Vodka On The Rocks (The Uncertain Saints Book 3) (11 page)

I looked down at my own dress, wondering if my cleavage was inappropriate for meeting a man’s mother.

Would she think I was a hoochie?

“Here she comes,” a man at my side huffed. “In the same dress she married me in.”

I blinked, turning to study the man, then the woman coming down the aisle.

They’d been married?

“Well, it is a tradition,” the woman at his side snorted. “You know that. My sister was never one to not follow traditions.”

An ex and her sister?

Just what was I getting into here?

The little flower girl passed by, wearing a dress in the same crimson shade as the bridesmaids, and tossed out white petals that disappeared on the long white rug that lined the proverbial ‘aisle.’

She was cute. She had long black hair that was down to her waist, a cute little bowtie mouth, and the prettiest gray eyes I’d ever seen.

So pretty and intense, in fact, that they reminded me of Casten’s eyes.

Everybody stood, blocking my view of the little girl, and I turned and stood, watching and listening as the song changed to some hoity-toity tune with harps in it.

My eyes widened as I got my first glimpse of the bride.

Casten’s mother was beautiful. Very beautiful.

So beautiful, in fact, that she didn’t resemble a mother of a man who was at least thirty years old.

She didn’t look a day over forty, if that, in a beautiful, white, flowing gown with a train trailing behind her at least six feet long.

It was a gorgeous dress with a plunging neckline, and suddenly I didn’t feel so bad about wearing a dress that exposed the top half of my breasts, since Casten’s mother’s dress exposed the tops
and
sides of hers.

“She looks just as good as the day I married her thirty-five years ago,” the man continued.

So the man at my side was most likely Casten’s father.

He didn’t look old enough, either. Nor did he look anything like Casten.

CeeCee, on the other hand, I could see the resemblance, now that I was looking for it.

“You know when Cecelia asked to wear the dress, Debra told her no, right?” the man asked the woman.

“I was there when she asked. CeeCee asked me if she thought her mother would say yes, and I told her yes. I’d never seen CeeCee so devastated to be told no before,” Auntie, as I’d dubbed her in my mind, added. “It may be a famous dress, but it’s ridiculous that she’s worn it to four weddings. Doesn’t that seem emasculating?”

I thought so, but who was I to judge?

Nor was my opinion asked for.

“It’s not that special, I don’t even know what the big deal about it is,” the man remarked, who I’d dubbed as ‘Daddy.’ “I bought that dress because it was supposedly worn by Dolly Parton, and I thought it’d be a funny gag gift! She turned it into a freakin’ weapon by wearing it.”

I sure had chosen a good place to sit!

I listened as they gave me more and more dirty details, and suddenly I was on the fence about Casten’s mother ‘Debra.’

The way these two talked, you would think she was the devil who hated her kids.

And by the time the wedding was over, I was already feeling bad for the poor man who’d just said ‘I do.’

I rushed away, hurrying to the bathroom again, the moment the bride and groom passed.

And my day only got worse when I got into the bathroom.

I was just slipping my dress back down over my hips when the door to the bathroom burst open, and a giggling moan followed in its wake.

“Right here,” a woman’s husky voice panted. “We’re going to do it right the hell here.”

My eyes widened as I moved until I could see out the crack of the stall door and saw a very masculine ass. An extremely familiar masculine ass. I should know, I’d been admiring that same masculine ass from afar for a while now.

“Turn around and bend over,” Casten said.

Coffee- the decider of whether or not I’ll use my powers for good or evil.

-Coffee Cup

Tasha

My heart plummeted as I realized what was about to happen.

What
did
happen.

Almost.

Hell, I couldn’t really tell because of the angle…but I could hear the sounds…and I wasn’t an innocent.

All I knew was that I heard Casten’s belt release, the purple shirttails untucked from his pants, then a bunch of other sounds that I was sure I would never be able to get out of my fucking brain again for as long as I lived.

“Daddy,” a little girl’s squeaky voice called. “Daddy, where are you?”

Casten froze and groaned into the woman’s neck.

“Shit,” he growled.

With one last longing push of his hips, he pulled himself free of the woman that was seated on the counter, tucked himself back into his pants and helped her down off the counter.

He smoothed his hands down her hips, situating the dress back in all the right places, and grabbed her hand before he exited the door to the bathroom like he’d never been there in the first place.

My heart was dying.

Literally, it was shriveled in my chest.

I came out of the bathroom and washed my hands at the sink furthest away from where the incident had just taken place.

Then I dried my hands on the fancy towel hanging from a fancy towel holder and walked out of the bathroom.

I probably would’ve done well, too, had I not run straight into Casten and the woman at the mouth of the hallway that led to the bathrooms.

He was smiling, pulling her into his chest as he spoke into her ear.

I saw red.

The next thing I knew, I was in Casten’s face, and my hand was swinging.

It exploded in pain, and Casten’s head whipped to the side with the force I’d put into the punch.

Casten brought his hand up to his jaw before moving it side to side.

His tongue darted out to lick a stray drop of blood that welled from where his tooth had caught his lip, and he narrowed his eyes.

“I’d like you to meet my brother, Corbyn.” Casten said with a glare.

I whirled around, ready to shout at him and everyone else, but stilled, stunned.

The woman I’d seen in the bathroom with ‘Casten’ was actually with an entirely different man.

One who looked identical to Casten.

He had the same dark brown hair in the typical cop haircut, shaved at the sides and longer on the top.

Gun metal gray eyes that looked through your soul.

Strong jaw, straight nose, beautiful lips.

His chest was wide, and he was what I would describe as brawny.

He was Casten, and Casten was him.

“Shiiiit,” I groaned. “Shit. Piss. Fuck. Shit.”

I turned on my heel and walked away, my face flaming that I’d caused a scene at somebody’s wedding that I should’ve been trying to impress.

“Shit,” I gasped.

Tears were threatening now, and I didn’t know what the hell to do anymore.

I should call a cab.

I should ask someone in the parking lot to give me a ride to the nearest gas station.

Determined now, I walked out of the vineyard to the parking lot, hoping that Casten wasn’t following me.

Or maybe it was Corbyn.

I didn’t know.

They looked nearly identical.

Motherfucker!

Isn’t that information that someone tells the person that they’re going on a date with?

I mean, the man had told me about having two sisters. Why wouldn’t he have mentioned a twin brother?

An identical twin brother.

I made it to the parking lot and looked left and right.

Surely a vineyard would have a taxi here due to the intoxicated wine connoisseurs, right?

“Damn, damn, dammit, damn, damn,” I uttered as I marched around the parking lot.

Shit!

With no other recourse, I started to walk.

Straight the fuck down the main road, past every single person that had just seen me slap the son of the bride.

“I’m a fuckin’ loser,” I muttered darkly.

I’d made it nearly all the way down the road when my side started to hurt, reminding me that I’d had surgery recently and maybe the doctors were right when they said there was a recovery period.

Maybe walking wasn’t such a good idea.

I narrowed my eyes at the country road that stretched out a gazillion miles in front of me, and sighed, veering off course and through the trees that made up the vineyard.

My eyes lit on a white gazebo past the long rows of grape trees, and I headed for it like it was my shelter in the wake of a storm.

I cursed myself once again for letting Casten stow my purse in his saddle bags, wishing I had my phone.

My sister would be able to help me through this.

What was the etiquette when it came to slapping a man you thought was fucking someone else but really wasn’t?

I sank down onto the lone bench swing and practically folded into it like a wilting violet.

“Piss,” I breathed out harshly. “I’m so stupid.”

An hour, I assumed, later, since I had no way to tell time, I heard a branch snap.

I turned my eyes sideways to see who I thought was Casten barreling down on me.

“Are you done pouting?” he called.

I narrowed my eyes.

“Which one are you?” I accused.

He grinned, and my heart started to pound.

It was Casten.

I’d know that smile anywhere.

“You know who I am, you little shit. And if you’d given me five seconds to explain, you would’ve been introduced to my brother,” he countered, stopping at the end of the stairs to look at me with barely concealed annoyance.

I did know.

It was only now, after an hour of contemplation, that I realized that they were wearing two different colored shirts.

Casten had on red, while Corbyn wore a purple shirt…and their suits, although similar, weren’t the same.

“Oh, I was introduced to him,” I muttered, mostly to myself.

“When?” He lifted an eyebrow.

I lifted my angry eyes up to his.

“When he was fucking that woman in the bathroom,” I snarled.

I guess I should be thankful that I hadn’t punched the wrong Casten.

Casten rubbed his hands over his face like he was tired and I grimaced.

“I think I’m ready to go home when you are,” he grumbled.

“Can you come pick me up so I don’t have to walk back?” I asked hopefully.

He shook his head. “No. This isn’t a road we’re allowed to drive on, according to the winery. That’s why I knew where to come get you. They were about to send security out here because a woman was in their grape fields.”

I shrugged.

I didn’t care if I was in a restricted area.

I needed the time alone, and I’d take it any way I could get it.

The walk back to the winery wasn’t anywhere near as easy as the walk to the gazebo.

At first, it was alright. Then I realized that not only my stomach, but also my feet, were uncomfortable.

“What’s wrong?” Casten asked.

I didn’t reply.

A large hand around my upper arm had me stopping, and I turned my glare on him.

“What?” I asked.

“What’s wrong with you?” Casten asked again.

I refused to tell him my ridiculously high heels were hurting my feet and I sure as hell wasn’t telling him that I overdid it with my little scene followed by a hike.

It was looking like I’d made the wrong decision, and I hated admitting when I was wrong.

“My feet hurt,” I semi-lied.

His brows rose. “That’s why you’re walking like you’re an old lady?”

Noooo.

I glared at him and tried to yank my arm free of his iron grip, but he held strong with laughable ease.

“My stomach may hurt a little bit,” I admitted reluctantly.

His storm gray eyes narrowed, and I bit the inside of my lip at the way he studied my face.

Then he sighed.

And, before I knew it, I was up in his arms and being carried like a bride over the threshold on her wedding day.

“Umm,” I hummed, my brain not working right. “What are you doing?”

“I’m carrying you, what does it look like I’m doing?” he griped, not bothering to look down at me.

We were now moving about twice as fast as we’d been before, and the white road that I’d turned off to go into the trees became visible.

“It looks like you’re getting sweatier than you already were, and I think you should put me down,” I told him primly.

He snorted.

“I’m not putting you down. You’d probably hurt yourself, and then I’d feel bad about that, too,” he growled.

“Feel bad about that, too? What else do you feel bad about?” I asked warily.

“Bringing you here.”

My stomach dropped, and my heart froze as tears started to form in my eyes.

I deserved that. Totally and completely.

I was never going to get a man.

I smiled at Casten’s sister in law, Leslie.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

I shrugged.

“It probably would’ve been hilarious had he not looked just like Casten,” I told her.

Leslie smiled.

“I don’t even know how that happened. I’m so embarrassed,” Leslie continued.

I shrugged, turning to face out the window.

Casten was out there, speaking to Corbyn with his arm around his little sister’s shoulders.

He was holding her protectively, as the three of them spoke, and I was left wondering why I was still here.

I’d tried to call a cab, but Casten had hung up before I could even get three numbers dialed.

Then pocketed my phone.

I hadn’t tried to find a phone since, but I probably should at least try.

He hadn’t talked to me in well over an hour and a half, and I’d been sitting here alone for an hour of it.

That was until Leslie had taken pity on me and sat down next to me, apologizing.

She’d been doing it for thirty minutes, now, too.

It was beginning to make me uncomfortable.

I could see that Leslie was an incredibly shy woman, but if her man was anything like Casten, and I was guessing he was, then she had no way to stop the force that drove those two men.