Page 34 of Dirty Like Brody
Which I would’ve found suspicious myself, except thatIknew I’d tripped. I tried to stop it, but in all the excitement I was definitely going down, right on top of Brody’s date. My hands went up to shield my face from flying arms and elbows—and I caught the fuckingbouquet.
Most of it, anyway. A few unfortunate flowers had popped off in the other girls’hands.
But, yeah. The bouquet was mine. I supposed that was one of the benefits—curses—ofbeingtall.
Everyone cheered and yanked me up, shoving me forward for my moment of glory, as a sweaty-bearded photographer took my picture and I faked my very bestYay! I can’t wait to get married next!smile… and a rather disgruntled-looking Amanda was peeled off the floor. Maybe she really wanted thebouquet.
Ohwell.
Then Katie was dragged into the middle of the dance floor and deposited in a chair. Everyone gathered around to watch as my brother, to the wicked, bluesy groove of CCR’s “I Put A Spell On You,” took his sweet-ass time foraging under her dress, finally removing her garter… with his tongue. Which took someskill.
Even I had toapplaud.
I stepped aside with Roni, who was still laughing her ass off—at my expense—as all the single guys gathered around, some strutting into place like peacocks, others shoved in or dragged in by friends. I couldn’t help laughing myself; watching the garter toss at a wedding was always entertaining. Like the bouquet toss, it tended to bring out a certain side of some people you didn’texpect.
For example, Zane, of all people, was right up front, cracking his neck and flexing his hands, like he was preparing to catch the winning kick at the Super Bowl. At least, that’s how it looked to me. I knew shit all aboutfootball.
Still. Highlyentertaining.
At least, it was until Brody caught the garter… and Zane and Jude tackledme, hauled me into the middle of the dance floor, put my ass in the chair… and the entire crowd started whistling, cheering, chanting, and from what I could discern basically ordering Brody to put the garteronme.
Fuckme.
Were we reallydoingthis?
People still did this atweddings?
Yeah. Apparentlytheydid.
The pervy photographer was on his knees in front of me taking pictures of us—me with the bride’s mangled bouquet, Brody with the garter—as everyone and their dog gathered around. Then Brody was shoved in front of me and the songchanged.
James Brown started belting out “It’s A Man’s Man’s Man’sWorld.”
Brody, still wearing his suit pants, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned just enough to show off his neck tattoo, that sexy dip at the base of his throat and enough collarbone to seriously distract a girl, threw me a dark glance—like this was somehow my fault, whenhecaught the stupid garter!—and got down on his knees in frontofme.
And all the breath went out of mylungs.
Oh.My.God.
This washappening.
While everyonewatched.
Brody reached down, lifted my foot, and slipped off my shoe to a round of cheers, whistles andooh-la-la’s… and the feel of his hand, his fingers warm and strong and sure on my bare ankle, made mequiver.
Iquivered.
I’d never quivered at a man’s touchbefore.
Other thanBrody’s.
Heat rose through me as my body went liquidy, all resistance melting away as I permitted him to do this incredibly intimate thing which had now become a group activity, a spectator sport, for the amusement of ourfriends.
As James Brown belted out the naked truth, that this world, a man’s world, would be nothing—nothing—without the female of the species, Brody rested my foot on his lap and held my leg in his hand like it was precious, exotic, and utterlybeautiful.
My nipples hardened and my toes involuntarilycurled.
I held my breath as my heart rammed in my chest. A bead of sweat rolled down between my bralessbreasts.
