Bigger is better
“MY MAKEUP IS DONE. DEAD. BURY IT AND DELIVER THE EULOGY.” I SIGH at my
reflection in the mirror.
I suppose my face didn’t stand a chance, considering it just witnessed the most emotional wedding ceremony of all time. And the rampant emotions didn’t even come from the bride and groom! Sure, Gigi had tears in her eyes when she recited her vows, and I swear I heard Ryder’s voice crack several times, but the real emotional floodgates were opened by Gigi’s parents, who both cried the entire time. Garrett Graham battling tears when he handed his daughter over to Ryder was probably the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Trust me, all of our makeup is ruined,” Mya Bell says wryly. My gorgeous, statuesque co–maid of honor joins me at the full-length mirror, dragging a delicate finger over her smudged mascara.
“Seriously, I need a touch-up if we’re going to take photos at the reception.” This comes from the most beautiful woman in the world: Alexandra Tucker.
With her glossy dark hair, big brown eyes, and flawless, symmetrical features, she’s a perfect ten. It’s crazy that I’m just standing here, you know, next to a supermodel. Whenever I see these influencer models online, I assume every part of their appearance has been filtered to high heaven.
With Alex, I was confident she couldn’t be that different in person since I’ve seen her walk runways and that’s hard to filter, but I swear she’s even better in the flesh. Standing here beside her, I can’t find a single flaw.
And when they say lightning doesn’t strike twice, well, joke’s on them. It does. Because Alex’s older sister, Jamie, is drop-dead gorgeous too. Jamie inherited their dad’s red hair, and her features are a bit softer than Alex’s, but I honestly wouldn’t want to be in the position to choose who’s more beautiful. It’s impossible.
Jamie stands across the room chatting with her mom, Sabrina. They’re both lawyers. That Tucker gene pool is something else. Beauty and brains.
Molly Fitzgerald nearly knocks the two women over. She’s bouncing with excitement after nailing her very first flower-girl assignment. Molly’s mother, Summer, finally catches her and says, “I like the energy. But maybe we can bring it down to a five?”
“Yes, because you’re perfectly capable of controlling your energy levels,” Brenna Jensen drawls at the impeccably dressed blond. Neither woman was in the wedding party, but as close friends of the family, they’re able to take advantage of the bridal suite.
There are a lot of beautiful women in this room. It makes me a little self-conscious. I guess Mya shares the sentiment because she pulls me aside and whispers, “Am I the only one intimidated here?”
“Nope.”
She’s still eyeing Alex Tucker. “Okay, good. Because this is kind of surreal.”
It is. And it only gets more surreal when we arrive at the reception, which is being held outdoors on the manicured country club grounds. The entire area is adorned with delicate fairy lights that twinkle like stars in the early evening sky. Even the weather is apparently enamored with the Grahams because it bestowed them with the perfect evening. A clear, warm night without a drop of moisture in the air.
The head table sits under a wooden pergola decorated with white flowers and trailing green vines. The rest of the tables, covered in ivory silk
linens and floral centerpieces in hues of sage and white, surround a gleaming dance floor.
I walk in on Beckett’s arm. He’s back from Australia, looking tanned, handsome, and completely fuckable in his black suit. We take our seats at the bridal party table, all our gazes focusing on the head table where Gigi and Ryder sit like royalty with her parents. Since Ryder is parentless, Hannah sits on one side of him while Garrett sits next to Gigi.
I’m gratified that I don’t have to give a speech; Mya takes on the onus of charming the five hundred guests in attendance. I’m not usually scared of public speaking, but this is way too intimidating. Hockey royalty. Supermodels. Media personalities that Garrett has worked with and befriended over the years. Let’s be honest—this wedding is for the parents. But Gigi loves hers enough to give them this gift after eloping, and Ryder loves her enough to give her whatever she wants.
I sit beside Shane, whose appreciative eyes rake over me. “You look so good,” he mutters in my ear.
“So do you.”
Seriously, he fills out that suit like nobody’s business. I’ve been watching him work out all summer, and it shows. He’s broader than he was last year. His pecs are more defined. Biceps are huge. Ass feels more muscular when I’m digging my fingers into it while he fucks me—
“Stop thinking dirty thoughts.” His clean-shaven cheek caresses my chin as he speaks at my ear again. He knows me too well.
The post-dinner speeches go on and on and on and on. Every single one of Gigi’s six godparents insists on coming up to the dais to say something. Ryder’s half brother and best man, Owen McKay, delivers a touching speech that has everybody crying. There’s no fixing this makeup. This is my life now.
Over dinner, I chat with Mya, talk to Blake Logan about her freshman schedule at Briar, and bicker with Shane.
“I can’t believe this is a thing.” Mya flicks her french-tipped fingers between us.
“I know, right?” Shane drawls. “She’s really punching up.”
“Oh, fuck off. You’re the one who’s punching. I’m so out of your league, it’s not even funny.”
“Truth,” Beckett says, raising his champagne glass.
The neighboring tables are even more boisterous than our own. The entire Briar hockey program is here, men’s and women’s teams. Champagne flows freely, the clinking of crystal glasses and loud bursts of laughter echoing all around us.
There was a string quartet playing gentle classical music during dinner, but now a live band takes the stage. Gigi and Ryder stand up, and I can see the resignation in Ryder’s blue eyes as the six-foot-five, ten-inch-dick groom is forced to be the center of attention again.
A gazebo draped in billowing fabrics serves as the backdrop for the newlyweds’ first dance. It’s spectacular. Gigi’s aunt knocked this wedding out of the park and into outer space.
As they dance under the moonlit sky, surrounded by the soft glow of fairy lights, Gigi and Ryder only have eyes for each other.
And just when I think I can’t cry any harder, their dance ends and Hannah Graham steps onto the stage. She’s utterly stunning in a slate-gray gown that hugs her body, the material shimmering with every step. She exudes pure grace, and the hush that falls over the room brings goose bumps to my flesh.
As the first notes of the piano fill the air, Hannah starts to sing. To this day, I’ll never understand why she chose to focus on songwriting instead of performing. Her voice is so beautiful. Rich and emotive, each note piercing right into your soul. I barely pay attention to the lyrics, although Blake whispers to me that it’s an old lullaby Hannah used to sing to the twins when they were little. Gigi is bawling, and even her brother, Wyatt, has tears in his eyes.
This wedding is next level.
Hannah’s final notes linger in the air. There’s a moment of dead silence before the guests erupt in applause.
And then the party starts.
The dance floor has the same strands of fairy lights suspended above it, creating a starlit canopy. I laugh in delight when Shane pulls me to my feet before I can even ask him to dance.
“I’ve converted you!” I accuse.
He links our fingers and tugs me toward the floor. “I have a confession to make,” he says ruefully. “I’ve always liked dancing.”
“Seriously? And you still put up such a big fight?”
“I said dancing, not this ballroom torture you’re putting me through. I’m just saying, I enjoy dancing in general. Chugging champagne, busting loose at a wedding. It’s fucking great.”
He’s right. There’s nothing I love more than a good wedding. And an intoxicating beat. And the feel of Shane’s big hands running over my body. There’s nothing sexual about his touch, though. It feels nice.
“I can’t wait to have one of these,” he confesses. I blink. “A wedding?”
“Yup.”
“Yeah, okay. Sure.”
“I’m serious.” His eyes are bright and earnest. “You want a wedding,” I say skeptically.
“A big one,” Shane confirms. “Bigger is better.” He winks. “That’s what I’ve heard anyway.”
I give him a little shove, but he just pulls me closer again. I don’t mind the slow dance. Yeah, I don’t mind having his muscular body against mine one iota.
“And when do you plan on having this wedding?” I ask him.
That gets me a shrug. “Honestly, the sooner the better. I always wanted to get married young. Wouldn’t mind being a young dad, either.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Really.”
“Sure. As long as it doesn’t interfere with hockey, why not.”
I grin at him. “You’re naive if you think that won’t interfere with hockey. These things you say you want—a wife, kids. They need to come first, you get that, right? How do you expect to juggle that with your NHL career?”
He frowns. “Lots of NHL players have wives and families and still play the game.”
“Would they walk out of a game if their wife needed them?” I challenge.
“That’s a loaded question. Depends on what she needed.” “She’s giving birth.”
Shane shrugs. “Russell Doolie missed the birth of his first child because of a playoffs game. His wife was cool with it—she’s the one who told him to finish out the series.”
“Fair enough. Then I guess you need to make sure you marry someone who’s okay with making those sacrifices. Not many women would be.”
He gives me a curious look. “Would you?”
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. Then I shrug. “But it doesn’t really matter because I don’t plan on having kids till my early thirties. Do you know how much work those things are?”
Shane snickers. We’re interrupted a moment later by Beckett, who grabs Shane and whisks him away to do celebratory shots with the entire men’s hockey team.
I’m suddenly reminded of the wedding I went to with Percy last year. As much as I loathe even having his name inside my brain, because it triggers my anxiety, the memory lingers. A friend from high school got married, and I brought Percy as my plus-one. He barely said a word to anyone the whole time and kept a deadly grip on my hand or a possessive arm around my shoulders whenever anyone with a penis tried to talk to me. I broke up with him not long after that. I was starting to notice that behavior happening far too often for my liking.
Unlike Percy, Shane doesn’t care who I talk to or dance with. For the next hour, everyone goes wild on the dance floor. The hockey boys are just the right amount of tipsy, though I imagine they’ll be properly drunk once more of the older folks start heading out and it’s only us young’uns closing down the country club.
But now it’s nearing midnight, and the crowd still hasn’t dissipated. If anything, the older guests are as drunk as the young ones. I’ve lost count of
how much champagne I’ve drunk, and a part of me wonders if I’m mishearing it when I stumble onto Shane and Garrett near the bar discussing Fling or Forever. But it’s no secret that Gigi’s dad is a fan of the show.
“He’s so snakey,” Garrett is saying.
“Yeah, but he didn’t deserve to be mugged off.”
I make an exasperated noise as I glare at the two men. “Just because Donovan is a Brit doesn’t mean you are! Stop using British slang. It’s embarrassing.”
Shane is defiant. “So you’re okay with Donovan cracking on with Ky?” “Oh my God, I’m not defending Donovan! Leni is a national treasure.
I’m just saying, stop being weird!”
Shane flicks an eyebrow up at Garrett. “And she considers herself a superfan.”
“I’m leaving now.” I roll my eyes and wander off to find someone normal to talk to. I scan the guests mingling on the well-manicured lawn and spot Ryder standing at the edge of the dance floor.
I join him, following his gaze to see Gigi dancing with friends. She is absolutely radiant. Glowing. Her reception dress is a floor-length satin number that clings to her body like a second skin. Her hair is loose, dark waves streaming down her shoulders.
I give Ryder a pat on the arm. “Do I need to give you the whole speech, or does it go without saying?”
He glances over wryly. “What, hurt her and I’ll kill you?” “Okay, so you know it already.”
“Trust me, I’ve gotten it from every single uncle, aunt, cousin. Her dad, obviously—”
“Obviously.”
“And even Hannah gave the speech, although hers was accompanied by a hug so I don’t know if I should take it seriously.”
“Oh, you should. She’ll cut a bitch.” Ryder chuckles.
Before my next foray onto the dance floor, I chug some water, use the bathroom, and then return to the throng of bodies. While Shane dances with Mya, I dance with Beckett, then Will, then Gigi’s twin brother, who flashes his lady-killer smile at me.
“Hey, beautiful,” he says easily, wrapping his arm around my waist. His dark-green eyes narrow in appreciation as they roam my gown-clad body.
Wyatt has sex eyes. He always manages to look seductive, even when he’s not flirting.
“Hey, hottie,” I respond as I rest both palms on his broad shoulders.
It’s a shame that Gigi has a strict hands-off rule when it comes to her brother. When I met her freshman year, she made that stance clear. Her exact words were, “Unless you can see yourself marrying him, you will not be going to bed with him.”
I could’ve tested that rule over the years, but despite the obvious chemistry between us, Wyatt and I never went there. Because while I might have fun with him for a night, I absolutely cannot see myself marrying him. He’s too laid-back. Not only would I eat him alive but I suspect his go-with- the-flow attitude would eventually drive me up the wall.
Wyatt and I get to dance for all of one minute before Shane cuts in.
“Are you going to pee on me now to mark your territory?” I mock as I loop my arms around his neck.
Shane cups my ass to bring me flush against his body. We’re not dancing so much as standing there with our bodies pressed together.
“So you and Wyatt Graham,” he starts. “What about us?” I play dumb.
“Did you ever sleep with him?”
I raise a brow at him. “What would you do if I said yes?”
Shane grinds his lower body against mine, his chin dropping onto my shoulder so he can whisper in my ear. “I’d take you home and drill you so hard that you won’t remember a time when my dick wasn’t in you.”
Jesus.
I swallow the sudden rush of moisture that fills my mouth. “So did you?” He searches my face.
“No,” I admit. Then, just to rile him up, I add, “But maybe I should.
Maybe I’ll go home with him tonight.” A growl sounds in my ear.
“What?” I say innocently.
Shane skims his hand up my bare arm, lightly grazing the side of my breast, and cups my cheek with his palm. His fingertips tease the side of my jaw.
“No man is allowed to touch you but me, Dixon.” His voice is low.
Thick with desire. “And if one tries, I’ll rip his fucking hands off.”
A hot shiver rolls through me. It’s strange, because earlier I was thinking how unattractive Percy’s possessiveness was, how the behavior led to our breakup. And yet Shane’s growly threat doesn’t make me bat an eye. Lindley doesn’t scare me.
But the way I’m starting to feel about him does.
To: [email protected] Re: Inappropriate Noises
Brenda,
I would like to lodge a formal complaint against my upstairs neighbors, Red Birch residents 2A and 2B. I am citing the noise ordinances outlined in Section 3 Paragraph 2 of the Meadow Hill Homeowners’ Handbook.
In the last two weeks, I have heard noises in the form of vocal expression (moaning, whimpering) inappropriate language (expletives such as “fuck” and “goddamn”), and structural disturbances (loud thumping against walls, excessive bedspring squeaking).
As per S3 P2, the recourse for such conduct should result in a fine, as I’m sure you are aware. Please address in the next HOA meeting. I am available most evenings and weekends if you would like to discuss further.
Sincerely,
Niall Gentry Red Birch, 1B
