Page 101 of How to Ruin Your Ex's Wedding
“I do think we need to know for sure whether that sexual compatibility part still holds true,” I say.
“Even though I crossed it out?” he asks.
“It was still a good point.”
“It was, wasn’t it?”
I nod.
He leans in, his lips ghosting across mine. My breath catches, my head dizzies, knees weaken. I reach up and grasp his lapels to steady myself.
“I still love you,” he says, his lips barely moving against mine. “I never stopped.”
“Pax,” I breathe his name.
“Fuck, Tabs,” he groans as he claims my mouth with his. My lips conform to his as though from muscle memory. He moves a hand to the back of my neck, his thumb wrapping around toward the front, holding my head in place as he takes what he needs and gives what I crave. My hands skate across his wide chest and up around his neck, one tangling in his short hair, the other trying to pull myself even closer.
I want to crawl inside him. I can’t get enough. I feel like my world has been righted and turned upside down at the same time. His tongue duels with mine, making my head light and my pulse race. My breath mingling with his as he continues to assault my mouth in the very best way. It’s been years since I’ve been kissed like this. The sad truth is that Pax was probably last man to kiss me properly.
His hard length presses against my stomach as he works his knee between my legs, my skirt voluminous but the material thin, so I feel every inch of him. His hand runs lightly down my collarbone, continuing down my side, his fingers grazing against my bare skin, making me shiver.
“Ahem.” Someone clears their throat loudly from behind Pax. He slowly separates his lips from mine and takes a step back, looking at me to make sure I’m okay. I nod in response and he moves to the side, his arm snaking around my waist, so we can face this together.
30
Pax
I’m not sure who I thought would be interrupting us, but it wasn’t Gregor.
“Sorry to interrupt, man. But people are kinda freaking the fuck out in there. Rumors are flying and I thought maybe I’d come check and see if we should say something? I mean, I’m happy to make any announcement on your behalf. And Liza is pacing at the back of the room, close to tears. So . . .”
“Ohmigod!” Tabby’s face turns bright red. “I forgot about the people. Jesus.” She turns to me. “What do I say? What do I do? Do I just tell them they can go home? What about the reception? Oh shit. This is such a mess!”
I take her hand in mine and squeeze it. “Hey, don’t worry. We got this. I’ll go with you to make the announcement. This isn’t on you. He’s the one who walked out. You didn’t cause this, he did. Okay?”
She nods. “Okay.” Then she squeezes my hand back, gently.
Gregor opens the ballroom doors for us. Hand in hand, Tabatha and I walk into the massive room, which is much larger than I remember. Or maybe it just feels that way because we are flanked on either side by thirty rows of ten people each, all with eyes glued to us. The string quartet stops playing “Canon in D” and begins to play the wedding march. Gregor, who was returning to his seat via a side aisle, instead goes straight to the musicians and motions for them to stop playing.
The room fills with silence as we make our way down the aisle toward the flower-filled stage where the ceremony was to take place. The aisle seems to go on forever, blanketed by a white runner that crackles under our feet as we go. Huge bouquets of red flowers sit in stands at the ends of each row, in stark contrast with the white covered chairs. Large black bows secure the chair covers at each seat back. And everywhere I look, ten times as many eyes blink back at me.
The closer we get, the tighter Tabatha squeezes my hand. Whispers begin to bounce back and forth, filling the space as the guests try to determine what is happening. At this point, the wedding was supposed to have started forty-five minutes ago. I notice a number of seats at the front on the groom’s side are already empty, so he must have told a few close friends.
We climb the steps to the microphone and turn to face the crowd. Tabatha straightens her back and raises her head. I’m so fucking proud of her right now for facing this head-on after Wimpy the DoucheCock left her stranded. It can’t be easy.
“What do I say?” she whispers from the side of her mouth.
“We got this,” I say. “Okay, just repeat after me.”
She nods and then begins to repeat the words that I feed her.
“Thank you all for coming today. I’m sure you’re probably wondering why I’m standing up here with this guy and not the other one.”
She turns to look at me after she says that, awhat the fucklook on her face.
“Just go with it,” I mumble.
She rolls her eyes and turns back to the guests. “The other guy decided not . . .” she repeats, then faces me again. “I’m not saying that,” she hisses to me. “I can use his name and so can you.”
