We head up the ramp toward the building and as we walk I can feel Emmett just behind me and my arm is still throbbing where he grabbed me. Man, he must have the strength and balance of … well, I hate to use the superhero adjective again. But that was impressive.
So he saved you from falling in the ocean, I tell myself. So what. Anyone would do that.
I know I'm telling myself these things so I don't fall for his charms.
And it seems to work.
My raging hormones don't stand a chance against the jaded landscape of my brain.
"I think he likes you big time," Tiffany whispers to me later as we get our food from the buffet table. I wish Jackie's nervousness had passed on to me because I want to eat everything here and I think I just might. It's too bad I don't like working out as much as I love eating.
"Who?" I ask Tiffany, scanning around the reception room. Everyone at their tables is staring at us longingly since we get to go first for food. I feel like I should pile my plate extra high, just to rub it in. Heh heh.
"Your hero," she says, using a crab leg to point to me for emphasis. "The villain."
I roll my eyes. "He is not my hero."
"I just saw him save you from drowning."
"I know how to swim, Tiff."
I look past her down the table to where Emmett and Ted are starting to pick at the salad selection. Just as I suspect, Emmett takes a huge heaping pile of lettuce, enough that it takes up most of his plate. He probably has to eat really well to stay in such good shape. How boring.
I decide to grab extra dessert later out of some weird kind of spite.
"Why don't you like him?" she asks.
I glance at her. "What do you mean?"
"You bristle every time he's near or I'm talking about him. It's like you're a shifter and all the hairs along your back are poking out."
"You really do paint the strangest pictures."
She shrugs. "Anyway, I think he wants to get in your dress."
I don't know why but what she's saying is bringing out so many conflicting feelings. On one hand, of course he does, he's a womanizer. On the other hand, I'm a far cry from his flavor of the week. When you've had my backlist of dating disasters, it's hard to believe that anyone would be interested in you, especially an extremely hot actor who can have anyone he wants.
"I don't like guys like him. You know this."
"Babes? You don't like babes? Because Alyssa, he is such a babe."
"Such a babe," I repeat, shaking my head. I hadn't heard that term in a long time. "He's a babe. Fine," I admit and then something glowers in my heart. "But he reminds me too much of my father. And some exes I've had. I know his type. I know what they do to women. What my father did to my mom. They aren't faithful. They aren't reliable. They're never in it for the long run."
Tiffany's expression softens. "Oh." She smiles up at the cook who's cutting off a slice of roast beef and then lowers her voice. "You've never mentioned your father before."
///
I sigh. "It's nothing." Nothing I want to get into here and now.
"But aren't all your sisters married with children?"
My sigh deepens. "Yes. That doesn't mean all their marriages are amazing either. Anyway, we probably shouldn't be talking about this at a wedding of all places, especially not Jackie and Will's."
"Well, we both know their happily-ever-after is for real," Tiffany says.
But when we get back to our table, my eyes go to Emmett as he continues to get his food, this time getting extra portions of roast beef. Damn he gives good back.
"You could just sleep with him?" Tiffany muses, stabbing a vegetable with a fork as if it had done something to her. "Forget marrying or dating the guy. Just have a one-night stand. Who says he would want anything more anyway."
Ouch. But good point.
"I need more wine," I tell her, reaching for the bottle. "Let's talk about something else."
It's always a trip when you let Tiffany dictate the conversation. She launches into a tirade about people who dress their dogs in tiny raincoats.
But as dinner goes on, I continue to stuff my face with food as if that will bury the swirling emotions inside and when I'm bloated and ever-so thankful that my dress has an empire waist, I continue with the wine.
Looking around the tables at all the happy couples, I'm getting pulled down into that desperation spiral, the hopeless (and predictable) "what's wrong with me?" phase of the evening that happens at every wedding. And it's not even that everyone here is paired off, of course there are some single people. I see Casey, a guy I work with who would be okay if he wasn't such an inappropriate creeper and if he didn't look like Joaquin Phoenix during his hobo phase. I'm pretty sure he's single for good reason though.