Page 1 of Baring it All (Men in Charge)

PROLOGUE

ONE WEEK EARLIER

Stormy

“Harder, yes, right there.” I stop in my tracks. I know that voice. Sounds like my best friend is hooking up with one of the groomsmen. Which sucks because I need her. This godawful dress I somehow was roped into wearing at this godawful ceremony, not to mention the godawful amount of people. Attention, good or bad, is not my idea of fun. Three hundred people, mostly Zach’s family, conglomerates, and half the fucking town. Yeah, no freaking thanks. Except I got railroaded by Zach’s mom. A force to be reckoned with, wearing me so far down it was easier to agree than stand my ground.

“Fuck yeah, you like being my dirty little secret, don’t you, Mel.” Ice runs through my veins. I fucking know that voice, too. That voice behind the heavy wooden door, inside this monstrosity of a ceremony location, a freaking clubhouse. I wanted a small intimate wedding with friends and family, one hundred people max. My hand goes to my chest, making sure my heart is still beating. Lucky for me, it is. Unlucky for me, it is too. There’s no way I’m imagining Zach’s voice. I’d know it anywhere on any day of the week. My hand wraps around the silver knob, and I slowly turn the handle, trying to stay as quiet as possible, as if this is a horrible dream and once I open the door, I’ll wake up. Except I know the possibility is moot. This is what horror movies are made of, like the leading character running upstairs instead of out the door when the killer is in the house. Well, look at me, staying rooted in place, opening a door to the scene in front of me. My best friend, or ex-best friend, is currently bent at the waist, maid of honor dress hiked up while my fiancé pistons his hips in and out of her body. Jesus, if this son of a biscuit eater isn’t using a condom, I’m going to strangle him with my bare hands. Though, I’d bet my last dollar he isn’t. Which means my wedding day, a day meant to be happy, is fucking toast. I mean, I’m not expecting it to be Cinderella magnificent, but this, this is the last thing I ever expected.

I could scream, I could cry, I could do both at once, but instead, I take a deep breath and open the door wider, allowing any passersby to get a bird’s eye view of the free porn show, and I top it off even better: I clap. A standing ovation of one. It takes them a moment to realize I’m cheering them on. Mel and Zach stutter in their sexual escapades. “Bravo,” I finally say. My hands come together in a rhythmic applause, repeating it until they get the idea they’re no longer alone.

“It’s not what it looks like.” Zach pulls out of Melanie, sloppily, just as I figured. I’ll be adding a doctor’s appointment along with an STD testing. Yay fucking me.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I’m calm, cool, and collected, almost too tranquil. My namesake is doing nothing for me right now because I should be angry and crying, yet none of those emotions hit me. I’m left feeling upset at myself more than anything. Did my friendship with Melissa mean so little that she’d toss it away after more than twenty years of friendship, for sex with Zach? Zach, who I thought was going to be my end all, be all. Boy, was I wrong. Assuming really does make an ass out of you and me.

“Stormy, please let us explain,” Mel tries to cajole me as if I’m one of her students at the elementary school. I watch as she fixes her dress, so at least I’m no longer seeing her naked ass, and Zach’s either. My eyes close, and I breathe deeply, attempting to figure out what to do next. How am I going to stand in front of three hundred people, tell them the show is over and they missed it in the groom’s dressing room?

“I don’t think there’s much to explain, between Zach saying it’s not what I think and you wanting to explain.” My eyebrows are more than likely touching my hairline with how tight my face feels. “What, did his dick fall into your vag, or should we talk about how you’re so in love with a cheating dirtbag, you’d willingly ruin everything to get what you want?” I see the look in her eyes. This isn’t a quick fling. My idiot best friend is in love with my fiancé. They are both stunned silent, Zach looking everywhere but at me. The horrid dress his mother insisted I wear, the venue she chose, down to the flowers in the reception area, I did it for him, and now look where I am. This was never the wedding I envisioned, and Zach was never the man I was going to live with till the end of time.

“It’s not like that. You have to believe me.” Mel attempts to step toward me. My hand flies up, holding her back because there’s no telling what I’ll do if I have to smell the two of them on her body. It’s one thing for the room to permeate the scent of sex; it’s another to have it flaunted under your nose. Which I mean, isn’t that what they’ve been doing all along? Zach remains silent. Thankfully, his tuxedo pants are zipped up, and I no longer have to see the evidence of their whatever this is.

“How long have you two been screwing each other behind my back?” I ask. Morbid curiosity creeps out of me. I’d like to say maybe I was part of the issue, but I know with every depth of my being it’s not a me thing, it’s a them thing. I witnessed this whole scenario play out with my parents in my teen years, a fourteen-year-old girl watching their dad walk out on them to start a new family with a new wife. It hits you bone fucking deep. Not once did my mom make me feel anything else than loved. She picked up the broken pieces of what she didn’t leave behind while brushing herself off, waiting to cry at night when I was supposed to be asleep. The next morning, she’d wake up and do it all over again until one night, I didn’t hear her cry. I heard her laugh at a television show, and that was when I realized my mom is stronger than any woman I’ve ever met.

“Stormy, what difference does it make?” My eyes narrow on Zach. His hands are in his pockets, tie is askew, hair a mess. The man in front of me isn’t the man I thought I knew. My best friend, though, that’s an even worse betrayal. Zach and Melissa have done the worst of the worst.

“Six months.” Melissa clears her throat, forging on with the conversation. “We’re in love, Stormy.” I watch as my now former best friend moves closer to my now former fiancé, the two of them locking hands together, and that’s all I can take. I need bleach for my eyes in a permanent kind of way. Someone needs to tell the guests what’s going on, and I need three bottles of champagne, stat. I don’t bother responding. My give a damn is busted. Those two lying, cheating scumbags deserve one another. While I was dealing with his nutcase of a mother wanting a perfect wedding for her, catering to her every whim while Zach was supposedly working well into the night and couldn’t so much as help when I asked him to wade between his mother and me. It’s why I’m in this stupid dress, at this stupid country club, with a stupid amount of people I didn’t want in the first place. Obviously, Zach didn’t either. He could have been a man about it, talked to me. I’d have at least been a bit more understanding. As it stands, I’m going to have to tell my mother, my aunt, and Zach’s mother, Christine. Ugh, maybe I won’t actually touch the subject with her. I know how that song and dance will go. She’ll blame the entirety on me.

“Good luck. He told me that, too. I’m leaving. Figure this shit out on your own.” I need to leave the room. There are no tears streaming down my face. That should be telling, right? I should at least be feeling a gamut of emotions. Except I’m not. I’m just done.

“It’s different,” Mel continues making a bad situation worse. An obnoxious cackle crawls up the back of my throat as my head rolls to the back of my neck. Apparently, everything is hitting me all at once—the wedding, dealing with Zach’s awful mother, my own mother trying to smooth things over while still keeping the peace, absolutely hating how I’ve rolled over and taken the verbal abuse, and now this. Now freaking this. My chest tightens, my fingers tingle. Fuck, even my toes that are scrunched into a pair of too high heels are prickling. My hands go to my decolletage, nails scratching at the lace. I feel like I’m unable to drag enough air into my lungs. If this is what dying feels like, then please let there be white sandy beaches, the ocean air, the scent of my favorite coconut, pineapple, and sugar lotion on the other side. Those are my last thoughts as stars appear behind my closed eyelids. I’m unsure who closed them because I assure you I did not decide to feel like I’m this helpless person in front of Zach and Melissa. No way, no how, never ever. Yet that’s exactly what happens. My whole body shuts down, and that’s all she wrote.

Griffin

Worthless piece of shit.I was walking down the hall looking for the john when I stumbled upon my niece and what everyone knows is the groom looking disheveled. One plus one equals mother fucking two. On any given day, I’d keep to myself and walk the hell away. I’ve got enough drama in my life the way it is, running the local bar, dealing with waitresses, barbacks, and alcohol distributors, and that doesn’t include the damn customers getting drunk off their asses, acting like damn idiots. That’s not all I do either. Before I was a bar owner, I was a flight medic. Still am on the rare occasions there’s a high-speed boat show nearby. This whole shindig isn’t my idea of fun. If it weren’t for the small town, my bar being the center of it, I wouldn’t be here. Fucking appearances sake and keeping the gossip mongers off my damn back is part of the reason. The other is because of my niece, who’s standing in front of me. Her best friend’s wedding is today, and she needed a cash bar. Free publicity and flush pockets for a couple of bartenders—it was a no-brainer.

“Jesus, you two the reason for this?” Stormy, the bride, is currently in my arms, head lolled back, one of my arms bracketed beneath the back of her knees, the other beneath her neck. “Got nothing to say for yourselves?” I quirk an eyebrow at the two. Mel has the good sense to look away. Zach is too busy opening and closing his mouth, like a fish out of water, much like a bass once it’s been caught and is trying to breathe. “Figures,” I grumble. My eyes move from the pair of dumbasses to the woman in my arms.

I don’t bother having a one-sided conversation. The way Stormy is, I’m willing to bet the two people in this room are the reason she’s in the position she’s in now. It doesn’t matter that I’m walking away, carrying the bride out of this charade. Stormy leaving the groom and passed out from fainting, my, will the tongues wag. Fuck, she’s lucky I stepped into the room. Lucky for us, no one is around when I walk out. The hallway is empty, and I’m trying to find a room that isn’t cloaked with the scent sex, hoping Stormy doesn’t come awake in my arms, do an about face, and hit me while doing so.

“Fuck,” I grumble. My hand beneath her knees tries the doorknob, finding it locked. I set off for the next. The last thing she needs is attention in the state she’s in. So, I head for the next door. This place has more rooms than a luxury hotel. The second doorknob twists open. I’m stepping inside, kicking the door shut with my foot. Locking it will have to wait. “Stormy, can you hear me?” I ask as I set her down on the couch.

“Ugh,” she grumbles, eyes opening, a dazed look on her face when she notices it’s me.

“You good?” She rolls over. I’m unsure of how to take that until she pulls it together enough to say, “Help. Off. I need to breathe.” Her long dainty fingers are trying to pull on the buttons, scratching at the material.

“Son of a bitch.” My hand knocks hers out of the way. I work at the buttons as fast as I can, and still, it’s not fast enough for my liking, not with the way she’s taking shallow needing to breathe. “Hold still, Stormy, don’t move a fucking inch.” I slide my hand inside my pants pocket, flip open my pocket knife, and flick the blade open. My eyes meet hers as she’s looking over her shoulder. I’m willing to bet this contraption of a damn dress is the culprit for her collapsing in my arms all along.

“Hurry.” With a steady hand I slice through the fabric, the knife cutting through echoes throughout what can be considered a gentleman’s lounge. I was about to pull my cell phone out of my pocket to call an ambulance if she didn’t wake up. Jesus, the way she came to, talking about her lack of breathing and pulling at her dress, two and two made four. Finally, the last button on her dress gives way, and she’s taking a series of deep breaths. The damn thing was buttoned clear from her neck down to her lower back.

“Feel better?” I ask, trying not to notice the expanse of skin she’s showing. I close my knife and place it back in my pocket. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, you think getting up that fast is smart?” My hands reach out, but I’m unsure of where to place them, yet damn if I’m not itching to feel her bare skin.

“I’m fine. I need to get out of here. Me and a bottle Jose Cuervo have a date, maybe more than one.” She isn’t listening to reason. I help her up, my hand going to hers, making sure she’s steady on her feet before I let her go.

“Come on, I’ll get you out of here. Plus, the saying goes, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.” Stormy leans her body against mine. My arm moves to her lower back, where I meet her exposed skin, and Goddamn, does it feel good. She allows me to lead the way in her ripped dress, her hand holding the front in order for it not to slide down and give me a view I have no right wanting. Her hair is a mess, dark locks tumbling from the once upswept style. All I know is if anyone is going to make her forget today, it’ll be me and my thick dick.

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STORMY

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