Good Boy (WAGs #1)(12)

“Balloons, duh.” I admire them. “The white you ordered turned out really boring in person, though. You shoulda seen it. Just…whiteness on white ribbons. So I dressed ’em up a little. It’s sporty, you know? Aren’t they perfect?” I’d bought fifty Mylar balloons in the shape of those big foam fingers you see at hockey games. “This is a sporty wedding. I saw those puck-shaped chocolates you got, and the hockey-themed wedding website. So these fit right in.”

They’re bright blue and say WE’RE #1 down the finger.

“N-no you don’t,” she sputters. “No fucking way.”

“Language, Jessica!” Cindy Canning chides, gliding up to where Jess and I stand facing each other. “What’s the matter, honey?”

“Those are not the balloons I ordered.” Her pink, pouty lip sticks out, and I want to give it a nibble. But I’m sensing now isn’t a great time.

“Well, they sure are shiny,” Cindy says. “They’ll do, honey. Let’s not get all stressy.” Cindy waves at her mother-in-law. “Thank you for picking up Nana at the airport, Blake.”

“Don’t mention it. We had a little scare there when the airline couldn’t find her luggage, but I calmed her down. I’m good at that. Right, GrannCann?” I call over my shoulder.

“Everything is fine!” Granny yells. “Hi, Cindy! Let me see that dress. Lace, honey? That’s very mother-of-the-groom.” She cackles.

Cindy’s eyebrows lift. “Blake, is it possible that my mother-in-law has been drinking?”

“Well, she was pretty stressed out. I bought her a couple of beers while the airline guys ran around and found her luggage.”

“Oh dear,” Cindy says, marching off to check on Granny.

That leaves me and Jess alone, and she’s staring at me like she wants to rip off my clothes. Or just rip something. I’m not quite sure which.

“Those blue fingers have to go,” she hisses, low and threatening. “Where are the rest of the white ones?”

I shrug. “Didn’t need ’em, so I gave them to a kid who was having a birthday party. Man, that kid was stoked. Said he was going to try that thing where you hold ’em all and jump off the roof of the garage.”

“You gave away my balloons?” Jess’s face falls.

Oh hell. The thing is, the Jess I met in Toronto this spring had a wicked laugh and a naughty sparkle in her eye. I thought she’d think these balloons were funny. They are funny. But the poor girl just can’t appreciate a joke right now, and that’s my bad. I should have known not to mess with a chick’s color scheme. My sisters would probably castrate me for less.

“Don’t be mad, Jessie. I’ll go back to the store.”

“They require twenty-four hours notice,” she whispers, her face reddening further.

I’m starting to feel uneasy for her. Apparently I’m not the only one, because a slender guy with a wave of perfect hair scurries up and starts waving his hands near her face.

“Breathe, sweetie pie. Give me some deep yoga breaths. Fainting would wrinkle your dress, and we can’t have that.”

“There aren’t breaths deep enough,” Jess insists. “If I’m jailed for murder, will you visit me?”

“Yes, baby,” the guy coos, kissing her cheek. “Especially if the jumpsuits are salmon.” Then the guy extends a hand to me, but laughs when he realizes I can’t shake it because I’m holding something like a hundred balloons.

“I’m Blake Riley,” I offer.

“Dyson Hart.”

“Dyson, like the vacuum?”

“That’s right.” He gives me a sidelong glance. “Want a demonstration?”

“Dyson,” Jess snaps. “What did we talk about?”

The guy chuckles.

“Blake, this is Dyson. My boyfriend.”

Dyson chuckles again, and she elbows him. He holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you, hon.”

Jess sighs. “Okay, so we have half as many white balloons as we need. I’ll just make do.”

“What about these blue babies?” I look up at them glinting in the sunlight.

“They can go…by the port-a-potties,” she grumbles.

“All right.” If it’ll cheer her up, I’m all for it. “Then it’s a real shame that some of ’em don’t say, We’re Number Two.”

Dyson lets out a loud laugh-snort and holds up a hand, which I try to high-five. But we get tangled up in the balloon ribbon, and Jess has to free us. She does this while rambling on and on about how difficult I am and that she’s never planning another wedding again as long as she lives.

I’m obviously going to have to calm her down with some nookie later. This much stress isn’t good for anyone.





Jess


“So tell me about Blake,” Dyson orders, licking his lips. “Why are we trying to make him jealous?”

“We’re not,” I snap. “You’re just the buffer.”

“Uh-huh,” he says with a wink. “I’d let Blake buff me.”

I clamp my jaw shut because the urge to spill my guts is strong. But I’m saved from that disaster by the appearance of my brother, the groom.