight in her chair, a frown on her face when Chris stumbled over his own shoes during the vows. Other guests wore the same pained expressions, whispering incantations at Chris, willing him to sober up and act like the groom he was. That was one role Chris had never been comfortable playing—the sober, responsible one.
Then the preacher had called the bride by her sister’s name. It was a train wreck. Even so, he could sense a tentative optimism from the guests that the reception would be different, and because of that, the room felt lighter.
With the exception of Julia. She still had a look on her face that made it appear she’d stepped in dog poop. He figured only a handful of people in this room knew that was her resting look, one of utter disgust and disappointment at the world around her. After a decade of being on the other end of that look, he knew it was really just a reflection of what Julia thought about herself.
