Page 28 of Champagne Fizz

“It’s not about picking sides,” Simon replies.

“Simon can also twist Arie’s arm too,” Mason reveals, to which Simon raises his glass again to point out he’s not completely useless.

“You,” I point at Mason. “Are surprisingly helpful.”

“Why does that have to be surprising?” Mason asks as if I’ve insulted him instead of giving him a compliment.

“Look at that,” Simon says smugly, catching my elbow and motioning for me to sit back down. “You have a plan now.”

“Right,” I snap. “Gang up on her. Brilliant. You, Connor, Mason, Ned. I just need a reverse harem of man power in my corner and we can beat her into submission.”

“Reverse harems and submission!” Mason nods his head in approval. “I’m digging you, lesbian wedding planner with the good tits.”

“Mason.” Simon shakes his head. “Go make our drinks.”

“I still don’t know what your angle is,” Mason says, pointing back at Simon. “You’re obviously not getting into Good Tits’ pants.”

“Amen,” I say, turning to Simon as I echo Mason’s sentiment.

“This is a business meeting,” Simon defends, taking another gulp of his water. “And last I checked, you were wearing a dress.” He winks at me over the semantics of getting into skirts versus getting into pants like this whole evening went exactly as planned. I almost growl at him out of frustration, except Lady Lada is thrumming with excitement. She’s completely smitten and more than happy for him to get into this skirt—stat!

Which is my cue.

“I need to use the restroom,” I say, removing Simon’s fingers from my elbow. Fingers I wouldn’t mind under my skirts and—

Ahem!

“Restroom?” I ask Mason and he points toward the back. I don’t know what stops me from saying IBS to Simon and nipping this in the bud. I should. That would be the right decision.

Simon’s absolutely infuriating, and annoying, and pushing all my buttons.

Especially this one button.

The button screaming at me to make it to the bathroom before a flood of heat crashes through my skin like a wave against the shore. I wasn’t even imagining him naked or between my legs. We were just arguing! Flirt-arguing, but still, I should have more control.

Even Sue Blade says that being a control freak can be a detriment to your business and your creativity. Even Sue Blade says that sometimes you should let go and give in.

I burst into the bathroom and lock the door behind me—thanking the stars it’s empty. A wicked moan erupts from my throat and I have to press my mouth into my arm to muffle the sound as pleasure bowls me over. Heat lashes between my legs, making me gasp, sharp and fast.

Oh glory—

And starbursts—

And holy sweet ice cream!

I pant against my arm as the ripples of sensation bleat down my thighs.

I should feel relieved when the sensations dissipate, except Lady Lada clenches like that was a lame echo of what the real thing would be like: to have Simon behind me with his pants at his ankles, my skirt at my hips, his skin slapping against mine as I quiver around his luau pole.

Just thinking about him has me hot again, and I know if he was actually inside me I’d be coming again and again and again.

I’d probably pass out from lack of oxygen.

Too much of a good thing can turn rotten like too much candy making your mouth raw with sweetness.

I lean against the sink and moan, angry at how badly my body wants him, and maybe just as angry that I didn’t pull Simon into this bathroom with me and demand he top the Guinness Book of World Records for consecutive orgasms given.

I’m going to have to take a tranquilizer to make it through this wedding.

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