Page 67 of Bridesmaid for Hire
I run my finger over his cheek, my lips incredibly close to his. “Oh, I am.”
“You realize just how annoying you are, right?” He sucks in a sharp breath as my lips move along his nose for added effect.
“And you realize that you’resoincredibly unlikable”—I lean in close and press a kiss to his cheek—“that I would rather stand on a bed of razors than have to hold your hand one more time.”
“The feeling is mutual,” he says as I straighten up. His eyes remain on mine. “Just sit on the balloon in my lap. That’s it.”
“I know.” I move away from him and join the other line of contestants, each of us standing beside a bin filled with five balloons inside, ready to be popped.
Object of the game: pop the balloon between you and your partner using any means necessary besides hands.
Doesn’t seem that hard.
“Dude, don’t slam on me like last time,” Hardy calls out to Hudson who has an evil grin on his face.
Seems like there’s some history there, just like every other game. Makes me chuckle.
“Everyone ready?” Reginald calls out. We all give our nod of readiness. “Can we get a reminder of what we’re playing for?” he asks.
“Sure thing,” Regina says as she walks in front of us one more time, displaying the trophy. I hold back my laugh at how poised and proper Regina looks, in her elegant caftan and designer sunglasses, just in caseshe’s not doing it ironically. Not here to insult anyone, especially the mother of the bride.
“Thank you, my love,” Reginald says before he turns back to the contestants. “Stakes are high. Three, two, one…go.” Hudson takes off in an all-out sprint and I watch him leap into the air, ass first, balloon under him, and land directly on Hardy, popping the balloon and knocking Hardy back with an umph.
“Fuck…you,” he says as Hudson laughs and gets up to grab another. And I thought this was the guy who’d rather be doing spreadsheets than playing games with his family. Looks like Hardy was wrong.
Okay, I can do that.
I charge toward Brody—who looks unfazed—leap into the air and move the balloon to my butt, only for it to slip from my grasp and for my ass to land directly on Brody’s face, shooting him back to the sand, our balloon being blown away and thankfully caught by a worker standing off to the side.
“I think I missed,” I say as I sit there, right on Brody’s face.
He mumbles something, but I can’t hear him, so I lift one cheek and ask, “What?”
“Get…off,” he says.
“Oh right.” I stand and run back to the balloons, grabbing another one. This time I decide to take a different approach. I set the balloon on his lap, squat over him and then drop on top of him. It seems like a smart idea, but the only problem is, I don’t pop the balloon.
So, I hippity hop on top of the balloon, which is on top of his lap.
Bouncy bounce bounce.
“What are these made of?” I ask. “Steel?”
“Ooof, fuck,” he says when I slam down on him again.
“Jeeze, this sucker doesn’t want to pop.” I grip his shoulders and start bouncing up and down on him, with each plant of my ass on the balloon, he crunches over. “Come…on…you…stubborn…”
Pop.
I land flat on his lap, and he grunts in pain.
“Fuck,” he groans.
“Did that hurt?”
He glares at me. “You tell me.”
“Uh, you told me to sit on your lap. I’m just doing what you asked.”
