Page 20 of Sex, Lies, and Margarita Mixes

brIDAL SHOW BLITZ

ROXY

The bridal expo smells like overpriced roses, cheap champagne, and existential dread.

Honestly, I fit right in.

I’m wearing a navy pantsuit so tailored it’s practically second skin, with flared legs, a plunging neckline, and red heels sharp enough to stab anyone who tries me today. My earrings sparkle with petty intent. My lipstick perfectly matches my shoes and says, “I dare you.”

Next to me, Chase is carrying a box of brochures, looking edible in a tight black tee that hugs his chest like a love letter and tailored slate gray pants that make his ass a national treasure.

Take that, Captain America!

He’s calm. Collected. Sexy as hell. Meanwhile, I’m vibrating with equal parts anxiety, rage, and too much caffeine.

“You good?” he asks quietly as we check in and get our badges.

I force a smile. “I’m great. Really great. Amazing. Fabulous. Perfect.”

He watches me a beat longer. “Totally believe you, babe.”

“Uh huh.” Blowing out a breath, I scan the ballroom. “But thanks for asking.”

Inside, the convention center, the booths are chaos. There’s a floral arch big enough to block air traffic. A four-tier cake shaped like a swan. And three brides in the main aisle screaming at each other over color swatches.

“Ah,” Chase murmurs. “The sweet smell of estrogen and credit card debt.”

“Home sweet home,” I mutter, already checking off to-do lists in my brain.

Mari Lynn couldn’t be here—she’s shooting the next season of their show in LA—but she sent Melody armed with backup in the form of a tote bag labeled “In Case of Emergency, Slay” with a tiara, glitter business cards, four mini tequila bottles, and a sticky note that reads,

“Don’t burn it down. Or do. I trust your judgment.”

I love her.

We’ve been given a prime booth location and—because of the viral wedding fiasco—a prime-time slot on the main stage. The organizers knew what they were doing. Publicity is publicity.

Our company is literally trending under “Hot Mess Wedding Planner Gets Her Groove Back.”

As I reach our booth, I plaster on my best PR smile and check in with Melody, who has already set up our booth and is currently directing the rest of the team I’ve hired to assist us for the day.

“You call that a flower wall? I’ve seen better foliage at a dollar store.” Melody quips. Smiling at her, I nod.

She’s the best assistant ever.

“Gold chargers go on the left of the tablescape. Are we heathens?” I mutter.

“I’m about to throat punch the DJ if he tests the bass one more time. I swear—” I growl as the speakers boom so loudly that the ice sculpture next to us shakes and almost tumbles into our backdrop.

Chase stands beside me, sipping a cold brew, unfazed. “You’re kinda hot when you’re terrifying.”

I raise a perfect brow. “Kinda?”

He leans down and presses a quick kiss to my lips before saying, “Very.”

I smirk. “Damn right.”

He kisses the side of my head and slaps my ass. “You’ve got this, babe.”

It’s our turn on stage and the emcee reads from the card I wrote myself. “Next up is the woman behind the most talked-about wedding event company in Texas… Roxy West, co-owner of Bold Hearts Events.”

Chase squeezes my hand. “Go, baby, go.”

Ignoring my nerves, I stride onto the stage like I own it. “Hey, y’all.” I wave to the crowd. “This is a bridal expo, so let’s talk weddings. They’re messy. Emotional. Expensive. And totally worth it. Kind of like therapy with cake samples.”

Laughter ripples through the audience.

I pace slowly. “I’ve planned a couple hundred weddings. Some have been perfect. Some… well, some involved a flaming dessert cart, a rogue chicken, and a groomsman passed out in a fountain.”

More laughter.

“But here’s the truth. You don’t need perfection.

You need magic. You need someone who can control the chaos.

Someone who will hold your hair while you cry over chair covers.

Someone who can talk you out of a spiral when you realize you’re about to become someone’s wife— for real .

Someone who will play tug of war with a peacock over a tablecloth— don’t ask —and still make sure the cake’s cut on time. ”

A few women cheer. A mom in the third row dabs her eyes. Melody fist pumps from the back of the audience. “And if your marriage is half as good as my makeup sex, you’re doing just fine.”

Applause erupts. Someone yells, “ Yes, queen .”

I grin. “And speaking of my husband… y’all wanna meet him?”

A collective “Yes!” echoes.

I wave Chase onto the stage. He appears wearing a tux jacket, his tailored pants… and absolutely no shirt underneath.

When the hell did he change? And where is his damn shirt?

The crowd loses it. Women scream. A bridesmaid throws a napkin like a bouquet. Someone yells, “I volunteer as tribute!”

Simmer down. He’s mine.

I grab the mic. “Ladies, calm down. This one is mine.”

Chase smirks and kisses my cheek. “Forever, babe.” He whispers in my ear, “Losing my shirt was a good choice, huh?”

I roll my eyes but grin at him. “Damn right.”

He takes the mic from me. “Hi, I’m Chase. I cook. I lift heavy things. And I love the absolute hell out of this woman. Best event planner in Texas. Come see us at booth thirty-four.”

The screams intensify.

Stepping closer to my man, I murmur, “You’re gonna need freaking security to leave and I might have to shank a bitch.”

He chuckles and leans down, his lips brushing my ear. “No need to bring out the blades, unless it’s to cut the cake.”

I mutter, “You’re going to get me arrested. I need a margarita, hot stuff.”

He chuckles. “I’ll get you two.”

As we exit the stage, he bends me over his arm and kisses me senseless. I’m quite sure we probably violate some bridal show code of conduct. The crowd goes absolutely wild.

Mine, bitches.

But do come book us for your wedding!

Our booth is mobbed after the speech and show we put on.

People snap selfies. Influencers ask questions. Brides, and their mother’s, book us on the spot.

Chase answers queries while I sign contracts and our team runs like a well-oiled machine. He’s calm amid the chaos, handing out cake samples, talking flavor pairings with overwhelmed future grooms, and even charms a grandma with a checkbook into upgrading linens.

I want to jump him right there.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he groans under his breath. “I cannot hide a stiffie in these damn pants.”

“You’re literally rolling up a tablecloth and I’m picturing you tying my wrists with it,” I whisper back.

He flashes a grin. “I’ll use the satin ones. Less chafing.”

“Noted.” I laugh.

I grab his lapels, and the backs of my fingers graze his tattooed pecs. “Fifteen minutes. Then, I’m taking you behind the curtain.”

His nostrils flare. “Make it ten.”

Holy shit. Deal.

Nine minutes and fifty-seven seconds later, I tell Melody we’re taking a quick break, and the booth is hers.

She nods, but I don’t miss the smirk she shoots my way as we leave the space.

Glancing around, I quickly drag Chase behind the booth’s backdrop curtain.

It’s a mini hall blocked by thick dark fabric in the middle of the floor.

He lifts me instantly, setting me atop a stack of boxes as his mouth claims mine.

“I can’t believe you wore this suit,” he rasps, squeezing my hips and unzipping my pants. “You’re killing me, Roxy.”

“Good.” I yank open his jacket, my palms hot against his bare chest. “I want to be the cause of your death.” I moan but try to keep my voice down.

He nips my jaw. “You will be… one way or the other.” He mutters.

His hand slips into my pants. My legs part and I grunt as the material pulls. Letting go of his jacket lapels, I shimmy, pulling my pants down to my ankles. They catch on my heels. His hand returns and he nudges my thighs apart. His fingers find heat and slickness. “Already so wet for me, baby.”

“Always.” I kiss him hard, grinding shamelessly as I ride his hand. “We don’t have much time, Chase. Take me.”

He leans back, pops the button on his slacks, pushes them down to his upper ass, and pulls me off the boxes, whirling me around as soon as my heels hit the floor.

I stumble and almost trip, a giggle escaping as I moan, “Careful, lover.”

“I’ve got you.” He growls, low. Pressing against my spine, he bends me over. My elbows rest on boxes and my palms grip the sides. He surges in. It takes everything in me not to yell out with pleasure. Biting my lip, I push back against him. He fucks me, hard and fast. His skin slaps against mine.

It's desperate… and perfect. Reaching around, he rolls my nub as he slams into me. My back tightens and I taste blood as I come… I clench around him, and he surges in, locking his arms around my waist. He bites my shoulder through the jacket as he comes.

We both laugh and he steps back, tucking himself back into his slacks and buttoning them up as I lean down and pull my pants back up. Reaching out, he zips them for me and kisses me on the mouth. We’re both still breathing heavily.

“We’re disgusting,” he murmurs.

I grin. “Nah. We’re thriving.”

He laughs. “Yup, and you’re going to hold my cum in for the rest of the day, Mrs. West. You’re on fire today, baby. You really booked five clients while threatening a florist.”

Pursing my lips, I grin, “I’ll wear it like pussy perfume. And thanks. Had to. She tried to upsell me peonies in December.”

Chase shakes his head and chuckles. “Monster.” His brow rises as he looks me over. “You look freshly fucked.”

I wink and he helps me right myself—no mirrors back here—we walk back out like nothing happened. His hair is messier. My lipstick is certainly smeared. Our booth is busy.

Business is booming.

At the end of the day, Chase slings an arm around me as we watch the staff dismantle the displays. “You did it, babe.”

I lean into him. “ We did it. Thank you for coming and for helping… even if multiple women will use shower heads on themselves tonight to the thought of you… my husband.”

He chortles. “You don’t need a shower head. I’ll always go home with you.” He kisses my temple. “Proud of you, Rox.”

“Proud of us ,” I murmur.

I am. We’re together. Doing this and I’m not running or pushing him away anymore.

He squeezes my waist. “Ready to go home?”

I shake my head. “Ready to go everywhere.”

He grins. “I’m starving. Some vixen stole my reserves behind a curtain earlier. Let’s start with tacos.”

I laugh out loud. “I could go for some tacos… and then, maybe I’ll let you have my taco.”

Chase growls, “My favorite meal.”