The cold glasses I’m carrying chill my fingertips as I make my way back to Lucy.

I’m not surprised to find her deep in a discussion with an owl-eyed woman I recognize as the florist.

“Suzie has decided that at the end of the reception, she wants to go up to her room and have a nice soak in the hot tub,” I overhear Lucy tell the woman. “And she thinks it would be great if there were rose petals in the water when she gets up there.” Lucy holds up a plastic room key.

“I’m not doing it,” the florist responds. “The only reason I’m here at all is to collect any of the flower arrangements she decides she’s not keeping and to bring them to a couple of the nursing homes. She didn’t pay me to do anything in her room. And I’m not even sure the hotel allows rose petals in the hot tub.”

Lucy’s shoulders sag. “I understand,” she says meekly. “Would it be possible to buy a small bag of rose petals from you? Then I can put them in the water.”

I roll my eyes and grind my teeth together.

I’d bet my next paycheck that this is just another thing that Suzie dreamed up, not because it’s something she actually wants, but because it will keep Lucy busy while simultaneously demeaning her. I just wish I could figure out what Suzie’s motivations are.

“I suppose that’s possible,” the florist replies. Her brows draw together as she considers Lucy’s words. “I think there might be an extra bag of petals in the back of the van. If not, I can call someone and have them go to the shop and put one together. But it will cost a lot.”

“No problem.” Lucy reaches for the top of her dress and draws a credit card from the bodice. I recognize the image on the card. It’s the same one that was printed on the credit card Lucy used to purchase her gas last night at the station. It’s not Suzie’s but Lucy’s personal card.

I close the short distance between myself and the two women in three long strides.

“Hi, I’m Ryan Jakes.” I introduce myself to the florist as I pass the large drink I had the bartender make up into Lucy’s hand.

The florist’s eyes bore into my face as she flips through her memories, trying to match me with something she’s seen. “Weren’t you in that weird show, the one about the mechanics?” she finally says.

I flash her my trademark smile. “Not my most recent work, but you’re one hundred percent correct. I played Dillion McAllister, the little brother in it. That was my breakout role.”

The florist opens her mouth, ready to say something, but before she can put the words together, I place my free hand on the small of Lucy’s back, urging her in the direction of the door that led to the elegant porch.

“Normally, I’d love to hang around and chat, but I’m dying for a private moment with my girlfriend.” Funny how the word feels more and more natural each time it’s uttered. I’m starting to have a difficult time remembering that my entire relationship with Lucy is a farce. “You understand, don’t you?”

I don’t give the florist a chance to respond or Lucy a chance to protest before I guide her out the door and into the cool evening air.

As the balcony door clicks shut behind me, Lucy takes a few more steps, moving out of range so that the hand that had ridden on the small of her back falls to my side.

She turns to face me. “What was all that about?” she says without any heat in her voice.

My irritation spikes. “Remember our conversation in the car, how we were crashing this wedding and that we were going to have a good time?”

Lucy nods.

“You seemed on board with the idea.”

“I was,” she confirms.

“So then why the hell is it that since we walked into the church, you’ve done nothing but take orders from Suzie and run around?”

“I … she just asked me for a couple of favors.” I hate how her voice has gone all small and submissive.

I close my eyes and struggle to get a grip on my irritation. I don’t like how Lucy refuses to tell Suzie no, but the person I’m really angry with is Suzie, who continuously treats Lucy like her own personal servant.

“Luce, you don’t have to take this from her. You’re allowed to tell her no.”

“But my job,,,-”

“No.” I shake my head. “That’s not a good enough excuse. You work for her father, not Suzie. And even if she was your actual employer, your job title doesn’t include being at her beck and call. You’re an office manager, and I’m betting, based on how organized you seem to be, I’m guessing a damned good one at that.”

Lucy doesn’t respond.

“And what about that?” I nod at the credit card she’s still holding in her hand. “That’s your personal card, isn’t it?”

She nods.

“Luce, you were about to charge a small fortune to it. Why?”

“Suzie’s dress doesn’t have pockets, so it’s not like she has her credit card on her. She’ll pay me back.”

“When?”

“When she gets back from her honeymoon in Barbados.”

I was told that three weeks had been set aside for the honeymoon, meaning that by the time Suzie returned home, Lucy would have already gotten the bill. Based on her car and the clothing she wore, Lucy doesn’t have a ton of extra money laying around.

“How many times have you used your card to finance something?”

“A few.” She drops her gaze and stares at her pretty painted toes.

I drag a hand through my hair. I have a bad feeling about who is ultimately going to be responsible for those bills and somehow, I think Lucy also does. “Lucy, you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

Instead of answering, Lucy lifts the drink I got her and studies it. The corners of her mouth twitch. My heart flutters a little. The only thing I’ve wanted to do today is see her laugh. That little smile is a step in the right direction.

“A root beer float?” she says, her tone lighter than I’ve ever heard it before. “Really? I don’t think I’ve had one of these since I was a kid.”

If she wants to change the topic, fine. But sooner or later, we are going to finish this conversation. Not for one second do I think Suzie ‘s behavior deserves to be forgotten. “I figured you’d be expecting champagne.”

“Or something like that.”

“I hate being predictable, and since the bartender was making floats for the kids, I thought this would be more fun.” I grin as Lucy raises the glass to her lips. “I should warn you, though, this is the adult version.”

Now her eyes narrow and she studies the dark fluid contained within the heavy glass. “Exactly what makes it an adult beverage?”

“Bourbon.”

She nods. “That’d do it.”

Grinning, I watch her take a sip.

She coughs. “Wow, it’s a little strong.”

“I can take it back. Have the bartender dilute it with some more root beer.”

“No. Don’t do that. It’s good. I just didn’t expect the bourbon.” She lifts the glass again and drains nearly half the contents. “I really like it.”

I blink at the glass. “I can tell.”

“I’ve never heard of it.” Lucy takes another, slightly smaller, sip.

“I was visiting a friend in Chicago. His wife owns a speakeasy called The Blind Pig. Bourbon root beer floats was one of non-menu drink specials she was serving while I was there.”

“I’m not much of a drinker,” Lucy confesses. She’s already getting just a little flushed from the alcohol. “But this is just the right amount of kick mixed with sweetness. I’m going to have to buy a bottle of bourbon one of these days ‘cause I’ll bet this will really hit the spot when the weather gets muggy in July.”

She glances at the glass of spring water in my hand. “Why didn’t you get one for yourself?”

“I’m shooting that promo video for the hospital later this week, and I want people focusing on the message rather than how I look a little heavier than I did in my last movie.”

Lucy’s eyes sweep up and down my body. Her brow furrows. “You look trim to me.”

“You’re a doll.” I grin at her. “Unfortunately, the camera isn’t forgiving, and I ate way too much junk food when I was hanging out with Christian earlier. He’s a bad influence.”

I look at the nearly empty glass in her hand. In one smooth move, I place my water on a nearby table and catch hold of her wrist. “Of course, if I drink from your glass, the calories don’t count as much, do they?”

Lucy squeals as I lift the glass and her hand to my mouth and steal a mouthful of her root beer float.

“Hey!” Lucy protests. In the very first act of defiance I’ve ever seen from her, she snatches her hand and the glass away from me. She lifts the glass and drains the contents. “There. Now you can’t have any.”

“Greedy and cheeky.” I reach out and run the pad of my thumb over her upper lip, scooping up the small amount of vanilla ice cream that’s caught there as she stares at me with huge, hazel eyes. I hold up my thumb so she can see the white dot that’s about half the size of a chocolate chip. “You missed some.”

I start to bring my thumb to my mouth with the intention of licking it off, but before I do, Lucy grabs my hand.

“Mine,” she says in a strong voice.

My knees nearly buckle as she lowers her head and draws my thumb between her sweet, full lips. She lightly bites down on the knuckle before swirling her tongue along the pad, seeking out each iota of the sugary treat while my heart threatens to leap out of my chest and my cock strains against my zipper.

Lucy rolls her eyes upwards, meeting mine, and I see something naughty gleaming in their hazel depths.

Blindly, I reach out for the porch rail and grasp it so tightly my knuckles turn white.

I don’t know what Lucy has in mind, but I’m one hundred percent certain I’m going to enjoy it.

She doesn’t make me wait long.

With the slightest tilt of her head, she draws my thumb more deeply into her mouth. Her teeth tighten, holding me in place as her tongue swirls, tracing intricate patterns along the tip while blood roars in my ears.

It takes all my self-control to stand still and not drag her to some dark corner to repeat the performance on my cock.

Finally, just as I’m about to get down on my knees and beg her for mercy, Lucy angles her head backwards and my thumb slips from between her lips with a soft, wet popping sound.

For several long moments we stare at each other, wide eyed, before I finally remember how to speak and Lucy starts to look mortified by what she’s done.

“Ryan, I’m so sorry,” she starts to say before she buries her face in her free hand. All around it, her skin glows bright red.

“Hey.” I shift closer to her. Tentatively, I reach for her, and brush my fingers along the side of her slender neck. Some of the tightness in my gut eases when she doesn’t reel away from my touch. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“I can’t believe I did that,” comes the muffled reply. “I’ve never done anything like that before. Never even thought about it. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Any time you want to experiment with any other sudden impulses, I’m happy to be your guinea pig.”

Lucy spreads her fingers just enough to peer at me from between them. “Really?”

“Really,” I repeat. Something has shifted between us, changing our relationship. We both need a little space to come to terms with that, to consider exactly what the next step might be.

“Er.” I scramble for something, anything to say. I spot the empty glass she’s still holding and reach for it. “How about I get you a refill?”