SOPHIE HAD A knack for making time fly.
The wedding was in Everstom, which was an hour outside of town, but the drive felt like ten minutes.
Of course, that was probably because she was wildly honest, which was wildly entertaining.
For example, we’d been in the car for a solid five minutes before she said, “So the kiss the other night.”
“What about it?” I asked, surprised she was bringing it up.
Side note: I was being very careful to keep my eyes on the road and not on her.
Because I knew I’d sounded like a moron at her apartment, but swear to God I’d been rendered fucking speechless by the sight of her. The off-the-shoulder dress; the sleek, straightened blond hair; the shiny red lips—she looked like a goddamn work of art.
And her black high heels? They had me obscenely distracted.
“I still can’t stop thinking about it,” she said, a laugh in her voice. “I mean, it was so good, right?”
“It—”
“Actually, maybe it wasn’t for you, I don’t know,” she interrupted, but she wasn’t saying it like she was insecure about it. She was saying it matter-of-factly. “And I don’t care. That was the magical thing about the kiss—you didn’t matter at all. Technically you kind of could’ve been anyone.”
“What?” What the fuck?
“No, I mean, you’re a great kisser and all, for sure. But for me, the realization that I was doing it for myself—that I was getting what I wanted from your mouth—was what made it the best kiss I’ve ever kissed. In a weird way, I was kind of kissing myself.”
“That is very weird,” I said. I understood what she was saying but still found myself irritated by the brush-off. She might’ve been focused on her own wants, but I’d been the one delivering, damn it.
“You get what I’m saying, though, right?” she asked, and I could see in my periphery that she was taking out her lipstick from her clutch. “It was wildly freeing—probably what it feels like to be a man.”
“Not all men are selfish pricks,” I said. “I care what people think and what they want when I kiss them, just like you.”
“Yeah, I could see that about you,” she agreed as she pulled down the visor. “Well, take it from me, Parks, my experimental kiss was an eye-opening experience.”
I glanced away from the road and saw her reapply red lipstick to those perfect lips. The motion was almost hypnotizing, and I didn’t want to look away.
Except the lane-change warning on the truck beeped, jerking my attention back to the road.
“Y’know,” I said, feeling instantly better as an idea formed in my head. “I like that idea, kissing for yourself.”
“Right?” she said, sounding pleased with herself. “Ten out of ten, would recommend.”
“So can I try it after the wedding?”
“What?” I could see in my peripheral vision that her head had whipped around in my direction. “What does that mean?”
“It just means that you’ve made it sound absolutely game-changing, and I would love to try it.” I hit the blinker and merged onto the off-ramp. “Can I please kiss you after the wedding and see what it’s like to kiss for myself?”
“Of course,” she said, but her voice had changed, had gotten slightly huskier. “Happy to share my experience with my partner in crime.”
“Excellent,” I said, working hard to keep the smile off my face.
The wedding was at a country club, and my brand-new F-250 was definitely the sketchiest car the valets were handed keys for. As we walked inside, I put my hand on Sophie’s lower back, totally out of habit.
And my fingers met soft, bare skin.
The dress was basically backless; how had I missed that?
“Sorry,” I muttered, and dropped my hand, but even as I flexed and unflexed it, I could still feel the warmth of Sophie’s skin on my fingertips.
“Are you ready?” she said quietly, looking up at me as we waited to be seated. “You good?”
Was I good? No. But was I ready for the task? Hell, yes.
The bride—Ashley—was twenty-one years old, and her groom was forty. I wasn’t one to judge, but that fact alone felt suspect. However, the reason why my old friend’s cousin’s bridesmaid’s aunt had reached out was because Ashley had proof he was cheating and he was also a controlling asshole (persuaded her to drop out of college because he didn’t want any “wife of his” to work outside the home) who would make her life hell if she embarrassed him by calling off the wedding.
So I was great with what I was about to do.
“I’m good,” I said, and we followed the usher to the seats we’d requested in the back of the church.
The music started, and Evan, the groom, filed out of the back with his groomsmen and stood with a smirk, arms crossed in front of him. They looked like a bunch of middle-aged stockbrokers, giving each other hey, bro grins as the harpist started the accompaniment for the bridesmaids’ procession.
It was surreal, watching girls who looked like they belonged at a sorority party walk toward well-dressed men who looked like they could be their uncles. I heard a sound—was that a growl?—from Sophie and knew without looking at her exactly how she felt about this wedding.
When the bride reached the front of the church and the groom took her arm, Sophie tugged on my sleeve.
I lowered my head, and she whispered into my ear, “Thank you for doing this.”
I looked down at her face, at those long-lashed amber eyes, and gave her a nod before straightening back up.
We sat, and the minister launched into his love sermon. At this wedding, my cue to object was a little further into the ceremony, so we were subjected to the man’s poetic lesson on lifetime love before we’d be able to leave.
I glanced over at Soph, and she literally rolled her eyes when he said the words true love. Watching her was hilarious, actually, because she fidgeted, sighed, and even shook her head with squinted eyes when he mentioned soulmates.
She genuinely didn’t believe in love.
A lot of people said things like that, either to be funny or because they were jaded, but Sophie Steinbeck thought love was no different than Santa Claus. Sophie truly believed that the concept of romantic love was a brain trick.
I was a cynic who had no interest in trying to find The One, but Sophie wasn’t a cynic at all.
She was a nonbeliever.
“If anyone here knows of any reason these two should not—”
“I do,” I said, standing. My face was hot—happened every time—but I powered through. “Evan has been, and still is, unfaithful to Ashley, and was even with another woman two days ago.”
Ashley gasped, as did half the church, but Evan looked unconcerned.
Hell, the guy didn’t even look mad as he met my eye. He said, “Are you an invited guest, sir?”
Fucking ballsy.
“He is not,” Sophie yelled, standing and grabbing my hand. “And neither am I.”
I looked down at her animated face and wanted to laugh, even as I wondered what the fuck she was doing.
“Well, then, I think it’s time for security to escort you to the door,” Evan said calmly, even looking amused.
“Evan,” Ashley said quietly. “What is he talking about?”
“We have proof,” Sophie said, “that I think everyone here would be interested in seeing. Not only that, but if Evan will just let Ashley look at his phone—”
“I’m sorry, friends,” Evan said to the crowd, cutting off Sophie. “But it appears there is going to be a slight delay while we take care of these interlopers. Feel free to talk amongst yourselves or grab a mimosa from the vestibule while my bride and I deal with the uninvited.”
This was the first time I’d been utterly dumbfounded at a wedding I was breaking up. Was this guy for real?
“You two,” Evan said, pointing his index finger and pinkie in our direction like he was fucking Spider-Man. “A word, please.”
I squeezed Sophie’s hand as we exited the row and walked up the aisle in front of God and everyone. Ashley looked terrified as we climbed the stairs and joined them at the altar, and I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile as the four of us walked through the door that led to the back room.
“What the hell is this?” Evan asked calmly, the minute the door closed behind us. “I don’t know who you are or why you’re doing this. Do you know them, Ash?”
The man had the unmitigated gall to put his arm around Ashley, like they were in this together, and give her a look like he was the teacher waiting for her answer to a challenging equation.
“N-no,” she said, her eyes wide.
The poor girl just stood there, looking like his arm weighed a hundred pounds.
Sophie, who I’d filled in on the drive about all the readily available proof of the affair, launched into it, apparently taking the lead. I watched in disbelief as she raged at Evan, and then I watched as she kindly told Ashley that she deserved better.
Evan handed over his phone without protest, which shocked the hell out of me, and Ashley scrolled through the proof, crying and shaking her head. It was done—the job was over—but then the douche surprised me yet again.
“Ash, we are not going to cancel the wedding.” He said it matter-of-factly and without anger, almost like it was predetermined. “You and I are perfect together, we’ve spent a fortune on this wedding, and we’re getting married. Dry your eyes and fix your hair, because we have to get back out there.”
“Evan,” Ashley said through tears, “you’re having an affair! I’m not going to marry you.”
“Come on now,” he said, bending his knees so his face was at her level. “Let’s be grown-ups. Something happened that was my fault—and I’m so sorry—but we have a wedding to finish and a honeymoon to go on. Don’t you want to forget this and move on?”
Ashley didn’t answer. She just stared at him.
“Two weeks in Italy awaits, and then we’re going to start building our dream house. Are you going to let a tiny indiscretion destroy everything?”
“An affair isn’t a tiny indiscretion,” Sophie said, but no one heard her.
Ashley was staring at Evan, as if trying to decide what to do, and he was smiling at her in encouragement.
If I were a betting man, I’d put money on the fact that Ashley was going to go through with it.
“No!” Sophie said loudly, regaining the attention of both bride and groom. “Ashley, if he won’t let you decide this, whether or not you want to marry him, then he will never give you a voice for the rest of your life. If you marry this guy, your future is his to decide. Do you really want that? To be controlled? And what about when you have kids? Do you want them to be voiceless in their decisions? What kind of a life is that?”
“This is none of your fucking business,” Evan said, taking a step toward Sophie.
“Don’t talk to her like that,” I said, taking a step toward Evan.
“Then maybe she should shut her fucking mouth,” he said, anger finally finding its way to the surface. His face went bright red and he pointed a finger at Sophie’s nose.
“Maybe you should shut your fucking mouth,” I said, my blood boiling as the asshole glared at Soph. “And put your fucking finger down.”
“What the hell are you going to do about it?” Evan asked, still wearing that smug smile.
“This,” I said, and then I hit him.
