31. Jo

Playlist: Fearless (Taylor’s Version) | Taylor Swift

The music is loud, and the bridal party is sloshed, making for a perfect country-western night. Kelsey and Becky insisted on renting out the only bar in town, Port of Call, which the locals have called Port of Alcohol since I was a kid. We rented a mechanical bull, and hired a DJ and dance teacher to teach line dances and two-step. Hunter has sung and danced along to every song, and I’ve watched her all night.

“You damn Yankees can’t do a proper grapevine to save your life,” she grumbles, shaking her head in disappointment.

God, her scent is intoxicating. She must have a perfume that smells like magnolias and rain, too, because tonight she somehow smells more like herself than normal. I’m so distracted by her scent that I don’t realize that she’s continued speaking.

“I’m gonna do it,” Hunter says in a tone that somehow pulls me from my trance.

“What?” I ask dully.

She doesn’t answer, instead walking away. I feel her absence like a missing part of me.

My eyes follow her as she walks to the bar, hips swaying in that absurdly short dress. Her boots are heeled, but she still stands on her tiptoes as she talks to Barry. It would be so easy to put my right hand between her shoulder blades and bend her over the bartop. So simple for my left hand to slip under her skirt and circle her swollen clit. I’d tell her to be quiet, even though everyone could see. Would I have to move my hand from between her shoulder blades to her mouth to muffle her whimpers and moans? Could I…

“Whoooo!” I snap out of my fantasy and my eyes are immediately pulled to Hunter as she throws a sparkly pink shot back.

I have so many questions. First and most importantly, how did she get a sparkly pink shot? Second, what the hell is in a sparkly pink shot?

“Whooo!” A few bridesmaids cheer from the dance floor. Becky laughs and claps from beside Willie Nelson, but Kelsey, who is at her side, scowls, like Hunter enjoying herself is a personal affront to her. Kelsey’s been cranky since our conversation this morning, and I’m proud of me for still not caring all that much.

Hunter skips over to me, skirt swaying around her thighs. She’s not the male gaze, nor the female gaze. She’s a secret third thing: the Jo Quinn gaze.

“Hi,” she says, landing on a bounce in front of me, camera clasped safely in her hands. “You owe me a dance.”

I tilt my head to the side. “I don’t think I ever agreed to a dance, Hun.”

She pouts.

“Maybe you thought about it and forgot to ask. Would you like to dance with me?” I ask, knowing fully well she didn’t. I am a sucker for this woman.

Her face lights up and she nods enthusiastically. “Yes, please! I’m going to request a song.”

She skips over to the DJ booth, and I feel heat in my face as the DJ doesn’t even try to pretend not to look down the front of her dress.

“Hi!” Hunter yells over the Shania Twain song, “Hello! My eyes are up here!”

God, I love her.

I mean…I love her positive qualities. How she tells off the DJ for looking down her dress, how she can be vulnerable and admit her perceived shortcomings. How she brought home a fucking bearded dragon and made me love her. How she takes sparkly pink shots. There’s just so much to love about her.

You’re delusional if you think you just love things about her.

Shut up, brain.

The DJ has the decency to look ashamed at being caught, and I assume he apologizes, because Hunter doesn’t punch him in the face. She motions for him to bend down, and he does so, leaning his ear towards her as she cups around it and tells him what song she wants to play. He nods and plays with the knobs on the turntable as Hunter struts away. She has a fantastic ass, and he doesn’t look up once.

I wonder how violent her threat was.

The song fades out as Hunter approaches me, a huge grin on her face as a familiar instrumental intro begins to play. She hangs Loretta around her neck and reaches out her hand palm up. “May I have this dance, Giovanna Quinn?”

“Yes, you may, Hunter Cleary.” I place my hand in hers and she turns to pull me out to the dance floor.

She faces me and threads our fingers together as she puts her other hand on my waist.

“Holy shit , Hunter.” I gasp, eyes widening with realization as Taylor Swift begins to sing.

“Don’t worry, it’s Taylor’s Version,” she tells me seriously, pulling me closer into her.

It’s a song from that summer. A country song Hunter introduced me to. A song we’d screamed at the top of our lungs while riding our bikes to the sea wall. A song she’d played on her iPod after we’d kissed. A song we danced to on the beach before we snuck home and had sex.

She softly begins singing along to the first chorus and I can’t imagine it ever being better than this. Safe and secure and loved in Hunter’s arms.

Loved . She makes me feel loved .

I pull away and dip her, her surprised squeal filling the bar as I laugh. When I pull her back to a standing position, I pull her into me, capturing her mouth with mine.

I hear various bridesmaids around us awwing but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything else besides the fact that Hunter’s in my arms and she’s soft and kissing me back and she makes me feel like I’m worth loving, worth choosing.

When we break our kiss, her eyes are immediately on mine, blinking rapidly.

“Why?” she asks simply.

“Because.” I don’t have an answer. I wanted to kiss her. I could get used to that, kissing her simply because I want to and knowing she’d return it. I remember how, after the bridal shower, she’d held my hand the entire way home. Not once prying or asking me to talk until I was ready. She had let me process and feel on my own, without leaving me alone. While still holding my hand and showing me she was there.

It’s remarkable, really, her quiet ability to show support. She’s loud and larger than life and flashy and she doesn’t tune that down for anyone, but the love she gives me is quiet, subtle.

Love. Shit. Does Hunter love me? Maybe not romantically, but she at least loves me platonically, I think. The way I love Josh, despite him being a dumbass. The way I love Nellie and Tyler and Mom's tiramisu. The way I love the beach at night and…

“Well that was a kiss,” Kelsey’s voice brings me out of my trance. Hunter is scowling expressively at her by the time my eyesight focuses.

“Thanks,” Hunter says flatly. “Why aren’t you doing the Boot Scootin’ Boogie with the rest of your girl gang?”

I suck my lips between my teeth, stifling laughter. Kelsey notices and her eyes are immediately on me, narrowing. “Something funny, Giovanna?”

My face falls. I can smell the alcohol on her breath. Drunk Kelsey is Kelsey at her worst.

“Why don’t you have some water?” I suggest, dropping Hunter’s hand. “I’ll go…”

“You know, Jo and I were supposed to get married,” Kelsey tells Hunter.

You could hear a pin drop with how quickly everything seems to go still. The Boot Scootin’ Boogie still plays, but no one’s dancing, instead staring at us. It feels like the music is coming from another room, muted and faint.

“Kelsey, don’t do this.” My voice is quiet and shaky, mouth dry as I speak. I look for Becky, who is under the impression we were a silly little fling. I don’t see her, and infer she must be in the restroom.

“I do know,” Hunter responds to Kelsey’s question coolly. “And now you’re marrying Becky, so why don’t you back the fuck off, blondie?”

Kelsey ignores Hunter as she turns her face back to me. “Don’t you want to know why it didn’t work out?” she sneers.

“Kels…” McKenna is at her side, pulling at her arm. “Come on. Let’s have one more dance before we catch the shuttle back…”

“I know,” Hunter snaps, ignoring McKenna. “Do you want her to know?” she asks, motioning towards the bridal party with her head.

Kelsey pulls her arm out of her maid of honor’s grip. “I just wanted you to know I’m fine with you two dating. I don’t care. Have my sloppy seconds. You’ll find out soon enough that she’s not worth the effort and don’t come crying to me when you’re ready to…”

“Finish that sentence,” Hunter hisses. Her eyes are full of a rage I should be used to by now…but I still find it ridiculously hot. “Finish that sentence and I’ll give you a free nose job, I swear to god.”

“She was my fiancée first,” Kelsey snaps, “and now you think you can have her?”

“Kels?” I inhale sharply when I notice Becky’s returned from the restroom, a look of utter confusion on her face.

“It’s not what you think,” Kelsey assures her, eyes wide.

“So you weren’t just saying that Jo was your fiancée?” I expected Becky to be angry when she found out the truth. I wasn’t expecting her voice to be laced with betrayal, for her eyes to show her utter devastation.

Kelsey’s eyes fill with tears. “Becky, please…”

Becky takes a step backward when Kelsey steps towards her. “God, I am a fool, aren’t I?” She laughs hollowly, running her hand through her short hair. “You told me it was a fling, that she was the one hung up on you.”

Kelsey shakes her head frantically. “Becky, please. Talk to me…”

“Are you still in love with her?” Becky interrupts, tears welling in her eyes.

Kelsey flounders for an answer, opening and closing her mouth over and over without making a sound.

“Fuck.” Becky runs a hand over her face and shakes her head. “I…fuck.” She spins on her heel and strides out of the bar, leaving an echoing silence in her wake.

Kelsey is frozen for a moment before pulling out of McKenna’s grip and stumbling out after Becky, calling her name.

I clear my throat. “I think since the brides are calling it a night we should too.” I make eye contact with McKenna, who at least has the good sense to look away immediately. The bridal party flows out of the bar blessedly fast, leaving Hunter and I alone in the bar.

“Wow,” Hunter says. “I—wow.”

“You were scary, Hun.” I laugh nervously. “It’s a good thing I’m on your good side.”

“You are my good side.” My neck snaps to look at her, and I’m delighted by the way the pink flush creeps up her chest and neck. “Sorry, weird thing to say. I…uh. I’m gonna run to the bathroom,” she mumbles, dropping my hand and shuffling towards the hallway that leads to the restrooms.

Fuck, I’m tired. I’m tired of Kelsey holding me back, of feeling like I’m undeserving because I couldn’t get her to stay.

I inhale shakily and stride to the bar. “Hey, Barry,” I say, voice trembling. “Can you pour me one of those sparkly pink shots my girlfriend had earlier?”