Good Boy (WAGs #1)(2)

Like poison ivy.

“Here, Jessie!” Tammy says, handing me a glass of the good stuff. “I’m just so impressed with the way you’ve handled Jamie’s big day!”

“Thanks,” I mutter, slugging back a mouthful of bubbly. Tammy heaps more praise on me, and then Mom joins us to heap on more. They had obviously expected me to fail spectacularly, or to quit in the middle of the job. And it brings me no satisfaction to know that the wedding tomorrow is going to be lovely. Because shortly afterward I’ll have to tell everyone that I’m giving up on party planning.

They’ll be shaking their heads over me before Jamie and Wes are back from their honeymoon.

“What’s the matter, Miss Jessica?” my mother asks.

Crap. Cindy Canning should’ve gone into law enforcement. I swear this woman can pick out any lie, read any expression to determine whether she’s being played. But no matter how intuitive she is, I refuse to ruin my baby brother’s wedding rehearsal dinner by revealing my insecurities.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I insist. “I mean, look at Jamester. How can anything be wrong when he looks this happy?”

The diversion is successful, and Mom’s face softens as she glances over at her youngest child. Jamie stands beside his fiancé, his hand on the back of Wes’s neck. They’re showing photos of their recent fishing trip to Pat, who runs the hockey camp where they met. All three men are relaxed and smiling.

Jamie is more peaceful and content than I’ve ever seen him, and that’s saying a lot, because his default mode is peaceful and content. Ryan Wesley, his super-successful semi-famous fiancé, on the other hand, is wound a little tighter. But Wes has his reasons.

That’s the real reason this wedding-planning gig was a bit of a challenge. Anyone can hire a tent and a band. The bigger trick is planning a celebration for a man whose family doesn’t speak to him anymore. The press follows him everywhere he goes, which means that I had to reserve everything under pseudonyms. But the two people who should be here tonight balancing out the tidal wave of Canning love and support—Wes’s parents—couldn’t be bothered.

So I planned this dinner—along with the engagement party a few months ago and the ceremony and reception tomorrow—taking care not to expose that gap. There won’t be any wedding favors with baby pictures of the grooms on them, because those photos may no longer exist.

Instead, I chose puck-shaped chocolates, because my brother met Wes at hockey camp.

Most of Wes’s teammates will be at the ceremony tomorrow, but tonight’s dinner is for family, close friends and members of the wedding party. I fill more than one of those roles, since I’m also Jamie’s best woman.

I’ve done the maid-of-honor gig before. Usually I love all the responsibilities that come with it. And if the best man is cute, that’s always a perk. For my friend Wendy’s wedding last summer, the hottie best man and I bailed on the reception midway through and locked ourselves in his hotel room for two days straight.

Won’t happen this time, though. Nopety nope. Because Wes’s best man happens to be—

“What the hell, J-Babe? You didn’t use any of my suggestions!”

Yep—him. Blake has threaded his muscular, bulky self through the crowd to speak to me.

“As usual, I have no idea what you’re babbling about,” I say coolly. But then I make the mistake of lifting my chin to look him in the eye. Why does such an annoying human have to be so freaking attractive? Bright green eyes look back at me, framed by thick lashes. They’re set into a ruggedly handsome face, which is riding atop a dreamboat body. For a split second, I can’t think of a single reason why I don’t like this man.

Blake’s gorgeous eyes narrow at me. “You so know what I’m talking about.” He waves one arm around the candlelit room, and my traitorous gaze notes the delicious way his sculpted body fills his tailored black suit. “Where’s the glitter, eh? And where’s the banner I asked for? The one that’s supposed to read ‘Wesmie 4ever!’”

Oh, right. Now I remember.

“Sorry, dude, but glitter plays no part in a wedding. ‘Wesmie’ is a ridiculous couple name. And banners are strictly reserved for high school proms and retirement parties.” I’ve spent months trying to make sure this event is classy and flawless. And he’d turn it into TackyFest 2016 in a hot second.

Emphasis on hot.

A cocky grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Call me that again.”

“Call you what again?”

“Dude. I’m totally digging it. Reminds me of my fraternity days.”

Blake was a frat boy? Shocking.

“You know,” he continues, “when all the babes would throw themselves at me nilly-willy.”

“Willy-nilly,” I correct.

“Huh?”

“It’s willy-nilly. The willy comes first.”

He winks at me. “I’ll let you have this one, but only because you’re right—the willy always does come first.”

I clench my teeth. This man is impossible. I don’t know what ever compelled me to get naked with him.

Loneliness, a firm voice reminds me.

Right. Loneliness. Plus, that whole girly, I-need-to-feel-desirable curse that comes after a breakup. I might’ve been the one who broke up with Raven, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t feeling vulnerable. Blake and his big stupid dick were there at the right place, at the right time.