Consolation Prize Page 4

  We went through the chorus a second time, and I tried to ignore the way Colton’s hand in mine kept sending shivers up to my elbow. But then I glanced at him and he was watching me with the most amused, affectionate grin. I couldn’t look away. From that point on, the whole thing became a competition between us: who could wiggle lower, flap faster, snap harder.

  He definitely knew how to challenge a girl.

  I was laughing so hard I didn’t notice Beau had completely deserted us to run off and play with the flower girl until the song ended.

  Beyond embarrassed to realize I’d been dancing alone with Colton for a good thirty seconds or more, I started to slink off the floor, cupping my hands to my mouth. But a new song started, making Colton catch my elbow.

  “Hey! The Macarena.”

  “Oh, hell no!” I laughed and pulled back, except the crazy man wouldn’t let go. “Colton!” I shrieked.

  The Macarena was already starting, so I just dragged him away with me, laughing as I went.

  “Boy, you’re lucky you got the last song out of me. Besides, after the Chicken Dance, I need alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol. And something a hell of a lot stronger than champagne.”

  He grinned and tugged on my fingers, changing directions. “I can help you with that. This way, my lady.”

  JULIANNA’S CHAPTER | 4

  After dancing, my heart was beating a little faster and my skin felt flushed. And I really did need that drink because my mouth was bone dry.

  I was relieved that Colton was a resourceful kind of guy. He knew exactly where the open bar was located, and bless him, he took me straight there. Once we each had a plastic cup in hand, he set his free palm on the small of my spine to escort me back to my table, which felt…nice, actually.

  But a guy waiting in the back of the line for the bar pointed at us. “Yo, Colton. That’s just pop, right?”

  I recognized the man as being a groomsman. There’d been two—the wedding pamphlet had named them Noel Gamble and Oren Tenning. Since this guy looked Brandt-ish, I figured he was Noel, which would make him Colton’s big brother.

  Lifting his cup as if in cheers, Colton answered, “Of course.”

  I glanced at him, frowning slightly and trying to remember what he’d ordered for himself. Had it only been cola? I wasn’t sure.

  “You were drinking champagne earlier,” I suddenly remembered.

  He shrugged as he took a sip from his cup. “They let me since I had to make the toast.”

  “Oh.” I nodded in understanding. That made sense. As we approached my table, I drank from my own Crown and Coke. “You know, that toast you gave actually didn’t suck.”

  With a gasp, he clutched his chest. “Holy shit, is that a compliment? From the Julianna Radcliffe?”

  “What?” I sniffed, a little hurt. “I can give a compliment.”

  “Yeah. Just not to me.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but damn...was he right? I tried but couldn’t think of a single time I’d complimented him or even said a polite thing in his direction. Damn, how utterly bitchy of me. Feeling crappy about that, I blurted, “Well...the way you tricked me onto the dance floor was evilly genius. Well done there.”

  He snickered. “Damn, girl. Slow down. Too much more praise from you and you’ll convince me you’re in love with me or something. I mean, not that I’d blame you, but—”

  “Oh, shut up...jerk.” I shoved at his arm only to chase it with a laugh.

  When I rolled my eyes, he chuckled too and fell into the chair he’d been sitting in earlier across from me. No one else who’d been assigned to sit at my table was there. In fact, they’d never shown up at all. The only items that had been used at their seats were their champagne glasses, which I’d drank from, one after another, when the server had come around to fill them for the toast: the witty, clever, sweet, endearing toast Colton had given.

  When I sat in the seat next to him and not the one I’d been sitting in earlier all the way across the table, he glanced at me pointedly with lifted eyebrows.

  I ignored his surprise and watched the dancers as a slow tune started. It wasn’t as if I actually wanted Colton’s company, I tried to convince myself. But he wasn’t acting as if he was going to go away anytime soon, and…well, having someone to talk to—even him—made things suck a little less.

  Okay, fine...he was amazing to talk to—entertaining, perceptive, and fuck...that little leap in my pulse every time he looked at me with those hooded, brown bedroom eyes was becoming addictive.

  I’m not sure why I didn’t consider leaving. I’d been ready to walk out the door not too long ago. My tush had been out of my seat, my gaze had been locked on the exit, and my purse would’ve been in hand...if he hadn’t stolen it. But here I was now, purse returned, and I was voluntarily sitting by Colton Gamble of all people.

  Just how many glasses of champagne had I stolen from my absent table companions?

  “So what else do you like about me?” he prompted before taking a long draw from his cup and eyeing me speculatively over the rim.

  I watched his throat work as he swallowed, wondering how that strong column of skin would taste if I licked it. Then I jerked my gaze away. “Nothing. You know how to manipulate people into getting what you want, and you give non-sucky speeches. That’s...that’s about it.”

  No way would I admit how my thighs had trembled, or my breathing caught, or my mind raced with the most inappropriate thoughts every time he’d ever come into the bar.

  “Nah, that can’t be all.” He shook his head before looking me straight in the eye. “What about my big brown eyes? A girl once told me I had penetrating eyes, like I could see straight inside her.”

  I ground my teeth, mad at myself for just admiring his eyes. Then I grew mad at that girl for being stupid enough to inflate his ego even more by telling him how awesome they were. And then...then my anger rose toward him for talking to another girl at all, or getting close enough to her that she could see his eyes and compliment them. But at the end of it all, I was only mad at myself for the stupid knee-jerk sensation of jealousy I felt.

  I mean, why the hell would I be jealous of another girl for merely talking to him? That was just stupid.

  “No,” I said, glancing away from those all-seeing eyes. “I don’t think you have penetrating eyes.”

  “Good.” He swiped the back of his hand over his brow in relief. “Because honestly, I’d rather penetrate you with far different parts of my body.” When his tongue came out to wet his bottom lip and he lifted his eyebrows in proposition, I realized that was one of the body parts he was talking about. Suddenly, I could only imagine all the places he’d like to penetrate me with his tongue.

  My stomach clenched as if I could already feel the wet glide from his mouth working between my legs.

  “Seventeen-year-old boys shouldn’t talk that way,” I said and knew it was a mistake as soon as the words passed my lips. I’d only called him seventeen to remind him how much younger than me he was. But we’d already had this discussion, and he’d already made it clear he didn’t care.

  His brown eyes gleamed with awareness, dammit, penetrating my psyche as if he knew my saying that to ward him off meant I was down to my last bag of resistance…which I think I was.

  “Thank God I’m not seventeen, then.” His voice was so low and sensual a full-body shiver seized me.

  Not sure how to respond without popping out of my chair and racing out the door to escape the capsizing way he affected me, I clutched my cup and accidentally drained the contents in one guzzle.

  “Shit,” I croaked when I realized it was empty. Now what was I going to do? I needed something to drink, something to hold in my hand and sip from to help distract myself from thinking things I knew I shouldn’t think.

  “I can get you more.” Colton snagged the cup from my hand as he stood. With a wink, he said, “Be right back.”

  With a crazy, stirring hitch bubbling in my stomach, I watched him walk away,
my gaze unable to tear itself from the back of his slacks and the way they molded oh so perfectly to his ass. When he disappeared out of sight, I kept sitting there, waiting for him to return.

  I should’ve left, escaped while I had the chance. But the second he swept back into view, carrying two refilled cups, my blood raced, my breasts tingled, and my breathing went shallow.

  This time, I didn’t hate the messy effect his presence had on me. I embraced the awareness and excitement, eager to see where it’d lead. I actually anticipated the next suggestive comment he made. Maybe I wouldn’t act so offended this time. Maybe I’d just be real and appreciate it for once, like I wanted to.

  “Here you go, baby doll.” He sat and extended my cup toward me.

  “Thank you.” I reached for it just as he pulled it right back out of my reach.

  I frowned.

  He grinned. “First you have to tell me what you used to have nightmares about.”

  I folded my arms over my chest. “Really?” He was going to play it that way, huh? Well, I didn’t have to play at all. “I could go get my own drink, you know.”

  “You could,” he allowed with a nod. Then he shrugged. “Okay, we’ll take baby steps. How old were you when your night terrors began?”

  I blinked, startled to hear him call them that specific term. It was as if he knew what I’d experienced had been far more traumatic than a couple harmless nightmares as if he understood personally. Which made no sense.

  Or did it?

  Had he experienced night terrors too?

  My mind caught on that little idea, I ended up saying, “Six,” without meaning to.

  Colton nodded, taking my answer seriously, which I appreciated. He hadn’t shrugged off my bad dreams as merely a silly little girl frightened of harmless shadows on the wall.

  “How old were you when they stopped?”

  I tipped my head curiously to the side. “What makes you think they ever stopped?”

  With a secretive smile, he reached out and brushed the backs of his fingers over one of my dream catcher earrings. He barely grazed the lobe of my ear in the process, which made my breasts tingle. “These wouldn’t be so important to you if they hadn’t been effective, now would they?”

  Damn, he was an insightful shit.

  I felt as if he deserved an answer for paying such close attention to me as to pick up on that. “I was nine when they stopped.”

  He smiled as if relieved to hear it. “And what were they about again?”

  He asked it slyly as if trying to trick the answer out of me without me being aware of what I was revealing.

  It made me grin and shake my head. I’d never be able to say Colton Gamble wasn’t wily. “Why is it so important for you to know?”

  “Because I have to,” he said as if it was really some kind of necessity, like food or air.

  “But why?” I persisted, growing more curious by the second.

  “Because...” He shook his head, looking a little lost before his gaze focused on mine, and those brown eyes went über intense. “What if you had night terrors about the same thing I did?”

  Well, shit. I caught my breath.

  I guess he did understand.

  I guess he had suffered from his own nightmares.

  I guess... God, I don’t even know what I guessed anymore. I felt kind of shaky to learn I shared such a connection with him. My brain went all jumbled and woozy.

  “So?” Colton asked, leaning in as his stare took in every feature of my face. “Were we haunted by the same kind of dreams?”

  “I...” I opened my mouth, but only a dry croak emerged. After clearing my throat and licking my parched lips, I managed to say, “I guess that depends. Did your mom die when you were six too?”

  He shook his head, and I swear his shoulders fell as if he were relieved. Then he said, “If she had, I doubt I ever would’ve had a problem with nightmares in the first place.”

  “That’s terrible,” I blurted, my mind already racing with curiosity, wondering what his mom had done to haunt his dreams.

  He shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Yeah, well…so was she.” His gaze focused on my earrings, and his eyes softened with sympathy. “Was your mom a good mom?”

  I pulled back, a little shocked he would even ask such a question. “Of course.”

  Seriously, what the hell had his mother done to build that kind of distrust for all mothers?

  With a nod, he murmured, “Then I’m sorry for your loss. Life can be seriously fucked up and unfair, can’t it? The good mom died, and the awful mom lived. How’s that for ironic injustice?”

  “Geez,” I blurted. “You really don’t like your mother at all, do you? Which one is she?” I began to scan the room, focusing my attention on the wedding party’s table where his family had been seated.

  But Colton only smiled as if amused. “Oh, she wasn’t invited.”

  My eyebrows spiked. Wow, even Brandt wasn’t a fan of her. She must really be a piece of work. “What the hell did she do?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  “Nothing good,” he answered. “How did your mom die?”

  “Cancer,” I spit out, thinking he’d be more willing to answer my questions if I opened up a little more about my own answers. “When was the last time you saw your mom?”

  “About seven months ago. Before that, I was…” He paused to think before answering, “Eight. Did you get to tell your mom goodbye before she died?”

  “No, I didn’t. She went crazy delirious at the end. Hallucinated I was the devil come to take her soul to hell. She screamed and threw a vase of flowers at me.” I still had a scar on my forearm where I’d lifted my hands to shield my face. “So I wasn’t allowed in her room the last few days.”

  “Holy shit,” Colton wheezed, his eyes growing large. “That had to suck.”

  “If your mom left when you were eight,” I started before he could ask me anything else, “who raised you after that? Your dad?”

  “Nah.” He shook his head. “No idea who that loser was. Our big brother Noel took guardianship over me and Brandt, and our sister, Caroline.”

  “I…I never knew that,” I murmured, blinking wildly as my mind raced. “Wow.”

  Brandt had never mentioned how he’d been raised all those times we’d worked together. And here, I thought he and I had been through a couple in-depth conversations. He’d opened up to me about his feelings for Sarah in a way that no guy had ever opened up to me. That was one reason why my crush on him had lingered all these months. I thought I’d seen an integral, intimate part of him.

  But he hadn’t really shared himself with me at all, had he?

  That was a sobering wake-up call.

  “Who raised you?” Colton asked, making me veer my attention back to him and blink myself to the present.

  “Oh, uh...” I shook my head. “My dad did.”

  “He a good dad?”

  Again, it was startling to even be asked such a question. I nodded slowly. “Yes.”

  So he nodded too. “Good.”

  I wanted to change the subject. I wasn’t sure why. But talking about this made me feel vulnerable. Or something. And it definitely made me feel softer toward Colton, which seemed as if it should be wrong in itself, though it didn’t feel wrong at all. It felt nice and warm and…that should be wrong. Right? I wasn’t supposed to feel good things for Colton Gamble, though for the life of me I couldn’t remember why.

  I just knew I needed to stop this.

  Change the subject.

  Change it to anything.

  The first thing that came to mind.

  “I have to pee,” I blurted.

  Crap, had I announced that out loud?

  Colton’s laugh answered my question. “Thanks for telling me.”

  Scowling at him, I bolted to my feet, only to sway once I was upright. I reached for my chair to catch my balance. “Stop laughing, jerk, and just tell me where the damn bathroom is.”

  “Sure, baby dol
l. Anything for you. It’s uh...down that hall there, and one of those doors to the right. Or is it the left?” He frowned thoughtfully. “Shit, I can’t remember. I’ll just show you.” He pushed to his feet and took my hand.

  His grip was warm and protective, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. But I wasn’t about to let go.

  Because I liked it.

  “Are you sure you know where the bathroom is?” I asked once he led me from the main reception room and into a long quiet corridor.

  “Of course. It’s right....” We passed another three doorways before the sign popped up. “Here.” With a flourish of his hand toward the sign, he grinned at me. “Here you go, my lady.”

  “Thanks.” I gazed up at him—really, really loving his engaging, cheerful smile—as I backed toward the bathroom door and pushed my way inside with my shoulder.

  Once inside the bathroom alone, I pressed my hand to my abdomen and blew out a long breath. Then I hurried into a stall.

  After I did my business, I stumbled toward the mirrors and clutched the sides of the sink for balance before I met my own reflection in the glass. I was flushed, my gaze glazed, but most alarming of all, I couldn’t seem to stop smiling. When I realized the source of my uncommonly good mood, I sobered immediately.

  Colton.

  Brandt’s little brother.

  I’d been so absorbed in Colton, pretty much no one else in the entire building had existed for a moment there. But it all came flooding back to me now. Brandt: the reason I was here, the reason Colton should be the last person I was grinning over, and the very reason I needed to leave the entire reception right this second.

  But then Colton’s grin floated through my head, and temptation flooded me.

  I felt like a giant, indecisive Ping-Pong ball. Thinking about Colton made me feel high, floating above everything wrong between us, where life was great and his smile and laugh were helium, keeping me suspended, until bam, the Ping-Pong ball smacked into the table of reality, reminding me of every reason why grinning over him was bad. Only for, yeah, the stupid ball inside me to float right back up with memories of flirty things he said and the heated way he looked at me, the way he had gotten me to talk about my mom.