Page 4 of So Wrong, It's Wright
“You’ll see.” Giving me a wink, he rolls the offending fabric into a tight pink ball, waiting until we hit the road before he opens the window and releases the tulle into the wind. I whip around and watch it float away and get caught in a tree.
“Darren is going to kill me,” I gasp, my eyes wide as I watch the skirt disappear from sight.
“We’ll tell everyone I was a klutz and stepped on it,” he says, winding the window back up as he reaches for the provided champagne and hands me a glass.
“Just when I was starting to think you were a good guy, Ash Wright, it turns out you’re a very bad boy,” I say, laughing as he fills my glass with bubbles.
“A boy?” he says, setting the bottle back into his holder before he turns back to me, his glass in hand. “I know I’ve got a baby face, Tahlia, but I’m definitely a man. I can prove it to you if you need me to.” My insides quiver from the promise in his words as we lock eyes, and he taps his glass to mine. Then we drink, chatting and giggling together like long-lost friends until we reach our destination and catch up with the others. P.S. I think I love him already.
“What in the world happened to your skirt!” Darren cries out the moment he sees me in just my dark-gray dress.
“Oh, ah,” I stammer, looking to Ash, who happily steps in.
“Funny you should ask…” he starts while I cover my mouth and try to not to laugh, thinking that there’s a whole lot more to Ash Wright than meets the eye.
ASH
“You don’t like dancing?” Tahlia asks while I awkwardly sway during our required time on the dance floor as members of the bridal party. Tahlia is quite honestly the most beautiful girl I've ever been in close contact with. And so far, I’ve made it through the ceremony, the photos, the speeches and the meal without making too much of a fool of myself. But on the dance floor, my inability to coordinate my limbs can't be hidden. Unless I don't move too much.
“I love dancing, actually. Just when it’s someone else doing it,” I force out, feeling sweaty and nervous. I’m petrified I’m going to crush her dainty toes with one of my big feet, not to mention being worried I’ll put a stain from one of my clammy paws on her pretty dress. This needs to be over. Now.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing just fine,” Tahlia returns, her small hands resting on my shoulders. “You might want to loosen your muscles a little, though. You’re gonna give yourself a neck cramp.” She mimics me by pinching her shoulders up and twisting her head to the side comically. “You’ve gotta be loose.” She demonstrates by lowering her shoulders and moving her neck from side to side in fluid motions. “Just move with the melody and forget about who’s watching.”
I bark out a laugh. “If I danced like no one was watching, people would start thinking they let an elephant out of the zoo. Or worse, they’d dive under tables thinking an earthquake was coming. No thank you, I’ll stick to swaying like a marble statue in the breeze.”
That at least earns me a laugh. “It’s really not that bad, Ash. I promise you.”
“You wouldn’t be saying that if I busted out a move and your toes got in the way.”
She smiles and rolls her eyes, lacing her hands behind my neck with a sigh. If I wasn’t so worried about my sweat levels, I’d wrap my arms around her and pull her in close just so I can breathe her in. But I don’t even want to risk that. I need a visit to the men’s room, a hand dryer and some deodorant, stat. Until then, I’ll keep my hands firmly on her waist where they can do the least amount of damage.
When I was growing up, I was promised I’d become accustomed to my size, that I’d grow into my looks. But that was never the case, since I’ve been clumsy and awkward all my life. Once, I tied myownshoelaces together and fell on my face in front of a group of investors I was supposed to show around the lab at work. I was mortified, and after that, my colleagues thought it’d be hilarious to have me working on left side prosthetics only ‘because I have two left feet’. I’ve never lived it down, and I’m still not laughing. I’m really good at developing left side prosthetics, though.
“Mind if I cut in?” Theo, the bride’s twin brother, asks as the song changes, and I’m a little too quick to oblige. Practically shoving Tahlia at him while I make fast excuses before I get the hell off that dancefloor.
I hazard a glance back over my shoulder, a jealous pang hitting me the moment I see Tahlia laughing as Theo twirls her around then draws her back against him, like moving like that is the most natural thing in the world. I know there’s nothing to be jealous about—I have no claim to Tahlia, and Theo isn’t even straight—but still, I can’t help the dive my self-confidence takes before I barge my way through the men’s room door.
“Oh. Hey.” Andy’s eyes meet mine via the mirror he’s standing in front of, and the look on his face has me stopping in my tracks. He looks how I feel.
“Everything OK there, buddy?” I ask, moving to the wash basin beside him.
He shrugs and pulls some paper towel from the dispenser on the wall. “Karen said no,” he says, scrunching the paper into a ball and dropping it in the trash. I baulk.
“To your proposal? Holy fuck, man. I’m so sorry.”
He crinkles his nose up before he swallows hard, his Adam’s apple visibly bobbing in his throat. Suddenly I feel like a total dick for being all woe-is-me over not being able to dance. Andy has much bigger problems. “She said she doesn’t need a piece of paper or a lavish wedding to prove we’re together. She’s happy just as we are.”
“OK. So, it’s not about you, she’s just against marriage, then?”
“I guess,” he says, bouncing a shoulder again. “She never really said, so I just thought that since we’ve been living together so long, marriage was the next natural step. Now…I don’t know.”
“Is that a deal breaker for you?” I fold my arms over my chest and lean a hip against the sink. “I mean, can you be happy as you are?”
“I guess.” He frowns. “I just…I don’t know. I thought we’d be forever, but if she doesn't want to get married, does that mean she’s just in a holding pattern until something better comes along?”
My brow lifts and almost touches my hairline. I’m so not the person who should be counseling him on this topic. I’ve barely had a handful of semi-serious relationships in my time, and not once have I been on the cusp of asking anyone to marry me. I'm out of my depth. So, all I can do is jump to the most logical thing.
“I think,” I say, rubbing a hand across the back of my neck before I continue. “That we need to start drinking. This is a party. Let’s save all the shitty reality for the morning.”
