Summer of Love Page 2

  I wouldn’t blame Emma for avoiding me, considering how often I’ve complained about Theo right to her face. But I’ll be a little hurt if she is.

  I’m not trying to be a wet blanket. I’m venting my concerns while Emma still has time to consider them. If I try to bottle them up to keep her happy, I might get wasted and blow up at them both on Thanksgiving.

  That’s happened in our family before. I wasn’t directly involved in that fight, but I kept having to pass the cranberry sauce to the people who were. It was awkward as fuck.

  It’s my personal philosophy that every party should be fun, even a doomsday wedding like this one. No matter how strongly I feel that Emma and Theo’s marriage will eventually go down in flames, I’m gonna do whatever it takes to make today’s ceremony the best day of their lives.

  “Nope. She’s not answering her phone for me, either,” Kristen says. “Why don’t you call Huxley and ask if he knows where Theo is?”

  Oh, no. Hell, no. I would do anything for my sister’s love, but I won’t do that.

  Huxley Athens is not the kind of guy who knows where the fuck Theo is. If Theo is a party favor, Huxley is the human equivalent of what’s happening at a party when someone finally calls the cops.

  He’s the very definition of chaos. And I don’t want to have to call him. He won’t help me find Theo.

  From what I know of Huxley, he’s probably still trying to find his pants.

  Once he knows I’m not busy helping the bride, he’ll probably try to rope me into helping him tie his bowtie and get his zipper up over his infamously massive dick on top of it.

  These judgments are harsh, I know…but they’re not exactly unfounded, either. My sister set me up on a blind date with him once. I was supposed to go to a Halloween party, and my date canceled on me at the last minute.

  The theme of the party was “My date from hell.” At least Huxley got that part right. He stood me up.

  There I was, dressed as Cinderella, and there was no fucking Prince Charming.

  I didn’t make a big deal out of it. I acted like everything was fine and made awkward small talk with the caterers for as long as I could while everyone else danced.

  But I finally had to call it a night when some idiot in a Gumby costume started following me and wouldn’t leave me alone.

  “Do you want me to call him, then?” Kristen asks.

  I look at her innocent face and realize that it’s not her fault that I’m a total fucking stress ball right now.

  While I’m looking at Kristen, I notice that she’s already put on her bridesmaid dress. It’s aquamarine, just like it was in the catalog. But it has the longest fucking train I’ve ever seen in my life.

  “Is that really your dress?”

  Kristen looks down at her body and nods. “Yeah. Why?”

  I leap off the bed and run to the closet to fetch my dress, which is fresh from the tailor’s shop. I rip off the plastic dry-cleaning bag and slip it on.

  This can’t be right. The dress touches my feet in the front, but the back stretches all the way to the door.

  I must have the wrong dress. This must be meant for one of the taller bridesmaids.

  “Can you all check the labels on your dress to make sure they’re yours?” I ask the other bridesmaids. “This dress seems too long for me.”

  “It’s supposed to be like that,” Kristen says, shrugging. “Don’t you remember? Emma wanted the wedding party to look like a beautiful river flowing down the aisle on our way to the altar. I guess this is what she meant.”

  Shit, she’s right. My wonderful, creative, beautiful sister is such a fucking idiot. We’re going to fall all over ourselves at this wedding.

  I grab my train and hold it up for a better look. There are tiny loops of thread on one end and itty bitty ribbons on the other, which means we can bustle these fuckers right after the ceremony.

  “Everybody!” I clink Kristen’s champagne glass with her mascara tube to get their attention. “Practice bustling your dresses. Now. Do it three times each. We don’t want to have to fuck with the trains at the wedding reception. I’m going to find Theo.”

  Train in hand, I barrel down the hall to the groomsmen’s quarters and pound on the door.

  Huxley answers on the first knock. He looks so stunning in a tuxedo that I’m almost sorry he’s not my date for the wedding. Almost.

  I played it safe for Emma’s wedding—and thank fuck, too. Archibald Sick the Third might not have the world’s sexiest name—but at least he showed up. I sat him down next to Nana Vandercliff in the ballroom three hours ago and every time I’ve passed through since, he’s barely moved an inch.

  But as I take in everything that is the Huxley Athens…well, you can’t blame a girl for admiring.

  He’s tall—like, male supermodel tall. If I wanted to—which I don’t—I could settle my lips between his pecs and he could rest his chin on my head.

  It’s not just height, though. Huxley is fucking built. When he has his shirt off—which, thankfully he doesn’t right now, because if did I would cream straight through these panties—he looks like he walked off the set of 300 and never looked back.

  Dark, thick, wavy hair just begging to be combed through with my French tips. Green eyes, like mine, only instead of looking like Qing Dynasty Burmese Fei Cui, they look like the canopy of a tropical rainforest with the sunlight shining in.

  He’s fucking hot, is what I’m saying. He looks like Ryan Reynolds with a better jawline and Henry Cavill’s haircut.

  Archibald Sick the Third looks like Steve Buscemi’s inbred cousin by comparison.

  “Mm…Olivia,” he says, looking me up and down. “You look smoking hot in that bridesmaid dress. Please tell me you’re picking me up for our second date.”

  “Technically, we didn’t have a first date,” I remind him. But I have to admit that his compliment makes me hate my bridesmaid dress a little less. “Have you seen Theo?”

  He shakes his head. “No. I thought he was with you.”

  I slap my forehead. “Why would Theo be with me? I’ve been in the bride’s room. He’s not supposed to see the bride before the wedding.”

  “Then why don’t you ask Emma where he is?”

  “Because she’s not here.”

  “Then where is she?”

  Huxley can be really dense sometimes.

  “I don’t know! That’s why I’m trying to find Theo so I can ask him.”

  Huxley smiles devilishly. “You’re welcome to come inside and wait with me. I’ll pour you a drink, give you a back rub…you know. Help you relax.”

  “You wish,” I mutter, but I can’t stop myself from smiling at his offer.

  After all this drama, I could use a little pampering.

  “I do wish,” he says, gently taking my hand and pulling me toward him. “Want to make my wish come true?”

  “I’m not your fucking genie,” I argue, but I’m already starting to feel better. Huxley has that effect on people.

  Probably because he’s fucking good looking.

  He cocks an eyebrow at me, and I finally give in. “Alright. One drink. But you have to call Theo.”

  “Done.”

  I have one foot in the door when my cellphone buzzes in my hand. I check the caller ID. To my relief, Emma’s name appears on the screen.

  “Nevermind,” I tell him, holding up the phone so he can see.

  “Are you going to answer it?” Huxley asks.

  I know I am, but his dark, sexy voice makes me I wish I didn’t have to.

  Emma has real way of showing up again at exactly the wrong time.

  Huxley

  Olivia picks up the phone, dashing my hopes of luring her into my bed for a back rub. Or whatever other body part she’d like me to rub.

  Given the opportunity to touch Olivia Vandercliff, I’m not about to be overly picky about where I’m laying my hands, catch my drift?

  “Emma, where the fuck are you?! I’ve been worried sick—” />
  While Olivia’s talking, I hold the door open for her and then follow her inside. When she settles into a chair next to the TV, I sit on the bed and watch her.

  Damn, she’s pretty. Her dress is snug in all the right places, too. It’s a little long in the back, but what the fuck do I know?

  My tuxedo jacket is also too long in the back. It has these little flaps that look like penguin wings. No one needs to know this—Olivia, least of all—but I’m wearing a clip-on bowtie, too.

  So, who am I to judge?

  Weddings are fucking dumb, but at least they only happen once per person—unless you’re my father, in which case, seventh time’s the charm.

  That’s why I’m determined to help my brother do it right the first time. I don’t want to have to be his best man ever again.

  But, why does Olivia look so fucking frazzled? Everything is working out fine for her, as far as I can tell. She’s dressed, she looks like a little angel with her hair all perfect, and we have plenty of time before the ceremony.

  Never mind that my brother has been missing for hours. I’ve been trying to figure out all fucking day where he is, and now here’s Olivia to remind me that, as usual, I’m doing it wrong.

  Christ. I can’t let Olivia get in my head. I’m the best man, I’m on my best behavior, and once my brother gets here, this will be the best fucking wedding ever.

  Or, it will be as good as a wedding can ever fucking get, I guess.

  “Emma? Come on, babe. Hello? Hello?”

  From the confused look on Olivia’s face, I’m guessing she can’t hear her sister on the other end of the line.

  “Let me try,” I offer, taking the phone from her hand. “The reception in here is a little spotty. I’ve been getting more bars near the toilet.”

  Olivia makes a face. “Ew. Who were you talking to on the toilet?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know? Don’t worry about it.” I walk to the bathroom with Olivia’s phone.

  When her screen lights up with bars, I hold the phone close to my ear and listen.

  I can hear something all right, but it’s not the voice of a bride-to-be who has any intention of coordinating wedding plans with her sister.

  “Oh…OH!” the voice moans. “Mmm…yeaaaah. Keep going! Fuck me harder. Faster! Harder! Perfect. Yes! Yesssss!”

  Whoever this chick is, she’s having the time of her fucking life. I put my hand over the receiver to muffle the sound and look at Olivia.

  “Quick question: What does your sister sound like when she’s fucking my brother? Like, what does she usually say? What kind of noises does she make? Be as specific as you can.”

  Olivia stares at me, horrified. “What the fuck are you talking about? How the hell should I know?”

  I sit down and pat the bed. She sits down next to me. Then, I hold out the phone and put it in speaker mode so both Olivia and I can hear it.

  The mystery voice is back, and it seems she’s brought a friend.

  “You like that? You want me to do it again?”

  “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh…God.”

  Olivia grabs the phone from my hand, shuts it off, and slams it down next to her on the bed. Her face is beet red. And yes, I do know what color beets are, because they were in my fucking salad last night.

  “I hate you so much right now,” Olivia practically growls. “Why would you make me listen to that?”

  I give her my most innocent smile. “So, you’re confirming that this was your sister we just heard?”

  She shuts her eyes and groans. “I think so. I don’t know anyone who would call me on my sister’s phone just to make me listen to them have noisy sex.”

  “You’re lucky. I have several friends who would do that just to fuck with me.”

  Olivia slaps me on the arm. “Stop it. She probably butt-dialed me by accident. Does the dude in the background sound like your brother?”

  Well, that would be pretty fucked up if it didn’t. In that case, we might as well pack our bags and go home.

  But I can answer Olivia’s question with relative confidence.

  “Probably.” I shrug. “He does seem to need a lot of positive reinforcement during sex. ‘Did you like that? How about this? How about now?’” I explain, doing my best impression of Theo’s voice.

  I must have been a little too convincing because Olivia shrieks and tosses a pillow at me, hitting me right in the face.

  “I’m so disturbed by you right now,” she says between fits of hysterical laughter. “Why do you know this? And why the fuck would you tell me about it right before the wedding? I’m not going to be able to concentrate on anything else now.”

  “When we were growing up, the walls between our two bedrooms were very thin. We’d sneak girls into our rooms when our parents weren’t home. I’d turn on Def Leppard to try and drown out the sound, but sometimes it wasn’t enough.”

  Olivia shakes her head, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “You should mention that story in your best man toast. I think our grandparents will really enjoy it.”

  The toast! I totally forgot about that part. I mean, I didn’t forget to do it, but I did kind of throw it together at the last minute and then put it out of my mind.

  Basically, I was planning to read some stupid poem I found on the internet and then tell my sister-in-law how nice she is.

  Blah, blah, blah. Here’s to the happy couple. Cheers!

  If I’d known I was allowed to share my brother’s deepest, darkest secrets, I’d have put in a lot more effort.

  “You think so? Really?” I ask.

  I’m getting excited just thinking about it. My brother has so many wonderful flaws to highlight. I wonder if Emma knows about his back hair yet—or if he’s kept it waxed, plucked, and under wraps?

  Ah, well. Either way, she’ll figure it out on the honeymoon anyway. It won’t hurt anything if I share this information with the rest of our family members, Emma’s family members, and a few of Emma and Theo’s closest friends.

  And the catering staff, too. Who cares? We’ll probably never see them again.

  But Olivia is quick to burst my bubble. “No, dumbass! Of course not. This stupid fucking wedding is awkward enough as it is.” She picks up her phone and starts scrolling.

  “You’re not calling Emma again, are you? What if she’s not done yet?”

  “I’m looking online for a wedding toast that’ll be easy for you to memorize in time for the reception. I’ll forward you one once I find it.” She keeps scrolling and sighs. “I fucking knew you’d forget.”

  That’s it. I’ve heard just about enough slander from that sassy little mouth of hers. I am the best fucking man ever, and she will know of my greatness.

  “I already have a toast prepared,” I inform her smugly. “I wrote it down in my notebook.”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “Oh, yeah? Let me see it.”

  “Fine. I will.” I reach into the pocket of my backpack, which is resting on the arm of a chair.

  The notebook is black and not too dirty. It’ll look nice even if I get nervous and have to read my notes instead of reciting the toast from memory. I pass it to Olivia and wait, holding my breath.

  She squints in concentration, and I have to admit that her studiousness is endearing. I can’t tell if she’s really this uptight all the time, or if it’s the wedding that’s making her march around, yelling at everyone like a fucking drill sergeant.

  If it’s the wedding that’s doing the damage to her personality, let me just say that I hope I never get married. Weddings are too much fucking stress. And if the wedding is this stressful, what is marriage going to be like?

  I mean, who gets this mad about a party?

  We should be drinking right now. Laughing. Sneaking off to have sex in a coat closet.

  No. Bad, Huxley! I’m supposed to behave myself today.

  Tomorrow, I can go back to being a bad little boy. But not today. Today, I’m the best man.

  Olivia sets down the
notebook and smiles. “This is actually pretty decent. I mean, it’s kind of generic, but it’s good. Uplifting. You nailed it.”

  She holds up her hand to give me a high five.

  I have something better in mind. I lace my fingers in hers and lean in for a kiss.

  That’s when I hear a knock at the door. Damn it.

  The last man I ever would have expected to be knocking on my door short of, I don’t know, Zombie Jim Morrison poking his head in the room.

  Oberon Lawson. Most terrifying man in the Hamptons—or, at least, here in Verona Falls. If the rumors are true, he has a rap sheet a mile long—or he would, if the cops could ever catch him on any of it. Money laundering, racketeering, human trafficking—you name it, he’s got his big, dirty mitts in it.

  Allegedly, anyway. That’s the thing about Lawson. I swear to fuck, the bastard sees life as a chess game—and he’s always a dozen or more moves ahead of the rest of us. By the time anyone’s ever able to pin anything on him, he’ll be doing a tour of the world’s finest non-extradition countries with half the United States’ GDP squirreled away in Swiss bank accounts.

  “You two ready for a drink?” Lawson asks.

  “Am I ever,” Olivia says, shaking her hand out of my grip.

  “Might as well,” I agree—because if Olivia is drinking with Oberon Lawson, I’m sure as hell not letting her do it alone.

  Oberon smiles, and the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. It’s not a nice smile. If it was any less white and pristine, I’d expect worms to start crawling out of it.

  “Excellent,” Lawson says. “Come with me then. I’ve invited everyone in the wedding party for a quick toast before the ceremony. You two look like you could use it.”

  Olivia

  Saved by the wedding bell! Is it just me, or was Huxley trying to kiss me when Oberon knocked on the door and interrupted us?

  I’m not sure why he thinks I would want his mouth on me after all the filthy things he just said, but that’s his problem. I’m done cleaning up after dirty boys like him.

  No matter how hot he is or how good it felt to hold his hand, Huxley is not the kind of guy I’m looking for in the long term. I want marriage, kids, the whole thing. Huxley is most likely looking for a fuck buddy.