This Changes Everything by Jennifer Ashley Page 0,8
in yellow, a firefly in the dark.
The crowd is well relaxed when Ryan and Calandra, who’d disappeared for a while, reappear dressed for their drive up to the mountains. They’ve decided not to spend the night in the hotel—wise. Ryan doesn’t trust us, his three brothers, to leave them alone. Even Ben would join in the practical jokes.
Calandra’s mom is hugging her, tears in her eyes. Her dad, the same. Shaking Ryan’s hand, as if to say, Take good care of her, son.
Ryan would. Mr. Stevenson didn’t have to worry. The rest of us would take care of Calandra too. She was family now.
Damned if my eyes aren’t wet. Abby and I must have drunk a lot.
Calandra’s ready to throw her bouquet. In the movies, women mob each other to catch it, but the ladies here look almost afraid of it. I don’t know if they’re being nonchalant or in no rush to tie themselves to some guy who can’t wash his own clothes.
Calandra turns her back, Ryan sidestepping out of the way. She tosses.
The bouquet goes up and up—a long, spinning pass. She’s got a good arm, even backwards. Abby watches, bemused, as the bunch of flowers, ribbons fluttering, hits its arc and comes down, down, down …
Straight into the arms of my little brother Ben.
We shout with laughter. Bright red, Ben quickly shoves the bouquet at Great Aunt Mary. She takes it in delight.
“Why thank you, sweetie.” Great Aunt Mary wears a redder lipstick than Abby’s, her silver hair perfectly coiffed. “Wouldn’t mind a little of that action.”
We laugh again, Great Aunt Mary taking the pressure off Ben. It’s why she’s everyone’s favorite.
Ryan and Calandra depart amid hugs, well wishes, and waves.
The DJ continues with the music as Calandra and Ryan vanish into the darkness, but the heart has gone out of the party. People begin drifting away, heading for the hotel rooms booked for the wedding party and guests.
“I guess it’s over.” Abby sorrowfully glances around the emptying dance floor.
“We could go on to a club, if you want.”
She shakes her head, shoulders slumping. “It was more fun with friends and family. Clubs can be … impersonal.”
True. If you aren’t with a group of friends, clubs can be boring as hell. I grope around in my mind, trying to come up with a way we can hang out together longer. The number of places in Phoenix open after nine p.m., even on a Saturday night, are few and far between.
I open my mouth to suggest the bar here at the hotel, when Abby says, “Walk me to my room?”
As I stare, my mouth frozen in its open position, Abby flushes. “I’m a little drunk,” she says hurriedly. “I don’t want to be found face-down in the hall in the morning.”
“Sure.” I’m a gallant gentleman. Of course I’ll escort a lady home.
I offer my arm, and she takes it. We’re both unsteady, and she leans into me, soft woman against my side.
No one comments on us leaving. Most of the guests are gone anyway, except Ben. I feel his eyes on my back, but Ben I trust. He’s not one to gossip and ruin a lady’s rep.
The hotel is a swank one, with many wings surrounding the grounds—giant pool, open air patio, perfect for our winter weather, beautiful on a mild April night.
Abby’s on the second floor, in a suite. Apparently they dressed the bride there.
We take the elevator, too shaky to walk up a flight of stairs, and find her door. Abby fishes her key from a tiny pocket in her dress, a pocket that would never fit more than a key card. She starts to hover the card over the reader, and hesitates.
“Want to come in?” she asks in a shy voice.
Do I? Shit, yeah. Heat rocks my body, though she’s only asked me to go inside. Maybe to help her clean up from the bridal outfitting. I picture female accoutrements everywhere—gloves, hats, ribbons, whatever women wear to weddings these days. Maybe even embarrassing pieces of underwear.
Then again, Abby’s smile doesn’t tell me she’s interested in a little housecleaning.
I swallow. “Sure,” I try to say casually. The word is a hoarse grunt. “Why not?”
I take the key from her and wave it over the pad. Fortunately, the light turns green on the first try, so I don’t have to make several clumsy attempts.
The lock clicks. I shove the door all the way open, gesturing Abby inside. “After you, my lady.”
Chapter Four
Abby
There’s a bottle of blood-red wine