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Chapter Twenty-Five

Nick

"C'mon Heath," I begged. "It's Independence Day. What better way to celebrate than in Las Vegas in front of a slot machine? Didn't I work my butt off last night at the show? C'mon..."

Admittedly, I felt a little like Baylee. I was tugging on the bottom of her lacy tank top and backing away slightly so that it stretched away from her body before letting it go and watching it snap back. Of course, unlike Baylee I was fully aware of the skin show I was creating.

It seemed to be a struggle for Heather to turn her eyes away from the screen. "I can't," she said, her forehead creased. "I just got revisions back for the first half of the story and I want to edit those and send them back. Then I have to work on the--"

"Yanno what my favorite part of a book is?" I asked. I wasn't going to tell her I had only learned this definition the other day on my handy-dandy GED Quick! IPad app. "the climax."

She laughed. I wasn't sure if it was because I was giving her my big love me eyes or if it was because she assumed I only knew the sexy meaning of the word.

"Nick, honey, I promise. You go play the slots for a few hours and by that time I can break for dinner. Besides, I have a dress fitting and you can't be here."

"I can help you with the dress fitting," I said with a grin. Heath closed the lid of her laptop, rolling her baby blues.

"It's bad luck to see me in the dress before the wedding."

"I don't believe in superstition. I say you wiggle into that dress, we break out the Ouija board and have fun."

She propped her chin in her hand, shaking her head just slightly. "Bye Nick."

I pouted. Yes, I was thirty-one, but damnit, I could still pout. "What time can I come back?"

"Five? Ish?"

"Five-ish," I repeated. "Got it. If I don't return it's cause I died of a broken heart that you wouldn't play the cherry slots with me."

"If you don't return it's because you beat the machine up for taking all your money and you're in jail," she teased. I swooped in, my lips puckered to their full sexy-tude and kissed her softly. "Love ya."

"Back atcha," she said.

She was typing away again before I even closed the door.



"I should not be here," I muttered under my breath two hours later, my eyes glued to the stage.

Let me rewind. I might not be superstitious, but I do believe in the power of coincidence. I had managed to get down to the casino floor and I was doing fairly well at the roulette wheel when the guy next to me started jabbering about some women's fitness competition.

"Bikinis," he said, his teeth clattering against the short shot glass he pressed to his lips. "Toned chicks in bikinis."

If he had left it at that, I would have been fine. But he hadn't.

"I just peeked in on round one and I gotta tell ya, I'm pretty sure the Lauren Kitt chick is gonna win."

I had ordered a Cherry Coke (light on the coke, heavy on the grenadine syrup, thank you) and was mid-sip when her name came out. I choked, the liquid flying down into my lungs instead of my gut. The red and black on the roulette wheel whirled together oddly as my vision blured. Mr. Chatty Cathy pounded me on the back.

"All right there son?"

The cigar smoke fell heavily all around me as I struggled to breathe. "Did...did you say Lauren Kitt?" I asked.

The guy nodded. "Yup. Waddya say you and me go check her out? I'm bust."

I wasn't bust, but I knew if I kept playing now I would be shortly. I scooped up my chips and shoved them in my pockets. The weight of them caused my jeans to sag. "I'll just take a quick peek..." I said.

I figured I could catch a glimpse of her and get out without her knowing I was there. There'd be no harm. No foul.

No cheating.

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Heather

Eric's tongue ran slowly along the inside of her thigh and Holly shivered in wicked delight. This was how it was supposed to be. Just her and Brian. Alo--"

"ARGH!"

I had done it again. Several of my revisions on the first half of my draft had been name flubs. Now I was beginning to work away on the end of the story and the same thing kept happening.

I was never going to get him out of my head.

My fingers were flying and my mind was chanting 'don't type Brian' over and over again when I heard the knock on the door. My stomach flip-flopped as I saved my work, closed the laptop, and padded barefoot over to the door.

A large pink garment bag swung directly in front of me. A round pixish looking face swung around it. The woman smiled.

"Heather Johnson?"

I nodded and took a step back. "That's me. Come in."

The seamstress, Joann, had come from Kentucky for this moment. It was my first fitting. I hadn't gone with my dream dress: my heart hadn't been in it. Instead, I had gone with a Vera Wang, a brand new design from the current line. It was strapless, showed way more skin than I wanted, and had a dipping back that barely allowed me to wear underwear.

And for some reason, my mom loved it. I was pretty sure she had been tipping away more than her fair share of the brandy she hid behind the flour in the pantry lately.

A half-hour later, Joann was chatting my ear off and assisting me into the dress. I wobbled unsteadily in the heels Nick had bought for me, the fear of actually having to walk in them coursing through my mind.

"Women would kill for a figure like yours," Joann sighed. "Curves in all the right places. I've seen pictures of you and Nick. My, oh my is he good to look at.

It was mean-spirited, but I thought of his pucker face...and the way he overly slobbered over my thighs. I knew girls would chop off their arms and legs to be in my shoes...

But my shoes were Converse, not heels. I was cotton undies, not thongs...

"Oh honey, this dress is worth crying over," Joann said gently. With one finally yank, she turned me towards the mirror.

There was no denying that I looked pretty - what bride didn't look pretty on their wedding day? But it wasn't what I was crying about.

"All we need to work on is the hem," Joann said happily. She let out a soft whistle. "Girl, as if he didn't love you before, he's going to take one look at you in this dress and fall head over he--"

"He-hello?"

Brian. For the last couple weeks, our paths hadn't crossed much. And when they did, there was something stand-offish that I couldn't put my finger on. Of course, I chalked it up to my overworked brain. Overworked brain or not, I was happy (and surprised) to hear his voice in the doorway. I whirled around, forgetting that I had about ten pounds of heavy silk floating around my legs. My heel got caught on the underskirting and I screamed, my hands shooting out in reflex as my body began to move towards the floor.

I was going down.
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Brian

It was like a cross between the felling of a tree and a feather dropping out of an angel’s wing. Pouf, lace, satin and that sheer frilly stuff veils are made out of came flying at me. A squeal from somewhere deep in the white cloud was the only indication that a bolt of cloth hadn’t been thrown at me from across the room. I reached out my arms in instinct, and moved forward, intercepting her before she hit the floor and ate carpet.

I stood there, hugging a bride to my chest.

Her gown left very little to the imagination. I caught my eyes trickling low enough to see her cleavage before I reverted them and looked straight ahead. Wow.

“Heather,” I said.

“Brian,” she answered, breathless.

“Excited for the fall are we?” I asked, righting her like she was a Precious Moments figurine that just needed straightening. I pet her head softly, and took a step back.

She blinked at me, and I wasn’t sure she got the joke.

“I wasn’t trying to fall,” she said, “It’s the damn heels.” And just like that, she kicked them off and I saw $2,500 shoes hit the wall. Heather scowled, “I hate high heels.”

I laughed. “I’ve never seen you in heels. I feel like I missed the show.”

“You saw all of it,” she said, “I didn’t even get two feet in them.”

I smirked. “You got two feet in them,” I pointed at her feet.

She looked up at me. “You’re a funny man today, are you? Funny man?”

I laughed. “I’m always a funny man. Don’t pretend you didn’t notice.”

“You know, I always worried you’d eventually grow out of your funny,” she smiled, “Do you know how relieved I am to know that it’s still alive in there?”

“The funny is a part of the Brian,” I said, “You can’t take it out. It’s like the country in me. You can take the Brian out of the funny, but you can’t take the funny out of the Brian.”

Heather laughed. But even as the musical sound escaped her mouth, her eyes sobered and she raised an eyebrow. “Where’ve you been anyways?” she asked, “You’ve been scarce lately.”

I cleared my throat. “Yeah,” I said, “Scarce.” I rubbed my palms against my jeans. “I just…” Honestly, what I’d come a’knockin’ for was the awkward topic of why she’d chosen meto be in her story as the heroine’s lover. I wondered if she was somehow mocking me for telling her I loved her.

“Heather,” I said slowly, about to delve into my topic. And then a thought occurred to me. “Is Nick here?”

“Nick?” Heather laughed, “No, he’s out playing cherry slots.”

Yeah I’m sure.

“Oh. Good.”

“Good?” Heather laughed, “What? Are you avoiding him?”

I thought quick. Luckily. “I’m just … sick of hearing about all my duties as a best man.”

Heather laughed. “As long as you don’t have Lauren Kitt stripping at the bachelor party, I’m happy.”

I laughed.

Only kind of. Nick had jokingly said it. Jokingly. Then he’d quickly taken it back when I almost ripped his face off with my bare hands. Unfortunately for Nick, I wasn’t good at taking jokes. Especially when I felt inclined to do that weird bunny ears quotation marks thing when I said the word jokes.

“Are you getting- er- excited?” I asked. I picked up her veil and studied it as she scooped up the lacey skirts and started towards the back of the bus.

“Sure,” she answered.

I put the veil on my head. “How do I look?”

Heather looked over her shoulder at me. “Going the way of the rainbow like Leighanne did, huh?” she asked, smirking.

“HAW,” I faked the guffaw. “Funny. Funny.”

Heather giggled. “I’m glad you’re ready to joke about it.”

I wasn’t. Not really.

But it was Heather. She could get away with pretty much anything.

“So… why are you here again?” she asked.

I cleared my throat, “Well, kiddo, I was wondering if you –“

A petite Asian woman buzzed by me with a tape measurer in her mouth. She tugged and hawed until Heather had reached down and pulled the gown over her head. And there she stood in a silk slip, a hot-pink bra with black polka dots clearly tellable through the thin silk. I could see her bellybutton. I felt hypnotized.

“Brian?”

My mouth wasn’t working.

“Brian?”

I looked up at her face. “The night with the whack-a-mole,” I said.

Heather stared at me. “Yeah?”

“On the porch.”

She blushed.

“If Nick hadn’t interrupted us –“

But like clockwork, like magic… like we’d summonsed him… the bus door banged open and Nick burst in.

With a bloody nose.

He stared wildly at Heather. “Before you see the photos,” he gasped, “I can explain.”

I looked at Heather.

Well then. So much for that conversation.