How many mimosas is too many before a wedding?

Turns out, four.

Wes tastes like toothpaste and heat. His body tenses—Surprise? Shock?—but it takes him less than a heartbeat to kiss me back. I have my arms around his neck, a loose hold that he could easily break away from, but he doesn’t. His hands go around my waist, the white dress shirt falls to the floor, and instead of pushing me in the opposite direction, he pulls me close, my hips against his.

Why did I make him put on that undershirt? I’d do anything to run my hands down his bare abs right now.

The kiss is hard, forceful. Wes is not my type. He’s the kind of guy I can’t stand. But this kiss? This growling, possessive kiss? I could be into this. A shiver of sheer delight runs down my spine, and it’s not because I’m in love with Wes. Jesus, no. It’s because this is so wrong. I shouldn’t be kissing Summer’s brother. She is my best friend in the world.

But she wanted me to get him to the wedding at any cost, and he wouldn’t shut that mouth of his. He was going to keep arguing and arguing until something drastic happened.

I’m something drastic.

He moves one of his hands and cups the back of my neck, his calloused skin rough against the wispy hairs underneath the wedding-grade updo. Hot damn. Hot damn. Wes might be acting like a delicate flower—a petulant, delicate flower—but he doesn’t kiss like one. His tongue teases at my lips and I give into it, letting him explore for a moment before I push back, nipping at his bottom lip. He lets out a short breath and we collide, one more time, before he pushes away from me, the air electric around us.

Wes wipes the pad of his thumb against his lips, his green eyes stormy, but he doesn’t turn away. He looks right into my eyes. “What the hell was that?”

“You wouldn’t shut your mouth and follow the plan. Drastic measures. I think that worked to reset the conversation, don’t you?” He doesn’t answer while I bend to pick up the shirt from the floor. I sincerely hope he can’t see the way my knees are trembling beneath the skirt of my dress. I kissed him. I’m the one who went there, but my body is reacting like he swept me off my feet and dropped me onto the saddle of an elegant white stallion. Ride off into the sunset with Wes? Not likely. “Put this on.”

He steps close, eyes flashing.

I hold my breath, bracing for the argument, the dismissal I’ll have to take back to Summer. And, oh, God, Linda.

Wes snatches the shirt from my hand. “Fine.”

I exhale.

“Are you going to stand there and watch me?”

“I’m not leaving, if that’s what you’re asking. We’re late.” He buttons up the shirt and I toss him his pants. “Faster than that, oh best man.”

He glances up at me, his hands on the waistband of his jeans. “You’re incredibly fucking pushy.”

“It gets results.”

He smirks, but he gets himself into the tuxedo pants nonetheless.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Summer whispers. I have something like thirty seconds before I walk down the aisle. Wes is at the front with Dayton. Thank God I don’t have to walk with him right now. I’ll get myself together during the ceremony, and the walk out will be fine.

Summer’s hands tremble around her bouquet, which is just this side of massive. It’s a riot of spring roses and it’s almost as beautiful as she is. “Are you all right? Do you need a tissue?” I have an entire bridal emergency kit strategically folded into my own bouquet.

“I have tissues too,” whispers Alex. It’s her turn after me, and then the main event.

“I’m okay,” she whispers, eyes shining. “How’d you get Wes down here on time for the pictures?”

“I worked a small miracle.” I give her an encouraging smile. We do not need to talk about the details of the miracle. All that matters, is that I got to the room in time to slide into some photos of buttoning Summer’s dress—a lace confection that reminds me of Princess Kate’s wedding dress, it’s that classy and wonderful—and Wes was in the photos with Dayton and his other groomsman. It’s some guy named Curtis. I’m more than a little desperate to know where Dayton found a guy like Curtis. The guy looks good—in his tux, he’s a regular...you know, groomsman—but there’s something in his eyes that makes me wonder what his story is.

“I couldn’t have pulled this off without you.” Summer, ever the nice one, looks at Alex. “You, either. All those doughnuts.”

I take Summer’s hand and squeeze, and Alex reaches out to pat her arm. “That’s what best friends are for.”

“I can’t believe you’re still mine, after I abandoned you to that apartment all by yourself.”

“Solo living is a blessing, not a curse.”

She cocks her head to the side, looking like a magazine ad for the expression don’t lie to me. “Solo rent is a curse.”

“I’ve got a sublease going on.”

“Got or had?”

I sigh. “Had. But she took a job in LA. It’s not a big deal. I’ll line something up soon.” The wedding coordinator hisses my name from her spot by the doorway. “It’s your wedding day. Stop fretting about the apartment! Also, you look like a glorious wedding angel and I love you.”

“You guys are hilarious,” whispers Alex, then turns to Summer. “Why didn’t you tell me she was so great? Never mind, never mind, wedding day.”

Summer beams at me, and it’s my turn to walk down the aisle.

Slow, measured steps. That’s what we practiced at the rehearsal. Gentle smile, not a fucking terrifying grin. Shoulders down, chin slightly forward. Summer’s wedding coordinator is kind of bitchy, but she does know how to get the best out of the wedding photos. I can respect that.

I focus on the gentle smile and not on Wes.

I’m totally not looking at him, standing there in his tux, a step away from Dayton, posture tall and precise, like I thought it would be. I am not noticing his sandy hair, a couple of shades darker than Summer’s, or the way he flicks his eyes to me as I come down the aisle. I don’t even see how his eyes heat up at the sight of me. Gentle smile. Gentle smile. Do not get turned on by the memory of his lips on mine while I’m walking down the aisle at my best friend’s wedding.

I feel it before it happens—the damn aisle runner. There’s a crease and it catches the toe of my high heel. No. No. But I am a photogenic goddess in this moment and I will not be thwarted by an aisle runner. I will not have Wes see me fall on my face in front of the church.

I lift my heel high—too high—and pray nobody’s taking a picture. A couple of little gasps rise in the air around me, but I save it. By God, I save it. I put my foot firmly back down on the ground and take the next step.

Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him. Shoulders down, chin out—

Fuck. I looked.

He’s smirking again, that asshole.

Smirking like I’m the hilarious joke at this wedding and not the best man who almost didn’t show up. My cheeks burn, but I keep my gentle smile on like a true professional. Shoulders down, chin slightly forward.

I climb the steps, onto the dais, with no further incident and take my place on the other side of the officiant, who is a woman from the Unitarian Church with curly hair that is to die for. It spills down her back, reddish and shining. Maybe she can be my new best friend, now that Summer moved out.

No. I’d never replace her, but the officiant—Kristi—is one of those people you instantly like. She’s a hugger too. The thing I like best about her is that she’s blocking my view of Wes.

I stand slightly on an angle as Alex comes down the aisle, slightly too fast. You can’t win them all.

Then it’s Summer’s turn.

There’s a whisper of fabric as everyone rises, a swell of music, and oh, my God, my heart aches at the perfect coordination of it all. Summer is lit by the floor-to-ceiling windows on this side of the hall, and even behind the delicate sheen of her veil, I can see how hard she’s smiling. Her eyes shine with tears. She and her dad pause inside the door for the photographer, and she looks up at him as if for reassurance. He looks down at her, pride illuminating his face.

It’s a moment I will never, ever experience. I lower my lashes and look at the floor.

Then the music rises again, and Summer’s dad walks her down the aisle. I pick up my head—shoulders down, chin slightly out—because the photographers are going to get a shot of Summer from the back as she comes toward her fiancé.

She can’t take her eyes off him. Halfway down the aisle, she mouths the word, You. Dayton says it back, then puts a fist to his mouth. Jesus, this is going to be a sob-fest if people don’t get it together. Starting with me.

I take a deep breath and let it out. Summer arrives at the stairs and her dad walks her up, and then there’s a whole process involving Dayton shaking his hand and taking his bride by the arm. The officiant launches into a speech about two people coming together in the bond of marriage. I listen until she compares a new love to the springtime, full of hope, because for me, it’s not that way, though I’d never say that to Summer. Not now. Of course not now. Not even when we’re two bottles in at Vino Veritas and sharing sex secrets with each other. No way.

It’s time for the vows.

It’s my time to leap into action—graceful, practiced action. Summer turns and I step to her side. Her bouquet is heavy as fuck, but I wear a gentle smile nonetheless. It’s a good thing I’ve been lifting at the gym, honestly, because my pre-weights arm muscles would give out under the combined weight of our flowers.

All four of us in the bridal party are facing the bride and groom.

I feel his eyes on me.

I keep my gaze focused on Summer’s veil and do my best to listen to what they’re promising.

“—support you always in following your dreams,” says the officiant.

“I promise to support you always in following your dreams,” says Summer, a waver in her voice. “Even if I think they’re dumb.”

Everyone laughs, including Dayton, and he raises a hand to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye.

My eyes slide off his face—it’s so intimate, being this close to them, and I don’t want to see him cry, for God’s sake. What if he breaks down right now? It’s one thing for a man to mist at his wedding, but ugly sobs? No. I’m nervous at the thought of it.

Looking away from Dayton means I’m looking right at Wes.

Has he been staring at me the whole time?

He has.

His eyes are intense, as if he’s trying to figure out who the hell I am, exactly. As if he’s trying to figure out whether I’m going to jump him again. I’m not, but he liked it before, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

I liked it before, even if I’ll never admit it.

The officiant announces the new Mr. and Mrs. Dayton Nash and the cheers from the guests crash in around me. It’s time. A jubilant Summer takes her bouquet back and they head down the aisle, Dayton’s hand wrapped around hers.

Wes and I approach one another, meeting in the center of the dais, and he offers his elbow. I take it. Zing. My hand on his tuxedo jacket heats up. I hold my head up high and we walk down the stairs, down the aisle.

We get to the doors of the reception hall and step out into the hallway.

I turn my head to comment on a job well done.

He cuts me off.

“Whoa,” he says, stepping back. “I’m going to the reception. I don’t need more convincing.”

My cheeks go hot. Again. Damn it, why did I enjoy that kiss so much? He’s an asshole.

“Aww, that’s cute,” I say with a sharp snap in my voice. “But I wouldn’t waste my time.”

Then I lead the way into the cocktail hour.