You May Kiss the Bridesmaid - Camilla Isley Page 0,19
bar I thought I had blown it, but not thirty minutes later and she was knocking on my door to give me one of the wildest nights of my life… which was… ah… something I shouldn’t think about while wearing yoga pants.
Right. I meet Summer’s evil eye and smile. With her skin-tight leggings on, the high ponytail, and mixed-signal dirty looks, she has enough of a prim-but-shy cheerleader vibe to make me want to carry her back to my bed and sex the attitude out of her.
Something else I shouldn’t think about while wearing yoga pants.
Speaking of dos and don’ts, she also said we should act like total strangers during the day. But I know women: what they say and what they mean are not necessarily the same. For example, “Pretend you don’t know me” would probably translate to, “You can’t just ignore me. Be nice and acknowledge we had sex, and it was fantastic, and you can’t wait to do it again, but in such a way no one but me will notice.”
Easy, right?
So, before hitting the breakfast buffet, I act like any decent yoga partner would: I walk two steps toward her, nod, and say, “Great practice.” I throw in a quick hug and a wink.
Chill enough no one would suspect. But also intimate and conspiratorial enough, she knows I’m not ignoring her or acting like a douche or pretending last night didn’t happen.
Perfect.
Still, Summer has gone all stiff on me and is glaring harder than ever. Her taut lips open only to mutter a strained, “See you around.” And then she’s off toward the resort, leaving me with a nice view of her indignant behind strolling away. Aaand… strike three on things I shouldn’t think about while wearing yoga pants.
Ah, the woman is a real riddle. I thought we’d broken the ice last night, hell, melted a whole glacier. But it looks like I still have some work cut out for me. And where would the fun be otherwise? I’ve always enjoyed a challenge. But not on an empty stomach, as a loud grumble kindly reminds me. Ready to hit that buffet, I hop off the three wooden steps of the cabana and head inside.
The breakfast hall is wide and airy; the far-back wall is entirely made of floor-to-ceiling windows and overlooks the vineyards. In the morning light, the view is stunning. Orderly rows of vines stretch beyond the horizon and disappear behind a hill to reappear over the next crest. Roses blossom at the head of each row. And the sky is a glorious blue without a cloud in sight.
Someone shoulder-bumps into me. “Nice, uh?”
I turn to find my best friend and groom extraordinaire standing next to me, a plate filled to the brim with French toast in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Logan is rocking the nerdy-but-hot professor look: messy dark hair, green eyes hidden behind black-rimmed computer glasses he doesn’t need but insists on wearing when not on a trip, white dress shirt, and chinos. If this weren’t his wedding, he’d be a great wingman, like he’s proved on many past occasions. Good thing I’m all set for the week.
“Logie Bear.” I give him a friendly slap on the shoulder.
He eyes me suspiciously. “Are you coming wine tasting dressed like this?”
Ah, yes, I’d forgotten about the week of meticulously planned “fun” the wedding party is supposed to have.
“No worries, man. I’ll grab a quick breakfast and then I’ll go get changed.”
“Why don’t you join me and Winter, we snatched a window table and there’s still room.”
“Great, let me get some food first and I’ll be right there.”
In a corner of the room, long, rectangular wooden tables covered by white cloths offer a vast assortment of breakfast treats both sweet and savory. I keep it simple and opt for a classic, piling a plate with blueberry pancakes. To complete the meal, I order a cappuccino at the bar and go join Winter and Logan at their table.
The soon-to-be Mrs. Spencer salutes me with a scowl frighteningly similar to that of her twin. Even if the differences between the two sisters couldn’t be more staggering. A short-but-intense acquaintance with one of them makes me enough of an expert to pick them apart with my eyes blindfolded.
Winter is all about casual clothes, messy curls, and chewed-up nails. Whereas Summer keeps her hair straightened to death, is primped to the bone even while wearing gym sweats, and has perfectly manicured nails—fingers and toes.
“Oh,