CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Sarah
I threw up in my mouth. And not a little, but a lot.
These two are one episode away from a Jerry Springer special. Luckily, I’m trained to deal with people who are hot messes in general, who are a few sandwiches short of a picnic, or those of the mean variety. Working with the public and in a hospital setting has helped me perfect those skills.
There’s a small difference here, though, because once they started in on Jack, they changed the tide. My claws have officially come out. No one messes with my Jack.
Wait, what? I mean, er…no one messes with Jack. I don’t know where that whole possessiveness thing came from.
“So great to meet you both.” With an overly bright smile, I reach out a hand to shake Naomi’s. “Naomi.” I purposely mispronounce the other woman’s name as “Ny-oh-mee,” re-enacting my own version of the scene from the movie, 17 Again.
Her expression turns steely. “It’s Nay-oh-mee,” she corrects.
Never allowing my saccharine sweet smile to slip, I mutter beneath my breath, “Don’t care.”
“Timmy.” I reach out my hand to her husband.
He tugs my hand, causing me to stumble toward him. “I prefer hugs,” he says as he pulls me closer. This is when I “accidentally” drive the sharp, pointed heel of my shoe into his foot.
“Ouch!” He instantly releases me, stepping away with an accusing look. Like he wasn’t the person attempting to be inappropriate, and like I hadn’t caught his eyes lingering on my chest. Gross doesn’t begin to cover that. It’s even worse since homeboy, here, is married to Naomi, and he’s clearly a dirtbag.
“So, Jack…” Naomi practically purrs, eyeing Jack. “When did this transformation happen?”
Can I punch her in the throat? Pretty please?
I fix my attention on Naomi before directing an adoring look at Jack. “You dying to take a bite out of him and these amazing pecs, right?” I run a hand over his chest.
Covering one side of my mouth as though I’m telling her a secret, I lean in and add, “And let me tell you how grateful I am you didn’t discover back in the day what he’s packing below the belt. Know what I’m sayin’?” I flash her a dramatic wink.
Then I let out a whimsical sigh. “It’s like, sometimes, he’s just too big, you know? Like he hits all the right places and makes me orgasm”—I pause to add further emphasis to my next words—“over and over again.” Another long, dramatic sigh. “It’s so exhausting.”
Naomi sputters, and Jack interrupts me before I can elaborate. “I think I see someone we should say hello to, Sunshine.”
I pout at Naomi. “Awwww, sad!” Jack snags my wrist and begins to pull me away. “Come find me later,” I call out to her as I’m being led away. “We can talk more then, Ny-oh-mee.”
As soon as I turn my head in the direction Jack’s leading me in, I hear the woman call out, “It’s Nay-oh-mee.”
And in perfect unison, Jack and I both mutter, “Don’t care.”
* * *
“Where are you leading me?” I ask as Jack guides us out of the banquet room and down the large hallway of the resort.
“Away from this place.”
I stop in my tracks, tugging on our joined hands. “Hold up.”
Spinning to face me, Jack’s expression is somber. “Sunshine, I’m sorry, but I really don’t want to spend the night with those assholes.”
Stepping up to him, I slide my hand up to the side of his face and gaze into the depths of his dark blue eyes. “I know that, but,” I say softly, “you’re forgetting where we are.” Confusion etches his features, so I elaborate. “We’re at the resort.” When it appears that my words are still not getting through, I add, “There are multiple banquet rooms for events like reunions.” I pause to flash him a meaningful look. “And weddings.”
Dawning interest lights his eyes. “What are you suggesting?”
“I saw that table back there.” I wave in the direction near one particular banquet room entrance we just passed. “There are quite a few name tags laying out.”
He leans in, and his eyes sparkle with mischief. “Are you suggesting we impersonate guests and crash a wedding?”
“I am.” I grin up at him, challengingly. “Are you in?”
“Maybe.”
Stepping back over to the table where I spied the adhesive name tags with a silver embossed outer edge and the table number designation listed in small print at the very bottom. I scan the names before plucking two and hold one up for Jack.
“How about it, Michael Wilis?” I raise my eyebrows in question.
Crossing over to me, his eyes flicker to the name tags. “Let’s do it.”
Peeling the backing from Jack’s new name tag, I affix it to the top right area of his button-down shirt. Smoothing it firmly, I recall what I have in my purse. “Ooh! Wait a minute.”
Digging into my rectangular clutch, I tug out what I keep handy.
“You keep monogrammed cards in your purse?” Jack asks slowly.
I quickly write a congratulatory message to “Jen and Donny” before withdrawing my checkbook.
“Sunshine.” My eyes dart up to find Jack watching me with amusement. “Why do I get the feeling you’ve done this before?” I finish writing the check out for enough to cover our catered meals and open bar before slipping it inside the card, placing it in the envelope, and sealing it.
Closing my purse, I peer up at him with a smug smile and tap the envelope against his chest. “Ready to make our way to table forty-seven, Mr. Wilis?”
* * *
“I think it’s safe to say that we chose wisely with this wedding,” Jack murmurs to me before taking another bite of his seared sea scallops.
“Dang straight.” I cut into my stuffed chicken breast. “But,” I lean in to whisper discreetly, “I’m not sure which wins out, the company or the food.”
As he chews, the edges of his lips tip up at my remark. Before I can elaborate, it’s as though the universe wants to reinforce my observation because the best man gets up to make what appears to be an impromptu toast, judging by the surprised expressions of the rest of the wedding party.
The best man is tall and gangly looking, his hair slightly mussed. “For those of you who may not know me”—he gestures with his champagne glass—“I’m Ron, best man, and I’ve known Donny since we were seven years old.” He stares down into his glass before returning his attention to the rest of the guests. “To be honest, I wasn’t even sure if I’d be able to make it here because I was in my tenth stint in rehab for my Manga porn addiction.”
“Manga porn addiction? Comic book porn?” Jack hisses in my ear, but I wave him off.
No chance in hell I’m going to miss this speech.
Ron goes on. “He helped me pack each time I went to rehab.” The man appears to get choked up on the memories. “He even got tough with me when he caught me trying to smuggle some Manga in my suitcase.” He swipes at a tear before continuing. “I’m so grateful for him, though. Because he got me through, and I feel better.” Ron affirms this with a nod before turning to address the groom. “I know that you and Jen will have a happy life together, man.” Then he leans toward the groom, obviously forgetting he still has a microphone in his other hand. “That Asian you banged last night has nothing on Jen. She’s way hotter.”
Ron turns to the front again, raising his unsteady glass to toast. “To Jen and Donny!”
“Ho-ly shit,” I breathe, watching as the bride loses it. She flies out of her chair and begins to interrogate Donny while the majority of us sit, stunned.
“This is why I flew in from Florida. Knew it would be worth witnessing in some way.” This comes from the woman seated to my right who goes by the name of Randi.
I should also mention that Randi is the self-proclaimed outcast of the family who, at one time, used to be Randall. She grew up outside Saratoga Springs, but after finally declaring to her family that she felt more comfortable as a woman than a man, she relocated to Panama City Beach, Florida, where she currently lives.
Also, I’m certain we’re officially BFFs now. She’s got a keen eye for fashion, not to mention she clinked her glass against mine after whispering a “Way to go on snagging Hottie McHottieson.”
“Oh, and the bride and her crew up there,” Randi leans in, lowering her voice as she fills us in on more family gossip, “used to get off on making fun of me when I first started painting my nails and experimented with makeup.” She takes a sip of water before continuing. “They were a whole different brand of cruelty.”
I lay a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry, Randi.”
She shrugs. “It’s in the past now. But this”—she waves with her fork toward the scene at the front of the banquet room—“this makes it worth the three hundred bucks I spent for a flight up here.” Another shrug. “Those two are meant to be together, though. I have no doubt they’ll be fine. But make no mistake”—Randi levels a look on Jack and me—“that was only the tip of the drama iceberg tonight. There’s more to come for these families.”
And hell if she wasn’t completely right.