Page 4

CHAPTER FOUR

oakley

As we pull up to the grand wedding venue, Corbin turns to me with a sly grin and asks, "Shall we make a grand entrance or sneak in through the back?" He opens his door, then the back one, reaching for his coat and tie, which are hanging on the back of his seat. And God, when he slips his arms through the holes and uses his massive shoulders to shrug on the suit coat, my heart beats faster.

I’ve never met a man who’s drop-dead gorgeous yet kind and confident.

The valet goes to open my door, and Corbin stops him and does it himself, afterward letting Dixie out.

“Let's make it a memorable entrance," I say, linking my arm with his as we waltz into the hotel like we own the place.

I’m not sure what I’m looking forward to the most—drinking expensive champagne, dancing, or the potential mischief we may get into.

Corbin checks in at the VIP registration desk, and the employee gushes over every word he says, so I decide to play the vixen. Sliding my hand around his back, I plead, “Come on, baby. You know how impatient I am. I need you.”

He twists his head back to me, and I stare into the most expressive brown eyes I've ever seen. But when one side of his mouth tips into a sly smile, my stomach does a triple toe loop. It spins and spins.

She hands him his key, then adds, “Mrs. Cross said to give you a key to her room as well.”

“Thanks,” Corbin says, “Let’s go. We’ll have to be quick since the wedding begins in mere minutes.”

I glance over my shoulder to the female flirt, satisfied he’s not interested in her at all.

He’s my knight. She can’t have him. We stop at his friends’ room, and he comes out with a dress bag, folded over his arm.

“Here’s our room.” He gives me a faint smile. “I’ll take Dixie to use the bathroom. Can you be ready in ten minutes?”

“Didn’t your mom teach you not to rush a woman?”

“She taught me to be on time, but I have a feeling you’re worth waiting for.” His tongue swipes between his luscious raspberry-colored lips. “We’ll be back.”

How did I get so lucky to meet a man so generous and handsome in a truck stop parking lot?

Some might call it luck.

Some may call it a coincidence.

But I call it fate.

After I hear the door click, I unzip the garment bag, revealing a bronze shimmering dress. I take it out and run my fingers over the delicate fabric, feeling its luxurious weight. It’s not something I could afford on my own, and I carefully slip into the one-shoulder dress. It hugs my waist and bust but flows over my hips. The diagonal hem makes me seem taller.

Wrapping my hair around the hair tie, I place bobby pins to keep the hair tie from showing. It’s a good day to be a hairstylist. As I twirl around in front of the mirror, I can't help but feel a little out of my element. Even with my hair in a ponytail, I look like a model in a catalogue.

I’m hoping it will be a night to remember.

As I’m touching up my makeup and creating a smokey eye that makes my blue eyes pop, the door clicks, and Dixie runs straight to me, jumping on my dress.

“Down, sweet girl. I don’t want this dress to rip. It’s not mine,” I say as I stroke her curly hair.

Corbin leans against the door frame. “I can’t say that I would mind.” His lips tip into a sly grin. “You look gorgeous.”

A warmth wanders over my skin, yet it still prickles at his compliment. I glance into my makeup bag, grab the lipstick, attempting to mask the heat in my cheeks. He watches intently while I spread the deep red, matte stain and pop my lips.

“I’m ready. Oh wait. I don’t have any shoes.”

“Just wear your sandals or tennis shoes.” He pauses. “I promise not one single person will be looking at your feet when those eyes are so wickedly beautiful.”

Rewarding Corbin with a close-lipped smile, I slip my feet into my white flat tennis shoes and put Dixie in her kennel. “I’ll be back to check on you soon.”

Dixie’s used to being kenneled so she goes in easily without barking or whining. Corbin extends his arm, leading us out and down to the elevator. We take it to the Skyloft. The music is already playing. The bride is in front of us, getting ready to make her grand entrance.

Corbin leans over and asks, “Should we wait here or go on the other side?”

“No, let’s wait here. I don’t want to miss the groom’s reaction to seeing her.” Her wedding gown resembles one I’ve seen in an haute couture bridal magazine at our shop. I catch a glimpse of the front as she turns to kiss her dad. An A-line skirt and fitted bodice with a bateau neckline. The epitome of simple, timeless elegance.

The bride mouths to Corbin, “Glad you made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Ave Maria sounds, and the intricate metal doors open to the ceremony. She slowly walks down the aisle and finally, I see the groom with a baby in his arms and a little girl in front of him. With one hand, he wipes tears from his eyes.

God, I want a man like that when I grow up. Twenty-one is too young to get married, even if my trust fund requires it. I’m going to keep living my life. It’s not all bad.

Her dad kisses her on the cheek when the officiant says, “You may be seated.” And we sneak into the first available seats.

The ceremony passes in a flash. “I pronounce Bryce and Emmaline husband and wife.”

The guests cheer as Emmaline jumps into his arms, and he takes her mouth to his. It’s more than a peck, and she’s fifty shades of red when her feet float back to the ground.

“I present Mr. and Mrs. Bryce Wynward. Guests, please join us for cocktail hour on the south patio.”

After the small wedding party exits, we head to the south patio. Since we were in the back, we’re the first ones at the bar.

“Have you ever wondered why they call it cocktail hour? Because there’s lots of cock and tail?” Laughter explodes from my body before the words are all the way out.

Corbin chuckles. “She’ll have water, and I’ll have a beer.”

I smack him on the arm. “I’ll have a glass of… wine.”

“Chardonnay?” the bartender asks, obviously amused by me not succumbing to Corbin’s request.

“Sure.”

I don’t drink much and definitely not bottled wine with a cork. The box with a spout is more my speed—a cheap rosé.

Corbin hands it to me and puts a twenty-dollar bill in the tip jar. He takes out his phone and types something in.

“That’s rude.”

His eyes lift to mine. “Just finding an answer to your question. It says in the etymology dictionary that the word cocktail comes from a French word that was mispronounced and in English was pronounced as cocktay and eventually, it became cocktail.”

“So, it has nothing to do with all the …”

“No, I don’t think it does,” he says, clearly amused, as he takes a drink and watches me sip my wine. Damn, this is good and smooth. Wine has never tasted this good.

His friends swarm us. “Shearer, it’s not like you to be late, but I can see why.” He gives me an appreciative smile. “I’m Daniel Flynn.”

Corbin rolls his eyes. “Oakley, Flynn is a former college teammate.”

“And don’t forget, head coach of Bellevue College,” his friend adds.

“Where’s Presley?” Corbin asks him.

“Still playing major league soccer. She wanted to be here, but she’s overseas for the next two weeks.” Flynn’s eyes light up when he talks about her.

Flynn flits off to talk to someone else, and I feel a warm, large palm on my back. I look up at Corbin, but he’s guiding me to the elegantly dressed waiters. “Bacon-wrapped shrimp. Or butter-crusted asparagus?”

I take one appetizer, and Corbin takes five. “Five?”

“All I’ve had is those pecans from Buc-ee’s. You had a full meal if I remember correctly.”

“Not my fault,” I tease. “Let’s go to the appetizer buffet.”

On instinct, I lace my fingers through his, leading him through the crowded cocktail hour. Corbin’s hand is strong and warm. How can holding hands make me feel gooey inside like the cream cheese icing on a cinnamon roll? As we reach the appetizer table, Corbin’s eyes light up at the sight of country ham sandwiches. He plucks a sandwich and takes a huge bite. The moan he produces sends shivers down my spine.

“Enjoying it?” I ask as a half-laugh escapes my lips.

“Country ham sandwiches. They’re my fave.” Corbin bites down and looks to be in heaven.

In my best Southern drawl, I joke, kind of. “Us country folk love our salty ham.”

“My mom always made raspberry jam that we dipped the sandwich in, or we spread it on the biscuit. I’m a sucker for the salty sweet combination.” Corbin wipes his mouth with the napkin.

As we chat with some of his friends. I listen, attempting to remember the names. I can’t believe I’m at this lavish wedding surrounded by professional athletes. And to top it off, I have the most handsome and generous man by my side. As a hairstylist, I never thought I would be wearing a designer dress and rubbing shoulders with the elite.

We get another drink, and an announcement is made that dinner is served. Finding our table number, Corbin is relieved we’re sitting at a table with his former teammates. However, when we find table number three, I’m shocked at who is also at our table.

I squeeze Corbin’s arm and whisper through closed teeth, “Oh my God. Is that Dane and Lettie Greathouse?” My armpits sweat as nerves overtake my body. “It’s one thing to sit with professional hockey players, but country music stars are on a whole different level in my book.”

“They bleed like the rest of us.” Dane and Lettie stand up, each giving Corbin a hug. Corbin kisses a pregnant Lettie on the cheek. “I’d like you to meet my friend Oakley.”

Dane says, “Nice to meet you.”

Lettie says, “How did you meet?”

“At a truck stop.”

Lettie throws her head back and cackles. At the same moment, another couple breaks in the circle. The guy says, “Hope Corbin treated you right on the way here. What’s your name?”

His wife adds, “Stop. Corbin is a sweetheart. I’m Brooke Cross, and this is my husband Reed. The guys love to give Corbin a hard time.”

Brooke seems to be about my size, so I say, “Thanks for letting me borrow this dress. It’s gorgeous.”

“No problem. If you need anything tomorrow for the 5k run in the park for Alzheimer’s, just let me know.”

Run? That’s a big fat no.

“I have shorts and a t-shirt, but thanks.” I don’t even know if Corbin is staying for it.

Reed leans in and presses a kiss to her lips. “Cookie, I’m going to check on the kids. Dane, Corbin, do you want to come with me?”

Corbin and Dane, the professional basketball player and one-half of the country music duo, follow him out.

Lettie drinks water while Brooke and I sip champagne and talk about how many children they have and how Corbin rode in on his F-150 and saved me, but then Lettie pops the inevitable question. “Are you into Corbin? Has this turned into a date? This is incredible. I think I’ll write a song about it and call it Truck Stop Love.”

I shake my head no but with a smile on my face. Our encounter is more likely to be a heartbreaker than a happily ever after. “If we dated and broke up, would Corbin even be mad? He seems easy going.”

Thoughts race through my mind about what my life would be if I dated Corbin Shearer. Games, dinner with friends, and I bet the sex is amazing. Not that I’ve experienced much, but I can dream of earth-shattering sex.

“He wouldn’t show it outwardly, but he would carry it with him. He doesn’t date. He’s waiting on the one . “Lettie uses finger quotes.

Brooke folds her lips into a tight smile. “Yeah, but Reed told me that management is upset with him over the press lately.”

Lettie jumps to Corbin’s defense. “Why do they care if he leaves the bars alone? That’s ridiculous. Why do they have to portray professional athletes as sex-starved, cheating assholes.”

A man as cut and handsome as Corbin leaves bars alone?

Brooke scoffs, “Because a few ruin the reputations of many. Bryce used to be one of them.”

Although I want clarification, the guys return, and Dane informs them, “Kids are all fine.”

The bride and groom have spared no expense on the food, serving steak or fish. I notice that this time, Corbin eats steak. Maybe he heeded my warning. I’m not kissing someone with fish breath. He’s made a few innuendos today that he may be thinking about me as more than a charity case but other than holding hands, he’s been a perfect gentleman.

As the clinking of heavy silverware ends, the announcer’s voice echoes through the ballroom. “Mr. and Mrs. Bryce Wynward, and their children, Jolie and Jax are ready for their first dance.”

Bryce holds Jolie in one arm, and Emmaline holds their baby Jax, but Bryce’s other hand is touching his wife’s hair, then it slides down her arms as he leans in for a kiss. Their little girl is in an ivory dress with a lavender satin bow and a headband to match and threatens to steal the show. She wiggles away, and a little boy her age comes to the dance floor, grabbing her hand, and they dance wildly.

Afterwards, the bride dances with her dad, then they ask the guests to dance. Dane and Lettie are the first ones out of their seats. Brooke and Reed follow. Corbin swallows and asks, “Would the most stunning woman in the room care to dance?”

I look over my shoulder to be funny. “Nah, I’m waiting for someone who isn’t a kidnapper.” I burst out laughing.

His brown eyes brighten as they round. Holding his hand out, my fingers curl around the tips of his.

“I think you’re right where you’re supposed to be… with me.”

My heart skips several beats so much that I may have arrhythmia. What if I inherited it from my mom?

Corbin leads me to the dance floor, and his touch sends shivers through me, pricking every nerve in my body. And at this moment, I believe him—I’m right where I want to be.