The Fastest Way to Fall(75)
* * *
USED TO SEEING Wes in workout clothes, I was surprised when I opened the door to greet him before his friends’ wedding. The lines of the gray suit brought out his squared shoulders and trim waist, making him appear even sexier than normal—something I hadn’t known was possible. I’d been pushing thoughts about how much I wanted to kiss him again out of my head. It wasn’t easy to do when he was in track pants and T-shirts. It was impossible to ignore with him in this suit. “Hi,” I said, recovering quickly. “Come in.”
“You look startled.” He stepped into my apartment with an easy smile.
I wanted to stare at him a little longer, to let my eyes roam over his body in the suit, but that wasn’t allowed, and I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. He’d made it clear nothing romantic was going to happen between us, and I’d decided the smart move was to leave well enough alone. “I’ve never seen you dressed up before.” I fumbled with my shoe, bending to adjust the strap, and wobbling.
“I told you I clean up nice.” Wes steadied me, and heat coursed through my body. I stiffened at the touch, and he pulled his hand away.
“You do.” The weight and heat of his palm had seared into my memory. Despite our pretending to be back to normal, I hadn’t stopped thinking about the way his body felt pressed tight against mine, and I hadn’t stopped replaying his words—that it was a mistake. Enough. Enough now. I shook my head and regained my balance, pulling away from him and offering a small smile. “Give me just a minute?”
“Of course,” he said, tucking the hand he’d touched to my spine back in his pocket.
In the bathroom, I stared at my reflection. My hair hung loose, and my Spanx slip did everything it advertised. I hadn’t planned to wear one under the black cocktail dress but second-guessed the decision at the last minute. I’d made a note to put together a post on why it felt hard to break up with the body shaper. I ran my hand down the fabric and wondered what Wes thought of how I looked, but held that question at bay. Resting my palms on the counter, I leaned forward and released a long breath.
Attending weddings always made me wonder if I’d have one—the big reception, RJ and Kat helping me into my fancy dress, the adoring man I got to call my husband holding me close. I rarely admitted to myself that I wanted it, but I did. Taking a deep breath, I vowed to get my emotions in check and stop these fantasies in my head about Wes. I will find someone. I’m a lovable person, and kisses that don’t lead anywhere don’t mean future kisses won’t. I just need to get realistic about who I fall for. I studied my reflection one more time and decided I would call Donovan the next day to see if he wanted to try again, or maybe sign up for online dating. Hell, maybe I could give Calvin a chance—it would make my mom happy. My lingering feelings for Wes were unprofessional and distracting. I nodded at the mirror. Enough.
* * *
THE MAID OF honor turned to me after wrapping Wes in a hug. “Sorry to maul your date. I’m Felicia.” She reached out to shake hands, her voice confident. “Oh,” she said. “We met at the gym, right?” She gave Wes a curious smile and turned back to me.
The wedding had been lovely, but the space between Wes and me had felt off all night, like we didn’t know how to be near each other. He’d lean in to tell me something as I turned my head to look elsewhere, or we’d start talking at the same time and not know how to recover. It was like we couldn’t even figure out how to be friends anymore. As Felicia chatted with him, we stood by the bar with our cocktails, and having her there provided a brief reprieve from the weirdness.
It returned when she was called away.
“She seems fun,” I commented as we looked for our table in the reception hall.
“Yeah,” he said, glancing around. “Definitely.”
I hated this. Even if nothing more would ever happen, we were still friends, and every interaction so far tonight had been awkward. “Quick,” I said, trying to wrestle the moment from the silence growing between us. “What is your least favorite wedding tradition?”
“That’s a tough one,” he said as we sat. He looked a little relieved and leaned forward, surveying the room. “I guess the couple feeding each other cake.”
“You’re a hater of fun? Or just wasting cake?”
“Think about it, we’re all sitting here watching them cut a cake. For starters, why is that a thing? Do married couples often cut cakes together?” He held up his fingers and ticked off his points.
I sighed, one arm perched on the table. “I think it signifies taking care of each other or something. It’s playful and romantic.”
“It’s messy and pointless,” he responded, holding my gaze.
“You wouldn’t want to publicly rub food on the woman you love?”
“I’d rather do that privately.” He winked but then caught himself, and his face shifted back from flirtatious. “What’s your wedding red flag? You like everything, huh?”
I took a sip of my drink. “I don’t like the ‘Chicken Dance,’?” I said after thinking about it for a minute.
He cocked his head to the side. “The ‘Chicken Dance’?”