Page 214 of Bridesmaid Undercover
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”
I sigh and look him in the eyes. “Hardy, seriously, we all know why you’re here and it’s not going to work, okay?”
“Why am I here?” he asks as I make my way into the dressing room where he continues to stand.
“To…you know…”
“Uh, I don’t, but I would love to hear what you have to say,” he says with an annoying smirk.
I hang up the dresses and turn toward him. “To do things…like you did at my office.”
“Bring you cronuts?” he asks as he sticks his hands in his pockets. “No, not here for that. After you wouldn’t take them the first time, I was insulted. I was here for Polly. Can’t imagine what a change it is to add someone to the wedding party on such short notice. So being the best man, I just want to try to make things as easy as possible.”
“Which is why you bribed your friend into asking me to be a part of the wedding?”
“Uh, you being a part of the wedding was for George—he wanted to be a groomsman. I’m over here making dreams come true.”
“Actually, you’re over here making nightmares become a reality.”
He frowns. “You know, when you say things like that, they hurt.”
I roll my eyes and push at his chest, sending him out of the dressing room, only to snap shut the curtain on him.
“You don’t need help getting into those dresses?”
“No,” I say as I slip out of the barely there dress and into a more suitable mermaid satin dress with a tasteful slit and off the shoulder sleeves. When I turn toward the mirror, I can already tell this is going to be the one. It floats along my curves, hits me in all the right places, doesn’t show off too much skin, and most certainly won’t steal the show.
The only problem is I’m having trouble with the zipper.
I need to know if it’s going to fit, and I’m out of options for help. I part the curtain open to find Hardy hasn’t moved. I thought that perhaps he would be on the couch, but instead, he’s standing right in front of me, and I don’t miss his reaction to the dress as his eyes travel the length of my body, pausing every once in a while, until he meets my gaze.
“That’s uh…that’s a nice dress,” he nearly croaks.
I catch his Adam’s apple bob.
I take note of the way his hand strokes his beard.
And I can’t help but notice the way he tentatively wets his lips as if he’s preparing to devour me whole.
They’re all desirable signs that I probably would have killed for a week ago, but now…now they’re testing me.
They’re making me lower my defenses.
They’re nudging me, reminding me of just how much I liked this man—well, how much I still like him.
That crush isn’t just going to go away. Especially after the night we shared.
I would be lying if I said I didn’t think about him every day.
Because I do.
I think about what it would have been like if I woke up that morning and he brought me coffee, a cup we could have shared while I curled into his chest, breakfast being delivered because neither one of us really wanted to leave the bed. I think about what that day could have been like. A lazy Saturday with him, taking a shower together, maybe holding hands and taking a walk in the park across from my apartment. The smiles, the laughter, the long, languid moments in bed.
It was what I so desperately wanted and yet, I was met with something else.
Something pain-inducing.
Something that has altered the way I perceive this man.
