Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 132464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
“Babe,” I said to her yesterday. “You’re not showing at all. Like, literally, not at all.”
“You’re blind, babe,” Kat said. “Look.” She pointed at the perfectly smooth midsection of her dress. “It’s like I’m hiding a volleyball under there.”
“Do you have body dysmorphic disorder?” I asked.
I grabbed her shoulders and moved her in front of the full-length mirror on the other side of our bedroom, and then I stood behind her, staring at both our reflections in the mirror, my palms resting on her smooth, bare shoulders.
And that’s when I completely forgot whatever the fuck I was gonna say. I’d meant to drag Kat in front of the mirror to prove my point she’s not showing yet (and that she’s batshit crazy, too, which certainly isn’t news to me), but for some reason, staring at us together in the mirror, looking at her in that blue dress—even with her hair in a ponytail and her face completely bare of makeup—she took my breath away.
So, of course, I proceeded to get my Party Girl with a Hyphen the fuck out of that dress and myself inside of her.
But that was yesterday.
Today, Kat in that same blue dress isn’t merely taking my breath away—she’s stopping my heart, too. The dress fits Kat the same way it did yesterday, of course—like a glove. But, today, she’s not just wearing her bridesmaid dress as she glides down the aisle, she’s strutting in it like a peacock—or, rather, I suppose, like a peahen graced with a peacock’s tail. (Thank you, Jonas.) And Kat has every reason to strut like she’s on a catwalk—lord almighty, does she ever. Her golden hair is falling around her shoulders in perfectly formed tendrils. Her skin peeking out of her sweetheart neckline is glowing. Her sky-high heels accentuate the glorious length of her lithe frame. And, oh my God, Kat’s gorgeous face, always radiant, always mesmerizing, is downright spectacular today. It’s the face that could launch a thousand ships, bring a grown man to his knees, make a man believe in God. And at this moment, lucky me, the blazing eyes lighting up that supernaturally beautiful face are trained on me.
By the time Kat reaches the end of the aisle and takes her position to the officiant’s right, my heart’s bursting, my cock is tingling, and my brain is utterly scrambled. I beam a huge smile at Kat and she winks.
The musical selection changes and everyone in the audience stands.
For a moment, I can’t identify the song the musicians are playing. I know the melody, but it’s not a song normally played by a harp, cello, and violin, so I’m having a hard time placing it. Oh, wait. I’ve got it. It’s “Melt With You” by Modern English. Great song—cool arrangement. I glance at my brother. He’s about to burst into a trillion tiny molecules and scatter into the sky.
I fix my gaze at the end of the aisle, my heart in my throat, and there she is—our beautiful bride for the occasion. Our George Clooney. Jonas’ handler. My brand new little sister. The great love of my brother’s life. Sarah Fucking Cruz.
I glance at Kat to find her lower lip trembling and her eyes filled with tears. I look at my brother again and my breathing hitches at the unabashed demonstration of joy and love on his face. Oh my God, Jonas is clearly on the verge of crying.
Keep it together, man, I think.
But, really, I should be using all my keep-it-together mojo on myself. For fuck’s sake, I’m shaking like a leaf as I try to contain the emotion welling up inside me.
I take a deep breath and successfully force it down.
Sarah glides down the aisle slowly, her eyes fixed on Jonas, her smile as wide as I’ve ever seen it. Wow, she’s beautiful. Simply stunning. Glowing from the inside-out. And not only that, she’s a sexy little thing, isn’t she? Hot damn. I knew my brand new sister was a hot tamale and all, but Jesus Fucking Christ—she’s scorching hot. Are brides supposed to be this sexy? Good lord. Sarah’s strapless, white gown hugs every curve of her body leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination, and then fans out mid-thigh, accentuating her hips to full effect. Holy hot damn, that’s quite a dress. I’m guessing Sarah picked it especially for Jonas—my brother always has been an ass-man.
For a fleeting moment, my deranged brain actually forms the thought: I wonder what kind of wedding dress Kat would wear for me?
My heart squeezes. What the fuck am I thinking? Have I gone insane?
A loud sob lurches from the front of the audience, grabbing my attention. It’s Sarah’s mother, crying her eyes out at the sight of her beautiful daughter. I can’t help but smile. I only met Gloria last night and I already love her—it seems Jonas definitely lucked out there.