Page 43 of Don't Fall For Your Fake Boyfriend
My face heats. “Brock,” I breathe out before he opens the door. “No talking dirty when we get to the restaurant.”
He peers over his shoulder. “I can’t make any promises. Not after a blow job that monumental. Get ready for your payback.”
I smile wide as I follow him out the door, heading to the rehearsal.
When we arrive Anya’s the first to greet us.
“You’re here,” Anya says, opening her arms wide and wrapping me into a hug. “I was starting to wonder how late you two were going to be.”
“Sorry, I had something to take care of first.” I give Brock a quick wink as he smiles at me.
He turns to greet his brothers, and we’re all gathered around the spot where Paxton and Hartford will say their ‘I-do’s’.
It’s so magical.
They’re getting married in a little chapel on the strip, specializing in Elvis impersonation weddings. Hartford and Paxton insisted on having Elvis marry them both.
“Now, Hartford will walk down the aisle like this,” Hartford’s mother says.
Hartford follows behind her. “Let’s get everything set up and ready to go.”
We all fall into position, and for the next hour we practice how the whole wedding will go down. I have to say it almost makes me emotional at the thought by this time tomorrow my friend will be getting married.
“Hey,” Lake says, stepping closer. “How’s everything going?”
“Fine.” I wish he’d go away. I’m not even sure why he’s bugging me right now.
“Where’s Brock?” he asks, raising a thick brow.
“Right here,” Brock says, moving closer, wrapping an arm around me. “We’re all heading to the restaurant now.”
I nod. “Let’s go.”
Together we walk away from Lake, and I seriously wonder what I ever saw in him. Brock is so much better in all the ways.
We arrive at the restaurant, and we’re seated next to each other. Brock’s got his arm along the back of my chair, and he pulls me in close.
“You hungry?” he asks me.
I nod. “Yeah. I’m thinking about ordering the filet,” I tell him.
He gives me one of those smiles. A pity smile. As if to say, ‘oh honey’, and laughs lightly against my ear. “I didn’t ask if you were hungry for food.”
I turn slightly to face him. “You fed me pretty well, earlier,” I say back, reminding him of the blow job.
He nips his lips at my ear. “I know. You swallowed everything I had to give. Now it’s time for me to return the favor.”
“Here?” I ask him, looking around.
Everyone’s here. And I do mean, everyone. Out of town guests have arrived. Even Hartford’s Aunt Nora is here along with her date, Mr. Charleston, Hartford’s boss.
Hartford’s mother. Brock’s parents. All of our friends. Even August, a baby. What is Brock even thinking about?
“Yes, here. Nobody’s paying attention to us way back here.” His hand runs along the outside of my thigh, inching closer to the hem of my dress.
He’s sort of right. The room is dark, with dim, ambient lighting casting a warm glow over the space. Many round tables, draped in elegant white linen cloths and adorned with flickering candles and fresh flower centerpieces, are clustered around the large area. The air hums with the low murmur of conversations and the occasional burst of laughter. Waitstaff in crisp black uniforms weave gracefully between tables, balancing trays of delicate hors d'oeuvres and sparkling drinks.
At the back of the room, away from the lively clusters of guests, Brock and I sit at a table all alone. Our table, though equally well-dressed with linens and flowers, feels isolated as if it exists in a different realm from the bustling banquet. The soft clinking of glasses and the gentle rustling of elegant attire seem distant, almost muted from our secluded vantage point. Brock traces circles along my heated skin, and then inches higher up my thigh.