My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon - Lauren Landish Page 0,3

one day, I’ll have time for that too, once I pay off the loans and get a few more special events checked off my calendar. I scan the room looking for Mr. Right Now because I don’t have time for anything more. Definitely not for Mr. Right.

I find Lorenzo’s eyes, dark and piercing as he looks at me, and I feel exposed, as if he’s seeing into my soul. He’s leaning against the back wall, arms crossed over his chest, his head tilted as though he’s working at something in his mind though his gaze never wavers.

Quicker than a blink, he spins on his heel and walks out the double doors. Does he mean for me to follow him? I can’t exactly leave right now, in the middle of Courtney’s reception. Or maybe he wants me to follow him out to the more private hallway? Or a bathroom? My gray-haired imaginary story flashes through my mind, bringing a smile to my face.

I could be down with a little risky business as long as we don’t get caught.

I make my way across the room, pausing for a split second when Aunt Gertrude grabs for my arm and offers kind words about my speech. But as I thank her, her true intentions become clear. “Hopefully, you’ll be next, dear. Such a pity your younger sister beat you to the punchline.”

“Mmmhmm,” I say noncommittally. It doesn’t bother me that Courtney is married now and I’m not. We’ve never been competitive like that, and I’m truly happy for her. But Aunt Gertrude is slowing me down from something more important than her instigating ways. “Excuse me.”

I pop into the hallway just in time to see another door closing, the click sounding like a secret. I take a quick moment to straighten my dress, smooth any stragglers of thick hair back into my perfectly coiffed updo, and take a deep breath. Through those doors is a much-needed moment of release that will hopefully involve at least one orgasm. Hell, let’s make it three. I’m feeling hungry tonight. No sense in being stingy because this memory is going to be what gets me through the next few weeks of head-down hard work.

With a smile of expectation on my face, I turn the handle of the door and step through. “Lorenzo?” I ask softly, only to be greeted by the cool chill of night air.

I guess I got turned around leaving the ballroom and didn’t realize this door led outside. I wrap my arms around my body, conserving heat as I look for my knight in tattooed armor and consider how I can best have car sex in this dress without ruining it.

That’s when I hear a motorcycle revving. A bright headlight catches my attention, but the silhouette is unmistakable. Of course he rides a motorcycle. Any self-respecting bad boy wouldn’t be caught dead in some sensible sedan that gets great gas mileage.

I think Lorenzo is going to stop, sweep me off my feet, and ride off into the night with me, my dress blowing in the wind dramatically. But he rides right past me without so much as a glance.

My jaw drops as his red taillight disappears into the night. I basically just grinded with him on the dance floor, thought we were going for an all-nighter with zero strings—most guys’ dream proposition—only to be left high and dry, standing alone on the concrete steps.

Well, not dry since I’m most definitely wet beneath my panties.

Traitorous pussy, he left us! We don’t want him!

One last clutch of my core reminds me that I want something, but it’s definitely never going to be Lorenzo Toscani.

Chapter 1

Abi

Several weeks later . . .

“Girls just wanna have fu-un,” I sing along, not caring that I’m off-key as I tie a hand-dyed hot pink silk ribbon around a bundle of colorful garden roses while Cyndi Lauper belts her heart out over the SweetPea Boutique’s sound system. My fingers move faster as I near completion, left, right, and left, creating a fanciful bow. I’ve done this so many times my hands do the work mindlessly, leaving me to toss my head a bit as I loudly add, “they just wanna-a-a.”

Securing the carefully prepared loops temporarily with a pair of bobby pins before a dab of hot glue and a final knot, I spruce the flowers and then critically eye my creation. Seeing no flaw, a sense of jubilance fills me.

Perfect!

Creating beautiful flower arrangements never gets old for me, no matter how many times