I’m the one struggling. I’m the one grappling to get a hold of my emotions. I’m the one who can’t decide which emotion my face should display when Parker walks down the aisle, gorgeous in a champagne-colored dress, the silk of the skirt clinging to her legs and forcing me to remember just how they felt encircling my waist.
I shake my head. I’m not seeing what’s going on right in front of me because my head is recreating this entire situation.
Parker isn’t the first one down the aisle, leading the way for her best friend to get married. She’s the last one to walk in, the woman everyone in the audience stands for when the wedding march begins.
I’m not on Quinten’s left. He’s on mine. I’m not nervous to see her. I’m anxious to get the show on the road so I can kiss my wife’s lips.
See? I’m absolutely losing my mind.
Parker is absolutely stunning, but that has never been an issue. She was gorgeous the very first day I saw her. She’s gorgeous now and has been every single day in between. She’s radiant and smiling, her hands wrapped tightly around the stem of her bouquet. Her makeup and hair are flawless, and somehow, I hate her a little for it. I hate that she doesn’t have a hair out of place and that her eyes are bright and sparkling.
Of course, I don’t have a problem with her being happy on her best friend’s big day, but isn’t she losing sleep? Isn’t she emotional over seeing me standing up here?
She’s been texting. Nothing serious, just simple small talk type things. She doesn’t ask me to come over or if she can stop by my place, and if she had, maybe things would be different.
But getting texted a picture of her coffee drink or her hand wrapped around the stem of a wine glass isn’t what I need from her, and she damn well knows it. I’m not her friend. I don’t want to be her damn friend. I want more, and she’s well aware of that too.
So, I’ve ignored her. I haven’t responded, leaving her on read.
I won’t even go into how she has shown up at my condo, her little hand banging on my door. I refused to open the door even though I wasn’t strong enough to keep from watching her through the peephole until she walked away. She wasn’t there to talk. She wasn’t there to tell me that she wanted more than what she was originally willing to give me. I could tell by the stiffness in her shoulders, in the way her hair was effortlessly messy to remind me of what she looked like after I’d had her under me for hours.
Her clothes also spoke of her intentions—the tight shirts and short skirts, the easy access to her body. If I’d opened the door and let her in, I knew exactly where we’d end up, and yeah, for a little while, I’d have her exactly where I wanted her, but it would still end the same way. She’d leave, and I’d have to start all over again. I’d have to wash my sheets so they didn’t smell like the two of us together. I’d have to air out the entire condo to free it from the perfume that scents the air like delicate flowers.
I couldn’t give in and open the door, but the memories of her standing in the hallway did aid in the abuse I’ve been giving my cock as I worked out my fantasy in my head long after she left.
She doesn’t even make eye contact with me as she finishes her walk and turns to face the aisle just in time for the actual wedding march to begin so Hayden can make her way toward her new life.
I clap Quinten on the back when he starts to vibrate beside me. I can’t tell if he’s trying not to run to her and scoop her up because she’s taking too long or if the man is on the verge of tears at the sight of his bride. When he clears his throat, I realize it’s probably a combination of the two.
The ceremony is what you’d expect from two people getting married. Quinten and Hayden promise to love each other through everything, and when they kiss, there isn’t a person in the room that has any doubts about their devotion, myself included. Parker smiles, watching her best friend walk back down the aisle after it’s over, and I have to pull my eyes from her immediately.
For someone who Hayden said will always be single, she sure plays the part of an envious best friend well. But it’s all lies, isn’t it? The woman doesn’t want anything more than a good time, and although I agreed to that a few months ago, I can’t help but wish things were different.