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ROSIE

The wine bottle on the table is almost empty but I give it a helpless shake as if there’s more to come.

I put it back on the white tablecloth with a thud and slump in my seat.

I reach up to adjust my glasses but remember I’m wearing my contacts and instead end up poking myself in the eye.

The contacts weren’t even worth it as I ended up crying so much during the ceremony that they just became irritated and foggy.

I cross my legs and swing my foot, my nude heel resting on the tips of my aching feet.

Anya and her brand new husband are still dancing across the room, the dance floor empty as the night winds down.

Well, it’s less dancing and more drunken swaying whilst sticking their tongues down each other’s throats. In a classy, bridal, way of course.

I hide my grin behind a sip of wine at the sight. I’ve dated men before but I’ve never laughed the way Anya does when Danny says something funny, or been looked at like I hung the moon.

My Maid of Honor duties are officially done for the night.

I reminded her to take the hair tie off her wrist, fluffed her lacy dress at the altar, held her bouquet whilst she shared her vows, and cried until my reusable contacts practically disintegrated.

And I even finished off the final bottle of white wine at the head table.

I smother a yawn with my hand and brush the hair that’s fallen from my half-up half-down hairdo back into place. My foot keeps swaying to the music, and I almost don’t notice when the shoe I’ve been balancing precariously on my toes falls onto the hardwood floor.

I do, however, notice the man kneeling down to pick it up.

Jackson Harper.

We’ve met a few times, usually in the presence of our joint best friends.

When we first met, I’ll admit I was a little starstruck.

It’s not every day you meet a man who you’ve only ever seen in IMAX.

But, by result of being best friends with Anya Bonnet, who managed to get one of the most famous men in the world to fall in love with her by bossing him around on set, I’ve inadvertently brushed shoulders with Hollywood’s elite enough times now that the excitement has definitely faded.

They’re all the same as us, just with more money, more clout and easier access to class A drugs. As evidenced the second time I met Jackson Harper, when I accidentally walked in on him in Anya’s bathroom snorting a line of coke off the porcelain toilet.

There is something about Jackson though.

He’s effortlessly charming, his pearly white smirk usually accompanied by a wink from dark brown eyes that just ooze sex appeal.

His white dress shirt barely fits around his rippling biceps, though he’s not as dehydrated as he must be when he appears on screen as Starseeker–the superhero character that catapulted him to global fame and aroused every man and woman with a pulse.

I haven’t spoken to him since bathroom-gate, embarrassment and plain awkwardness causing me to avoid any kind of contact with him whenever we’re in the same room.

Of course, I had to respond to his messages in the wedding group chat when he asked dumb questions like ‘can I wear jandals with the tux?’ or ‘what pocket should I keep the rings in?’, but I’ve so far managed to avoid a face to face conversation with the man.

Until he kneels at my feet and slips my shoe back on my foot.

His finger traces the arch of my foot, sending a shiver up my body like lightning and I clench my thighs together.

Now is not the time to be turned on by this man.

It’s been too long, nearly a year, since the last time I’ve been touched by hands that aren’t my own and I’d be lying if I thought there wasn’t a small part of me that was thrilled at the prospect of a wedding hook up, but even I’m sober enough to accept that there’s no way in hell that Jackson Harper would be interested in me.

“Thanks,” I say, quietly.

He stands to his full height, towering over me. He’s got at least seven inches on me and I’ve always been tall enough that the height information on dating apps has come in very handy. Sometimes a girl likes to look up . It’s good for your neck muscles.

He pulls out the chair next to me, spinning it around and straddling it. I think I almost swoon. The move was smooth and my ovaries are well aware. I tuck my swinging leg closer to my chair before it autonomously gets any crazy ideas about running along the inseam of his tuxedo leg.

“You’re welcome, pretty girl,” he says with a wink .

I shift, the lust that was fizzling under my skin dissolving to unease. Right. Echoes of cruel laughter ring in my ears and I glance away, willing myself to breathe through my nose like a normal human.

“You having a nice night?” Jackson asks.

I almost swallow my tongue. Am I dreaming? I’ve never said more than twenty words to this man face to face. I assumed that after today I would only have to see him once or twice a year at most.

He’s probably only talking to me because we’re both in the wedding party. I’m reading way too much into this.

My stomach twists, reminding me of when I was a teenager and Jake Jones asked me out after school. I’d spent the whole weekend giddy at the prospect of going out with my crush, until I walked in on Monday morning to see him wrapped around my sister, Cleo. He’d laughed when I confronted him.

“Yeah—uh, yeah it’s been beautiful.” I dart my eyes around the room, taking in the elegant French chateau and glittering decorations.

Danny’s sister Pip took over the role of wedding planner, much to Anya and I’s relief, so the whole venue is perfectly designed.

I use the opportunity to take another sip of wine.

Get it together Rosie, he is not flirting with you.

“Would have been just as beautiful in a Californian Winery, I’ll tell you that much. Better than making us all slog it out here to France.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s closer to me than you.”

Jackson licks his lip, “London, right?”

I nod. Since Anya moved to LA, I’ve had a significantly smaller social circle.

As in I don’t have one. The guys at the post production house where I work are always more interested in talking to each other about the latest anime or RPG game.

One time I tried to join the conversation and talk about the new game I downloaded and they blinked at me as if hearing a girl talking about video games was like finding a penguin in a chicken shop trying to order fries.

At least I was able to put my head down and concentrate on work instead of gabbing with the rest of them and I eventually earned enough to rent a small flat in South London, which, while complete with moldy walls and a dodgy landlord, has enough room for my whole desk.

Taking work home is a lot more appealing than listening to the guys make jokes at my expense or talk loudly about the latest Starseeker movie.

Anya had a hard time in the US when she first went out there, so we spent most of the time on video calls or planning visits around our work schedules.

One weekend that was particularly lonely, I ended up at Anya’s mum’s house by myself for the whole weekend where we watched French New Wave films and drank red wine.

It’s been nice having Anya home whilst she’s been planning the wedding, and the West London townhouse she and Danny bought has been a nice reprieve from my lumpy mattress, but I’m already dreading the six month honeymoon she’s about to embark on.

I startle when one of Jackson’s electric fingers taps my knee in a silent question.

My silky dress has slipped off my lap, revealing my bare leg, exposing it to the chilled air.

His hand rests alongside the inside of my thigh, not touching but close enough that if I so much as twitched, his knuckles would graze my skin.

“Oh.” What did he ask me again? “Yeah, London.” Shaking off the thought of his big hand clasping around my sensitive thigh, I take a last swig of my wine and make a move to rise. “I’m going to get another. ”

His palm is feather light on my knee, stopping my movement and getting caught in the burgundy material as both of my heeled feet hit the floor.

It’s almost lewd the way the dress pools around his wrist, his large palm wrapped around the delicate skin on the back of my knee. I swear his finger gently strokes before he withdraws his hand, lifting it to gesture to a passing waiter. “Hey bro, any of that good champagne left?”

The waiter nods and scurries off, returning with a chilled bottle and two glasses before I’ve managed to lever myself out of the chair. I don’t think my legs are working anymore.

“I’ve never been to London,” Jackson says as he pours us both a glass of champagne. “Dan’s offered me a visit but I haven’t taken him up on it yet.”

“You’ve never worked at one of the studios?” I ask, letting the bubbles sparkle on my tongue and attempting to compose myself. At this point, I should probably switch from alcohol to an ice cold shower.

The side of his mouth ticks up. That might be the first time I’ve even alluded to the fact that I know what his job is. That I know who he is, other than my best friend’s boyfriend’s best friend.

“Maybe one day. Maybe you could be my tour guide. Show me the hot spots.”

I scoff. “Not likely.” The only hot spot I know is the one on my phone that connects my laptop to the internet.

“C’mon, we’d have a great time.” I roll my eyes. “You could show me all the fun tourist traps and introduce me to the Queen.”

“I would never go to a tourist trap on purpose, way too many tourists.”

“Where they are likely to be. ”

“And the Queen’s dead, where have you been?”

He waves me off as he reaches for his glass. “We’ll go look at her coffin or something.”

I laugh despite myself. “The only thing you can think to do in London is look at the Queen’s headstone?”

He tilts his head with a grin, “What else could we do?”

His tone is almost…flirty? I bite down on the thought. No, Jackson Harper is not flirting with me. At least, not seriously anyway.

I blow out a breath and gesture with my now nearly empty glass. “I don’t know, we could go to a museum or Richmond Park at sunset or get a drink in the oldest pub in England.”

His grin widens, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners and my fingers twitch to trace the lines. “Sounds like a date, pretty girl.”

I feel my face turn red. “I didn’t—I don’t mean…” I go to adjust my glasses but awkwardly fiddle with my earring instead.

I hear his low laugh behind my closed eyes. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t go.”

I snap my head up, narrowing my eyes. He’s laughing at me and the feeling burns in my chest. Suddenly uncomfortable, I stand, draining the rest of my drink. “I have to go.”

“Hey.” His tanned hand encircles my wrist pulling me to a halt as those infernal sparks trail across my skin. “What did I do?”

I tug my wrist free. “Nothing. I think Anya needs me.” I feel like a teenager again, desperately trying to be cool with the guy I’m into but ending up mortified instead.

Jackson stands and turns his head to the dance floor where Anya and Danny are now trying to race to see who can catch the other’s tonsils first .

He turns back with a raised eyebrow. His neck-length hair sways with the movement, the glossy strands shining in the light from the candle sconces above us.

“Are you sure about that, pretty girl?”

“Don’t call me that,” I say forcefully, trying to sidestep him. His broad chest halts me, his arms wide and open.

“What ‘pretty girl’?”

I wince.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s mean,” I snap and finally walk past him.

I don’t know if he says anything in reply as I escape onto the balcony, cruel laughter ringing in my ears.