One Last Shot (Pub Fiction #3) (13 page)

“Hot girl,” Ryker says, taking a deep breath, and I reach for the Kleenex Brooke’s just handed each of us. “From the moment you walked into Pub Fiction, I knew I was done for. I’m a tough guy, but you made my skin prickle when those jade eyes of yours collided with mine. You literally scared the sh—
heck
out of me.” He shrugs his shoulders before stepping in closer, placing his hands on her hips. “You instantly became everything I didn’t know I needed. I vow to shop with you when you feel you have nothing to wear, I promise to eat ice cream with you when you’re moody or when our babies make you snacky, but most of all, I promise to love you more with every passing day. Now give me those lips. I’ve waited too damn long, woman.”

And just like that, I’m a hot mess again. Tears stream down my face. Tears at the sweet words from Ryker to my best friend, tears of joy in the moment, and maybe a few tears for myself—because maybe, just maybe, I’m wrong. Maybe I do want this, even if my parents won’t be here to see it. I know deep down they’d be so pissed at me for my ludicrousness about love, marriage, and that silly mantra I impose on myself.
Maybe I can allow myself to feel this kind of happy?
The happiness that comes from that soul-tingling, tummy-fluttering, pulse-pounding, all-consuming feeling of love.
The kind I ran from.

Shoving that thought into the recesses of my mind, I turn again to the groom’s side, looking past Ryker who’s kissing the shit out of his now-wife, to find Matt. Matty’s eyes meet mine, concern lacing his features as he begins to make his way over to walk me back up the aisle now that the service has ended.

Standing in front of me in the lush open garden area, Matt reaches out and catches my final tear.

“Thanks for the note, Matty. You really are a romantic, bridge-busting, troll-scaring man, aren’t you?” I blurt, not even sure I know what the hell that’s supposed to mean.

He tugs me hard into his chest, holding me tight, giving me exactly what I didn’t realize I needed. “Trolls? God, I’ve missed your kind of crazy, Claire. You okay, baby?” he kisses my forehead before tucking me into his side, continuing to comfort me.

“I will be, eventually, I think,” I say.

I rest my head on his shoulder as he guides us over to the patio where cocktails will be served while the bride and groom have their pictures taken.

Claire

“I
’m cutting in.”

Matt’s gritty voice coming from directly behind me affects me like it always does. It’s a clipped demand, one that causes butterflies—no, the whole damn zoo—to spring to life in my belly. I can feel the annoyance in his breath as it hits the back of my neck.

It’s been an amazing wedding, but one where Matt and I have been playing a game of cat and mouse since we left the ceremony. I’d scurried away after Matt and I had a drink, having freaked myself out with my show of emotion. Other than during the speeches and the bridal party dance, mousy me has been able to avoid direct contact. Until now, it seems.

“Hey, Jude. Scram. I got this,” Matt admonishes.

“I knew it,” Jude shakes his head, “I fucking knew you tripped on purpose. Accident my ass, I saw the way you were looking at her all day. Shit.”

“Yeah. Got the message now? Or you need another reminder?” Matt asks, his tone serious, eyes narrowing with challenge.

“Easy, man. No harm done.” Thankfully, Jude doesn’t push it. “It was just a dance. Claire’s all yours, if that’s okay with her. I guess I should have listened to Justin,” Jude says, before walking away.

“Fucking right. You’re mine,” Matt says, pulling me into his tight embrace, his attitude pissing me off to the point where I can’t help reminding him that he doesn’t need to be a dick for no reason.
It’s not like Jude, or any other guy, stands a chance anyway.
But still…

“Oh, hi, Matty,” I say. “Sorry, did you want to cut in? Sure, no problem, I’d love to dance with you, thanks for asking. Let me just thank Jude…Jude, thank you so much for the dance,” I say to the empty air in my most annoyed tone. “You know, Matty, that’s how
normal
people cut in on a dance. You are such a buffoon sometimes, you know that?”

“I don’t care. He had you long enough,” Matt deadpans, leaving no room for argument. I step back from his hold, planning to argue, but I’m stunned, finally getting a good close look at him.

Lord have mercy, he looks good. Like kick-to-the-crotch good. Like I’ve literally gone and blown my ovaries good. And he smells even better, like fresh linen mixed with hints of bergamot and cedarwood despite it being a million hours o’clock on this fairytale-of-a-wedding day. His light hair is disheveled from his hand probably running through it all day, his tie is gone, tux jacket nowhere to be found, sleeves rolled up displaying his perfectly veined forearms, the top buttons of his shirt undone hinting at the sexiness I know is hidden underneath.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, voice stern, pulling me flush to him again.

Totally.
“No, I’ve been here. We danced, we did our speech together. I think we’ve seen plenty of each other.”

He looks unimpressed with my snarky reply. “Why do you keep trying to dodge me? You gotta know I’m not giving up. I asked you for one thing tonight. I’ve been giving you space, so you owe me. One dance. You and me. Not some forced dance, either,” he grunts frustratedly.

“Do you not see this as a forced dance?” I ask smugly, gesturing to our entwined hands as he moves us around the dance floor.

“Nah, you wanted me to come dance with you. You just needed a reminder is all.” He grabs my waist, pulling me close again, giving me that clenchingly sexy smile of his; the one that’s always made me lose my panties in defeat. “You’re radiant, by the way.” He moves his hand to the small of my back, holding me tightly as we sway to Shania Twain’s “You’re Still the One.”

As we dance, I relax a little, letting Matt take the lead. Soon his fingers find their way under my chin, gently tilting my head up. My eyes crash with his, and he begins rubbing his thumb along my bottom lip.

“I can’t keep my eyes off you. I keep imagining what’s under this sexy dress you got on. I want to scoop you up and take you out of here so I can find out. Tell me I can do that, Claire,” he says, resting his cheek against mine, any semblance of space between our bodies eliminated, my heart pounding in my chest at his words. I want nothing more than to tell him yes. But I don’t want to allow myself to keep getting caught up in him, despite how hard it seems to swim against the current that is Matt. “You like that idea, don’t you, baby? I know you do. The way your breath hitches and the fact that I can feel your legs weakening only confirms it.” He rubs his hand along my bum, gripping my cheeks while continuing to sway us in time to the music.

“Matt, shh! And people will see you. Hands off,” I scold. Well, I try to. My voice is a mere croak, he’s got me so riled with desire, in spite of my better judgement.

“Fuck if I care, let ’em look. Know what else I’ve been thinking about?”

“What?” I manage to get out a small moan, as I feel his erection resting between us.

“I want to run my tongue up that sexy slit, kissing a trail up to the sweet spot I know it’ll lead to. My Sugarshack. All night I’ve been watching you every time you bend over, hoping to catch a glimpse of what I know lies beneath the material that I’m so fucking jealous of right now. I want to be what’s covering your body, Claire. I want to fuck you again so badly I ache.”

With that, he kisses me, a kiss rendering me speechless that I feel all the way to my toes, a kiss that is passion, need, and want all mixed together in a package that’s begging me to put both of us out of this misery, but…

“Matt, no. This needs to stop.” I pull away, feeling the loss of his lips immediately. “We need—
I need—
space right now. I can’t have space to figure things out if you keep hounding me, making me forget what I need.”

Chuckling at my apparent lack of conviction, Matt cups my face. Leaning in, he begins speaking softly in my ear: “I know you want space, and we’re supposed to be taking that space, and I’m trying. I hate fucking space by the way. Seeing as I like you so much though, I’m willing to give you the space you want. But know the only space I can think about is the space you take up…” he pauses, running his hand down the front of his face now, as if annoyed, “…space in my mind, the space I want you to take up in my life, in my home, and finally, the space of a huge fucking void. A void I’ve felt since you’ve been gone. Space and time might belong on the same continuum, but you’re running out of both with me, Claire. I’ll let you have your space until I decide I’ve given you enough time. And then I’ll be back to invade your space until I take you over like you’ve taken over me.” He lets out a harsh sigh.

Tears sting the back of my eyes at his words. I want to cave, I do. I want to tell him he’s right, that we don’t need space, and that I’m better with him than without, but I can’t. I’m just not ready. I still need time to sort myself out, to make sure my decisions are my own. Which I know is kind of bullshit, because I’m the first person to believe that time changes nothing.

Hearing him go on, I shake myself from my thoughts and listen again.

“I’ll do it. I’ll give you the time you think you want, but I’m not sure how long I can do it. For you, Claire, I will. But know this: we so absofuckinglutely will be an
us
again, and not the stupid ‘friends’ version either, ’cause we both know that’s a bunch of bullshit right there. You need to get over your shit and fast.”

And with that, he kisses my nose before leaving me stunned and wet, standing alone in the middle of the dance floor.

Claire

A
fter Matt left
the dance floor I was hurt, hurt and pissed. Doesn’t he realize I’m conflicted?
No jerk, ’cause you haven’t talked to him about shit.

The idea of sitting down with Matt to have a long overdue conversation is what I’ve been avoiding most. I know he’ll call me out on my crap, he’ll reason with me, use his philosophical bullshit on me, and he’ll be right.
Fuck this, I’m not thinking about this tonight, this isn’t the place or the time
.

Scanning the reception, I find my girls at the bar, shots in hand. Relief floods my system as I make my way over.
I so need a drink.

“Claire Bear!” An excited Kat shuffles toward me, enveloping me in a tight embrace. “You all right? I saw you and Matty dancing.”

“Yeah, I will be. I just need to sort my stuff out. I think I might have been wrong about him and my stupid rules. He’s a big ass. A big make-me-want-to-give-in, bridge-troll-scaring-ass,” I pout.

“Aw, no he’s not, sweetie. He’s a big ass who adores you and is fighting for my stubborn bestie to realize she needs him, too. If you want my stellar always-right opinion, I think it’s getting about time to lower the drawbridge to Fort Knox and let Matty in.”

“Oh, sweet bananas in a hammock, you too?” I question, using an infamous Kat line. “We need to stop this talk right now. It’s your wedding. I don’t want to talk about him or us or the lack of us anymore. He just went off on me on the dance floor so I honestly don’t need you on Team Matty. Besides, I could use a shot…or a few hundred.”

“Done. No more talking about it…for now at least,” she chides. “But know this. You’ve got two weeks to sort your shit out. When I get back from Bora Bora, it will be talked about. Feelings will be discussed. A plan will be hatched and you will love me all the more for it. Got it?”

“Yes, sir! I got it.” I salute her. With her arm wrapped around me, we meet the rest of the girls for a few much-needed shooters before heading to the dance floor.

Unfortunately for me, my relief is short lived. I can’t seem to shake the impact of what Matt said from creeping into my mind, even if I am having a blast with my girls as we dance like lunatics to the playlist Kat and I made specifically from our university days. Between the alcohol, my inability to get Matt’s words out of my head, the way it felt being in his arms, and how he comforted me today, I need a minute to pull my shit together. I’m losing myself. I’m confused, conflicted, and I’m not happy anymore.

This. I hate this.
These feelings are exactly what I was worried about coming back here to face him. He affects me. And I don’t have a clue how to make it stop. No, that’s a lie; I do know how, it’s a matter of trust, is all. Catching Kat’s eye, I mouth: “pee”. She mimes: “should I come with you?” but I shake her off, signalling that I’ll be right back before making a mad dash off the dance floor.

When I exit the washroom, I let out an immediate gasp. Matt is standing at the threshold of the men’s room, the expansive maroon hallway suddenly not feeling so large. The second our eyes latch, the charge is electric—instant. An unseen current crackles in the air; an anticipation of which one of us will make the first move to say or do something lingers between us. Suddenly, I imagine we look like two trains challenging each other on the same track. It’s our version of Chicken.

“Claire.” It’s a whisper.

“Matty.” It’s a response.

We collide, like the two stubborn trains I imagined, crashing on the same track, bodies fusing together, melding into each other. Words are whispered, our mouths millimetres apart. My hands embrace his face. Looking into those knowing eyes, I know this:
I’m losing
.

A rush of heat begins in my chest, my heart thumps, warmth spreads to my core. Suddenly, I’m frantic, my movements become frantic. I can’t get close enough to this man. I pull his mouth to mine, taking the lead. Moving my hands into his hair, I grasp the strands, pulling him even closer. I kiss him harder, slipping my tongue past his perfectly smooth lips. Standing as one in the middle of the hallway, we’re a mass of twisted arms, tongues and feels.
Oh, those fucking feels.
The ones coming back ten-fold, nagging to be told why I deny myself this, him, if he makes me feel so alive—so
happy—
when I’m in his arms, making me think of wanting more. With a heady groan, he pushes us back into the women’s washroom, kicking the door closed and locking it behind us.