There's Cake in My Future (17 page)

And he sneezes right into my lap.

Perfect.

I politely excuse myself and head to the bar.

Okay, maybe Scott and Seema had a point. I always saw the singles’ table as less pathetic than this. The singles I had always noticed at weddings were happy, flirty, and in great shape. Everyone seemed to be laughing and drinking. No one was secretly glaring at their boyfriend, angry at him for not proposing.

“White wine, please,” I tell the bartender.

As the bartender pours me a glass of Clos Du Val chardonnay, the gorgeous man I saw earlier sidles up next to me. The bartender asks him, “What can I get you, sir?”

“Sam Adams, when you get a chance,” Gorgeous Man tells him. Then he turns to me. “Okay, I gotta ask: are you a dancer, a runner, or a soccer player?”

I turn to face him. Oh my God—he’s even better looking up close: flawless mocha skin, not a pore in sight, clear brown eyes, short dark hair. And it looks like there’s a nice little body underneath his pinstriped suit.

“I am a runner,” I say, a little confused. “Although I was on a soccer team in high school. How did you know that?”

“I’m a personal trainer, so I pride myself on body types,” Adonis tells me. He puts out his hand. “I’m John. I’m Jason’s cousin.”

Perfect. He has a hot body, he’s someone I would never normally go on a date with (a personal trainer with a math teacher?), and he’s Jason’s cousin, so he won’t be a jerk to me tomorrow morning.

I take his hand and smile. “I’m Mel.”

John gently brings my hand up to his lips to give it a gentle kiss. “Charmed,” he says, flashing me the sexiest of smiles. “So I take it you’re a friend of Nicole’s.”

“No, I just like to go to weddings in really ugly dresses,” I deadpan. “I’ve been thinking about getting a trainer. Do you work around here?”

“No. I live in Washington State. Just down for the weekend.”

Perfect. I want to start tapping my fingers together and letting out a wicked laugh as I say,
It’s all coming together according to plan
when he tells me, “I have to admit, I have an ulterior motive for talking to you.”

Uh-oh. Please don’t ask me to introduce you to one of my hot friends.
“Um … okay.”

He looks over at the losers at table thirteen. “I have been put at the dreaded singles’ table. I have already been yelled at by a guy talking to his therapist on his headset, hit on by an actress, and sneezed on. Actually sneezed on. I saw you sitting there a minute ago—I was wondering if I could sit next to you and pester you all evening.”

“Any of them mistake you for a hooker?” I ask him dryly.

“Who mistook you for a hooker?”

I jerk my chin toward the balding fat guy. “That guy over there had the opening line that he wants to buy me a car.”

John laughs uncomfortably and shakes his head. “Wow. As a guy, I have to ask: has that line ever worked?”

“Probably, or he wouldn’t be dumb enough to use it.”

“Hmm,” John says, taking a sip of his beer the bartender has put down. “So what line does work on you?”

I immediately come back with, “So far I’m liking, ‘I was wondering if I could sit next to you and pester you all evening.’ ”

John smiles at me as though he’s completely entranced. “Now how is it a girl like you got stuck at the singles’ table?”

I decide to say the next words flirtatiously. “Now, see,
that
line won’t work.”

John seems surprised. “I haven’t fed you a line.”

“Yeah, you have,” I enlighten him. “ ‘How did you get stuck at the singles’ table?’ is another way of saying, ‘How is it a girl like you isn’t married?’ Which is really just a nice way of saying, ‘What the Hell is wrong with you?’ ”

John laughs. “I cannot imagine anything is wrong with you.”

He seems to genuinely say that to me.

“Yeah, well, I got lots of stuff wrong with me,” I say lightly. “So, what about you? What the Hell is wrong with you that no one’s snapped you up yet?”

John looks up at the ceiling as though he’s really giving my question some thought. “Well, I live in Seattle. I’m not sure girls here are digging someone who leaves tomorrow night.”

I make a show of considering his statement. “Still only a two-hour flight. Go on.”

“I have a dog,” he admits.

“Hmmm … If it’s a Chihuahua, we’re done.”

“He’s a Dalmatian.”

“And we’re back!”

“I’m not great about cleaning up my apartment.…”

“That would make you male…” I point out.

“And, for the most part, I am too shy to go up and talk to extraordinarily beautiful women.” He flashes me a sexy smile. “But, like the Wizard to the Lion, weddings have been known to give me courage.”

I smile and blush a little as I let that sentence dangle in the air a moment. “Do you dance?” I finally ask him.

John seems amused but confused by my question. “I have been known to cut a rug, yes.”

“I think if you want to hang out with me tonight, it’s going to cost you two fast dances, one slow dance, and a bunny hop.”

“A bunny hop?”

“Nic and Jason really want everyone to do the bunny hop. Don’t ask.”

“Don’t tell,” he quips immediately. “But promise
me
you won’t raise the roof.”

“I can’t promise you that,” I tell him. “Nor can I promise not to break out a Roger Rabbit. I do promise not to moonwalk.”

“Well, that’s something,” John concedes. “Can you do the moves from Beyoncé’s ‘Single Ladies’?”

“If the DJ is stupid enough to play, ‘If you like it then you should have put a ring on it’ at a wedding, I will body slam him to Tuesday.”

John bursts out laughing.

I like making him laugh.

He puts out his beer bottle to toast, and we do.

Is it possible that there really are handsome men out there who find me attractive?

And, if so, where have they been hiding themselves?

Twenty

Seema

It’s now ten o’clock. Dinner has been served, toasts have been made, the cake has been devoured. (I had two pieces.)

Scott has been witty, attentive, and charming all evening. As usual. I have once again filled myself with nervous cocktails. As usual. And I am now obsessing over Scott’s body, and trying to figure out how to kiss him.

Well, I’m nothing if not consistent.

Why is it that every time I’m drunk, all I can think about is how to figure out a way to sleep with him? When I’m sober, I can push the thought out of my mind. I think about his other women, his flighty nature, his not wanting to settle down.

But right now, sitting at table sixteen and holding hands off and on all night, I can think of nothing else. As he talks to a mutual friend, I find myself staring at his pink lips and desperately thinking about how much I’d like to kiss those lips. I glance down to check out his rocking body (rocking—a term I never use, and yet every time he takes off his shirt in front of me that’s the word that pops into my brain—rocking).

Maybe tonight I can get him to spend the night. He would take off his shirt, and this time would be different. This time I would put my hands up to his chest. I’d caress his perfectly toned belly. I’d kiss his neck and see if I get any reaction. I’d learn once and for all if he is more of a neck guy, or possibly weakened by ears? Could I make him go crazy by kissing his ears? Blowing in his ears. Putting my tongue …

I lean over and blow into his ear. He turns to me, furrowing his brow but smiling. “What?”

“Nothing,” I say, quickly sitting back. “You have a little something on your chin.”

Scott furrows his brow at me a bit more, wipes his chin, then goes back to talking to our friend Karen, who’s in midstory. “So I got the camera charm. I’m thinking, how depressing, I’m never going to direct a film, and BAM! I get a grant to do this documentary in Beijing for the next four months.”

“That’s amazing,” Scott says, genuinely happy for her. “And you shoot such great stuff! I can’t wait to see it.”

“Thanks!” Karen says to Scott. She beams as she looks over at the dance floor, then says to me, “I see Mel’s hot little chili pepper is coming true, too.”

I turn to look at Mel and her guy du jour (de soir?) dancing sexily with each other to Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” as Karen happily asks me, “So what charm did you get?”

I force a smile. “The shovel.”

Karen’s face falls, and she looks embarrassed. “Oh,” she says. “What’s that mean again?”

My cheeks hurt with forced frivolity as I say, “A lifetime of effort and hard work.”

Karen actually winces. It was a small wince, but I’m sure I saw it. “Well, it’s probably all a bunch of hooey anyway,” she assures me. The three of us share an uncomfortable moment before she says, “I should get back to Gerri. It was great seeing you guys.”

And off she goes. I must have had a sad look on my face, because Scott starts rubbing my shoulders. “It’s not real,” he reminds me.

“I know,” I say, sighing.

“Of the twenty or so people who got charms, I’ll bet more than half haven’t had anything come true.”

I watch Mel shimmy a little for John, and John smile as he watches her. “Mel’s is coming true,” I point out.

“One of the reasons Mel is acting the way she is tonight is because she believes in that stupid charm, so she’s going to make it come true.”

I shrug, halfheartedly agreeing with him.

“Come on,” Scott says, rubbing my shoulders. “Do you really think you’re going to be stuck toiling away for no reason for the rest of your life?”

What the Hell am I doing with you right now?
I think to myself.

I shrug noncommittally again.

Scott shoots me a look of mock disapproval. “You think I’m gonna find true love next?”

I try not to look sad as I ask him back, “Why not?”

He smiles at me. Moves his hand up and down. “Who’s going to want this? I’m a mess.”

“I think you’re pretty great,” I say sadly.

“Eh, so I got you fooled,” he says humbly.

I look over at the dance floor, desperate to be as happy and flirty as Mel. I turn to Scott and smile. “Do you want to dance?”

“God, no.”

“Come on.”

“I don’t dance—you know that.”

“But it would mean a lot to me.”

Scott looks over at the dance floor. He seems to entertain the idea for a moment, but then shakes his head. “I don’t know—maybe for a slow dance.”

I cross my arms, and I guess I pout.

“What’s that look for?” he asks me.

“Nothing,” I say. “I just want to dance.”

“You’ve been dancing all night,” Scott points out.

My face falls. “Hardly.”

“Oh, come on. You danced with Mike, you danced with Nic’s dad, you danced with that boyfriend of Carolyn’s, you actually samba’d with Nic’s gay cousin, you bunny hopped with the guy Mel likes,
and
you danced with Nic when all of the girls got on the floor to dance and sing along to Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive.’ ”

“You could have joined me for that one.”

Scott looks horrified. “A GUY dancing to ‘I Will Survive’?! You gotta be kidding. And there is no way I could ever samba—that guy rocked.”

“But I haven’t danced with you, and I really want to dance with you,” I say, maybe a little pleadingly.

Lady Gaga finishes, and the music dies away. Nic takes the microphone from the DJ as couples make their way back to their tables. “First of all, my groom and I would like to thank you all for coming tonight. It has truly been the most wonderful night of my life, and I am so grateful to all of you for traveling, buying new dresses and suits…”

Scott leans into me and whispers, “Did you notice she said suits?”

“And spending waaayyy too much on our gifts,” Nic continues.

Everyone laughs.

“Jason and the girls and I have to leave the party now so that we can to get on a plane and begin our familymoon…”

Cue the polite applause.

“But I want to assure the drunks out there that the bar will be open until one…”

Laughter.

“And the band will be playing until one, as well. Also, the hotel is happy to arrange any cabs or rooms you might need at the end of the evening. So get home safely.” Nic holds up her Cascade bouquet. “And now it’s time for my favorite tradition, the tossing of the bouquet.”

“Oh great,” I mutter, hearing a collective groan of
ughs
and
oh, shits
from the crowd.

Scott smiles, wildly amused. “Go on. It’ll be fun.”

Against my better judgment, I slowly stand up. “Like the cake charms weren’t a bad enough harbinger for my future.”

“Hey, at least she’s not throwing a shovel at you,” Scott jokes, his face shining with glee.

Mel and I meet halfway between our tables, then trudge up to the dance floor for the traditional spinster mockery. “So are you going to try and catch it?” Mel asks.

“No-oo!” I say, knitting my brow and looking like I smell a skunk. “You?”

“I can’t decide,” Mel tells me as we line up behind two blond girls in four-inch heels who have their arms held up high. “On the one hand, it would be fun to catch. I’ve never caught the bouquet before. On the other hand, you have to dance with the guy who catches the garter, and I don’t want to let John out of my sight.”

“Ladies!” Nic says into the microphone, as she turns around so as not to see us.

I look at Mel. “Back row?”

She nods quickly. “Back row.”

We walk farther behind the flock of women and wait for a delighted scream to emanate from one of them.

“One…” Nic begins. “Two…”

“So things seem to be going pretty well with John,” I say to Mel.

“Yeah,” Mel says, pleasantly surprised. “He hasn’t tried to kiss me yet, but he certainly seems interested.”

“Three!” Nic yells.

And I guess she must have thrown the bouquet, because I looked up just as it was going over my head.

I turn to see the bouquet land right behind me on the ground, so I turn and bend down to pick it up.

And promptly get tackled by a million other women trying to grab the bouquet.

Once I realize that I am at the bottom of a scrum, I decide to hold onto the flowers fiercely. I mean, seriously, this pile is embarrassing. I’m not rewarding their behavior by giving up my flowers.