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TAYLOR

“I’d like to stay here in bed and fuck you all night long.”

I smile lazily, my body wilted. “Me too.”

“But I have to go back to the wedding—we have this, uh, thing planned.”

“I guess I have to go back too.”

“Let’s go.” He plants a kiss on my lips. “We’ll be back here as soon as we can.”

I have to smile. His eagerness to get me back into bed is a total turn-on. Not to mention his big, skilled hands, his strength, and his filthy mouth. God. Now I’m melting all over again.

He moves off me and adjusts his clothes—tucking his shirt in, zipping his fly. He runs his hands through his hair, and I tug my bra and the bodice of my dress back up over my breasts.

JP bends to pick up my panties and I reach out my hand, expecting him to give them to me. But with a wicked smirk, he tucks them in his jacket pocket.

“Hey!”

He eases my dress down over my hips, down to my knees, and kisses me. “No one will know you’re bare under there. No one but me.”

“Oh God. JP . . .” But I kiss him back before zipping into the bathroom to clean up a bit, using his hairbrush to attempt to restore my hair. It’s not going to look like it did earlier when the hairdresser did the loose, wavy updo. Actually, though, it doesn’t look bad. I turn my head one way, then the other. The stylist used so much hairspray, it’s still okay, just a little . . . looser. There are also some pink marks on my throat and shoulders that weren’t there earlier. I didn’t bring my clutch purse, so I don’t have even a lipstick.

Luckily my dress doesn’t look too bad.

JP of course looks amazing, but he grumbles as he adjusts his tie, frowning in the mirror next to me in the big bathroom. “Okay, let’s do this.”

He grabs the key card off the desk.

We walk into the ballroom to the sounds of “I Gotta Feeling” by Black Eyed Peas, people still rocking out on the dance floor. JP curls his hand around mine to stop me, leans in, and says, “I’ll find you later.”

“Okay.”

I watch him disappear into the crowd, apparently on a mission. I take this chance to find my purse at the head table and make a beeline for the ladies’ room to touch up my makeup as much as I can. But on my way out of the ballroom, I come face to face with Manny.

“Hi, Manny.” I smile.

His gaze moves over me, taking in my messy hair, the whisker burns on my skin, my swollen lips. He doesn’t know I’m commando under my dress . . . but I do. I’m acutely aware of how bare I am.

His face tightens. “Hi.”

“So nice to see you again. Glad you could make it—I’m sure it means a lot to Lacey and Théo.” I show some teeth. “Excuse me, I’m on my way to the ladies’ room.”

I dart around him, making my escape. In front of the big mirror, I inspect my appearance, seeing what Manny just saw. It’s pretty obvious.

I don’t even care.

Maybe I thought I wanted to show him I’m over him, but once JP started kissing me, the last thing I was thinking about was Manny. And that makes me realize . . . I am over him.

I pump a fist into the air just as two women walk in and give me puzzled looks. I smile back.

I return to the ballroom just in time to see JP up on the dais with the microphone in his hand.

“Hey, everybody! Some of Théo’s friends have a special surprise for you tonight.”

My eyes widen. I look around and see Jimmy, another groomsman, setting a chair at the edge of the dance floor, to which he then leads Lacey. Curious, smiling, I make my way to the head table to sit and watch what’s going on.

The opening notes of “Beat It” by Michael Jackson fill the ballroom.

Everyone starts clapping and laughing as four men carry Théo in on a chair raised above their shoulders. They cross the dance floor and set him down next to Lacey. He’s laughing too, apparently not expecting this.

The four men carrying him—his uncles Asher, Noah, and Harrison, and his cousin Jackson—move onto the dance floor, joined by JP and Leo, the third groomsman. All six of these guys are hockey players, dressed in suits over their muscular bodies.

As “Beat It” launches into its familiar, catchy rhythm, all six guys strike a Michael Jackson pose, then start dancing.

I can’t take my eyes off JP, who’s holding his crotch, thrusting his pelvis, and not even looking like an idiot doing it. I laugh along with everyone else as they dance. That song changes to Bruno Mars’s “24K Magic.” The men whip off their tux jackets and the women in the crowd all scream.

I can’t stop laughing, watching JP mostly. He catches my eye briefly across the room and flashes a grin. This is so crazy. The guests are clapping along, many standing to watch the show.

The music now changes to “Gangnam Style” and the guys rotate their arms in the air and do the dance, bringing more gales of laughter. Finally, they end with “Time of My Life.”

JP and Jimmy pull Théo out of his chair and then, along with Jackson and Harrison, lift him over their heads in the lift move from Dirty Dancing.

The room explodes with cheering and clapping as the show ends.

I’m laughing so hard my stomach hurts.

JP makes his way toward me, still without his suit jacket, his face flushed and eyes twinkling. Damn. This all just makes him even more attractive.

I could fall for this guy.

No, no, no. This is a fling. This is me letting go and forgetting about romance and happily-ever-after and just having fun for one night. Or two.

He holds out a hand to me, the DJ having resumed control of the music, playing “All of Me” by John Legend. We walk onto the dance floor to the piano chords and start to move to the music. Instead of taking my hand, he clasps my waist with both hands, and I drape my arms around his neck.

“That was hilarious,” I say, smiling.

He grins. “It turned out pretty good. We practiced for weeks.”

I shake my head, amused and touched by the effort he and the others went to for Théo. He can’t be that bad of a bad boy . . . can he?

He bends his head close to mine and whispers, “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

And then he’s gone. Stunned, I see him lying on the dance floor, Manny on top of him, having tackled him right out of my arms.

I let out a little screech.

Everyone else starts screaming, people scattering out of the way of the two men wrestling on the floor.

I watch in horror, shocked into inaction. “Oh my God! Manny, what are you doing?”

Théo charges up to them and grabs the back of Manny’s suit jacket, trying to drag him off JP. “What the fuck, man?” he yells at Manny.

“You fucking asshole!” Manny shouts at JP.

Jackson and Théo’s uncle Mark join in, trying to help Théo get Manny off JP, but then two more guys rush up . . . Wyatt, who lives in the same building as Théo, and another man, and they grab Théo to get him to release Manny.

“Hey!” Lacey shouts, marching up in her wedding dress.

Attempting to defend Théo, JP throws a punch. More screams sound as Wyatt staggers back, holding his face. Then they’re all shoving and wrestling with each other.

I throw a wild glance at Lacey, not sure what to do. Théo’s mom, Aline, has her, holding Lacey back from charging into the fray. Then Théo’s dad storms in and somehow breaks things up. The men are all shooting each other angry glares, shaking out bruised knuckles, and adjusting their clothes. JP touches his bleeding lip.

A hot gush of anger rises in me. I glare at Manny. “What the hell was that?” I demand.

He shakes his head, not meeting my eyes.

I turn to JP, unaccountably pissed at him too, with his bleeding lip, rumpled shirt, and mussed hair. My chest tightens and tears threaten. I’m not even sure what all the roiling emotions inside me are. I was terrified he was going to get hurt, and angry that Lacey’s beautiful wedding was being ruined, and now I’m relieved and . . . and feeling guilty. This might have happened because of me. “Fucking cavemen,” I mutter, covering my guilt with fury. “Good God.” I stomp back to the head table to grab my purse.

My bridesmaid duties are done. Lacey’s not throwing the bouquet, the cake has been cut and served, we’ve danced our duty dances.

I stalk across the ballroom to an exit, my legs unsteady from the rush of adrenaline, my cheeks burning.

“Hey, Taylor, wait.”

I turn to see JP. I throw my hands in the air. “What the hell was that? You hockey players are all nuts! I’m out of here.”

His mouth drops open as I whirl on a stiletto heel and march to the front of the hotel to wait for an Uber.