be able to interrupt us so I can devote the rest of my life to showing June just how much I appreciate each of her curves.
Unfortunately, I’m not the only one who’s been appreciating her curves. Ever since the bridesmaids showed up to take photos before the wedding, I’ve had to listen to every male with eyes go on and on about June. Her green eyes are hypnotic in that blue dress. Man, that tattoo on her shoulder is sexy. And a whole lot of other comments that I don’t care to re-live.
And right now, they are all staring at her dancing with Stacy in the center of the floor and drooling. I don’t like it. Now that I’ve seen most of her body, I feel like forming a human blockade around her for the rest of the night—arms spread and stance wide, murder glaring at anyone who dares look past me. No one gets a peek!
I know. I’m being ridiculous. She’s fully clothed right now, and these slobbering idiots can’t see anything past that sweetheart neckline. But the way her dress cinches around her waist and then cascades to the floor is drawing every man’s eye to her womanly figure. The longer they stare, the more tension grows between my shoulder blades.
And wonderful. When did I become an oaf that wants to keep my woman locked away so no one else gets a chance with her? She’s not even MY woman. She keeps making that fact painfully clear.
“Who do you think picked you?” Dopey Groomsman says to Alpha Groomsman. I’ve been sitting at this table on the edge of the dance floor with the other groomsmen for about five minutes—which is five minutes too long. Alex is the only groomsman that I can tolerate of this bunch, and he’s on the dance floor, swaying with his girlfriend.
“I don’t know, but I hope it’s Carly,” says Alpha Groomsman while wagging his eyebrows like a d-bag.
Macho Man pipes in now. “I think Katie drew mine, ‘cause she’s been all over me since pictures.” He does that thing where he leans back in his seat and rests his elbow over the back of the chair beside him so he can display his chest and arms to the other “weak links” of the group.
“Katie’s cute, though. You don’t want to leave with her?” asks Alpha.
I’ve only been half-listening. Most of me is too busy paying attention to June dancing like an adorable fool on the dance floor. But this new development in the conversation grabs my attention and makes me want to groan, because suddenly I realize why Carly has been stuck to me like Velcro all night.
She drew my name, and now I’m expected to take her home for a random hookup? No thanks. I’ve never been that kind of guy. I think most people assume because of my success that I’ve got a trail of women through my bed every night. They’d be wrong. One of the last serious talks I had with my mom was about respecting women and respecting myself. Maybe if she hadn’t died a few days after that, her speech would have gone through one ear and out the other like most teenage abstinence speeches tended to. But now, it sticks close to me and has been guiding me through relationships ever since. I’m not into random one-night stands, and I’m good with that.
Macho Man pulls my attention back. “Nah, I was hoping June would have picked my name. Dude, she’s ridiculously hot.”
My hands ball into fists on the table.
The guys all collectively laugh. “Yeah right! Take our word for it, June’s not leaving here with anyone.”
Suddenly, I’m invested in their conversation. “Why do they need to take your word for it?”
“‘Cause we’ve all tried and failed,” says Dopey.
My stomach drops. “All of you?”
They all nod, but Alpha speaks up. “You know her one-date rule, right? She’s a legend around here. We’ve all gone out with her thinking we’d be the one to get that sacred second date, but nope.” He loosens his tie and slips it off his neck. “She’s really strict. Barely managed to give her a kiss on the cheek after my date.”
“Ha! You lucky duck,” says Dopey. “She wouldn’t let me get my lips anywhere near her.”
I can’t decide if this revelation is making me want to grit my teeth or sigh from relief. It seems June is pretty old-fashioned too. I like that. I don’t have to worry that every guy at