The Enemy (It Happened in Charleston 2)

eah?”

“You’re beautiful.”

And that’s the moment my heart cracks wide open. I’ve never felt more vulnerable and safe at the same time.

I want to say something, but I’m afraid that if I do, tears will come out instead of words. So, I let go of Ryan and bend down to pick up the box of coffee from the floor and then pad my way down the hallway to the bridal suite. I don’t need to look back to know Ryan is still watching me.

I slip through the door, shut it, and then lean back against it with a dummy smile like they do in those classic 80s movies.

“Uh, that’s not the robe I bought you,” Stacy says, reminding me that I’m not alone.

Each of the bridesmaids' eyes shoot to me, and when they see that I’m wearing a man’s suit jacket, they erupt in squeals and whistles. “I told you loosening up was more fun! Now get over here and pick a name.”

“A name?” I ask, hesitant to know what their next form of torture—I mean, amusement—is.

“Yeah,” says Carly (ring leader). “We wrote down the name of each single groomsman on a slip of paper and put them in here.” She shakes a little bag in my face. “We each draw a name, and whoever you get is your man for the night. No tradesies.”

I look at Stacy, and she just rolls her eyes, regret of ever asking these women to share her special day written unapologetically across her forehead.

“No thanks,” I say, turning away and going to busy myself with pouring Stacy the first cup of coffee and adding two sugars just like she likes it. There’s no way I’m going home with some guy just because I draw his name from a bag. Call me prudish all you want, but I’m not the casual hook-up kind of girl.

“Okay, I’ll go first,” I hear Carly sing.

“Who do you hope you get?” asks another bridesmaid.

“I think you know.”

“Ryan?”

Hearing his name makes my heart stop. Wait. Somehow, I forgot Ryan’s name would be in there. He’s single. He’s a groomsman.

“Duh. He’s so hot.” Carly dips her hand in and pulls out a sliver of paper, and I don’t even remember turning around, but I have, because I’m holding my breath, watching and waiting for her to read off the name.

She smiles deviously. “I got Ryan!!”

My eyes shut tight, and now I feel sick to my stomach. I’m filled with a distinct desire to yell STOP and demand that someone push the pause button on life and just give me a moment to think. I just need a second to process. To decide. To weigh all my choices and figure out what I want.

But I don’t get to do that because now the bridal suite door is opening again, and a whole parade of wedding day entourage is entering. Hair stylist, makeup artist, mother of the bride, and Logan's bratty sister that managed to wiggle her way in while my guard was down.

I have no choice but to push thoughts of Ryan aside, let whatever happens happen, and focus on Stacy. It’s her day. I will not rain on her parade. And Ryan…well, maybe he’ll go home with Carly tonight and save me the trouble of having to figure out what kind of guy he is on my own.

Chapter Seventeen

Ryan

Logan and Stacy are married.

They tied the knot about an hour ago, and now everyone has moved on to the reception. I don’t know much about decor, but even I can admit this place looks like something right out of a movie. They spared no expense on this reception. A blanket of string lights hangs above the dance floor, massive flower bouquets sit in the center of each table, there’s an open bar, and a dessert buffet boasting anything with sugar you could imagine.

Everyone has been feeding off the romantic energy, dancing close, stealing kisses from their significant others; and June has stayed as far away from me as she possibly can.

Ever since the incident in the hallway, she hasn’t looked me in the eyes. I think she’s embarrassed by it, but I have no idea what she thinks she needs to be embarrassed about. She literally has a body that makes me want to change both our names and move to some remote island where no one will ever be able to interrupt us so I can devote the rest of my life to showing June just how much I appreciate each of her curves.

Unfortunately, I’m not the only one who’s been appreciating her curves. Ever since the bridesmaids showed up to take photos before the wedding, I’ve had to listen to every male with eyes go on and on about June. Her green eyes are hypnotic in that blue dress. Man, that tattoo on her shoulder is sexy. And a whole lot of other comments that I don’t care to re-live.

And right now, they are all staring at her dancing with Stacy in the center of the floor and drooling. I don’t like it. Now that I’ve seen most of her body, I feel like forming a human blockade around her for the rest of the night—arms spread and stance wide, murder glaring at anyone who dares look past me. No one gets a peek!

I know. I’m being ridiculous. She’s fully clothed right now, and these slobbering idiots can’t see anything past that sweetheart neckline. But the way her dress cinches around her waist and then cascades to the floor is drawing every man’s eye to her womanly figure. The longer they stare, the more tension grows between my shoulder blades.