20. Reed

20

Reed

T he chairs were full, and I guessed someone had counted wrong, because a few stood at the back, watching as Lettie and Bailey recited their vows in front of family and friends. It wasn’t a Bronson event unless at least one thing wasn’t going to plan—even our family’s horse rescue had had its ups and downs over the years. But tonight, everything was perfect for the two of them, and I was sure Lettie wouldn’t want things any other way.

I stood off to the side as Bailey held Lettie’s hands while he spoke, but I wasn’t really listening to what he was saying. Not when Brandy was standing on the other side of Lettie, biting the inside of her cheek like it’d wronged her somehow.

My eyes narrowed on her, ignoring the awes and sniffles from the crowd as my gaze fell to her finger tapping an uneven beat on the inside of her wrist where her arms were draped in front of her. As if she felt me staring, she turned her attention to me. I raised my brow in question, but all she did was scowl in response.

She kept the look discreet enough that the guests wouldn’t realize. I rolled my lips together, rubbing the inside of my wrist to pull her attention there. Her eyes fell, watching as I did it, her own fingers stopping their incessant tapping. She glared, but the look didn’t hold its usual murderous affect with her hair curled in loose spirals, falling down the open back of her dress with the two front strands of hair held together at the base of her skull. Even I couldn’t deny she looked beautiful tonight. The soft pink dress she wore complimented her suntanned skin, and the satin fabric hugged every curve on her body.

I shifted my stance, my hands held together in front of me. I blinked, shaking my head to pull my focus away from her. Then, the crowd was clapping, and I turned to find Bailey and Lettie kissing. Brandy was clapping, too, tears pooled in her eyes as she watched them become husband and wife.

I wondered if Brandy dreamt of a life like that. With a husband, some kids, and a few pets. She didn’t seem like the type of girl, but I didn’t really know Brandy aside from what I’d gleaned over the years of overhearing Lettie and her talk. Other than that, I knew her in the now. Not what she wanted ten years from now, but in this present moment. Like how, when my eyes fell to the flowers gripped in her hand, they caught on the raised fabric at her breasts, right where her nipples were.

I blinked a few times, surely seeing things. My hand came up to rub my eye, but no. There was something there.

Then I nearly choked.

Did she have nipple piercings ?

I quickly turned away, finding Beckham on my other side. He was already buzzed, his words slurring as he said something to Lennon while Lettie and Bailey headed down the aisle. But I couldn’t make out any of what anyone was saying. Not with what I just fucking saw.

Brandy’s form shuffled down the aisle as others crowded around her, everyone heading outside to the reception. I had no choice but to follow, trying my best to think of every nasty thing on this planet to keep my mind off—

No, Reed.

You’re not thinking of her fucking breasts.

***

“About how long until you think he causes a scene?” Wyatt asked where he stood beside me, nursing his one and only beer for the night. He lifted the top in Beckham’s direction, where he was attempting to make small talk with some girl our cousin brought. From where we watched, it was clear he was miserably failing, not seeming like he was into the conversation at all. She, on the other hand, was yapping his ear off.

“You think he will?” I asked, my shoulder pressed against the bark of the tree I’d been leaning on for the last thirty minutes. Rouge was passed out at Wyatt’s feet. The poor dog had stolen one too many pieces of cake off various plates, effectively putting him into a food coma.

The sun had disappeared completely, the only light coming from the fairy lights hung from the branches above the field. People danced and laughed, most of them feeling the effects of the alcohol from the open bar. I’d grabbed a whiskey, only in an attempt to numb the thoughts I couldn’t fucking keep at bay. Images of Brandy flashed in my mind—images I should most definitely not be thinking of when it came to her.

Like how her mouth might pop open as I played with those piercings. Or if she was pierced anywhere else. How she might look above me, tugging on the jewelry as she rode me.

I wanted to fucking throw up.

Brandy Rose was the only person on this planet I’d likely never sleep with, but knowing what was under that dress?

I needed to snap the fuck out of whatever stupor this was. She wasn’t a drug—she was fucking poison. I wouldn’t simply get lost in her if that ever were to happen, I’d likely be ruined for the remainder of my life.

“You don’t?” Wyatt asked, taking a small sip from his longneck.

I watched as Brandy left Oakley to get a refill of her champagne, which was likely a mistake. She’d already had three, and it was no secret she was a lightweight.

I shrugged. “I don’t know what he’ll do recently, if I’m being honest.”

The champagne splashed over the side of Brandy’s glass as she attempted to pour it, laughing to herself as it got on her fingers clutching the glass.

Wyatt loosed a breath. “You just gonna gawk all night or actually talk to her?”

“She doesn’t want to talk.”

“How do you know that?”

I lowered my brows, glancing at him. “Do you know her?”

“Maybe she’ll be different with a few drinks in her,” he said, as if that was really possible.

I shook my head before taking a long swig of my whiskey. “Only gets worse when she’s drinking.”

“It’s all in the approach,” Wyatt added.

“What are you, the fucking love doctor?”

“Do I need to be?”

“Wyatt, respectfully, if I’m going to take advice from anyone, it’d probably be the guy that just got married, not the single mechanic that hasn’t been on a date in years.”

“I’ve been on dates,” he defended.

“My statement still stands.”

Brandy grabbed a napkin off the table, attempting to wipe the side of her champagne flute, but all she succeeded in doing was spilling more as the glass tipped sideways.

“Fucking hell,” I muttered before shoving off the tree, abandoning Wyatt to storm over to her. I grabbed the glass from her, setting it on the table. “You’re a mess, Brandy.”

“Wow, you’re so charming,” she slurred, shoving the napkin in between her fingers to wipe the lingering alcohol away.

Her words fell…flat. There was no death threat, no insinuation of plotting my murder. That wouldn’t do. “What’s wrong with you?”

Her eyes found mine, an ocean of muddled thoughts swimming in her hazel depths. “You really have a way with words. Has a girl ever told you that?”

My jaw clenched. “Why are you upset?”

Something akin to fear flashed across her face, but it was gone in a blink. “I’m not upset.”

“You wanna quit trying to lie while you’re drunk?”

“I’m not drunk either.” But the way her words stumbled into each other told me otherwise. She tossed the napkin in the trash bin beside the table, sending me a closed-lip smile. “I’m gonna go back to dancing now.”

She turned to leave.

“What about your drink?” I asked.

She stopped to spin on her high heel, but the act sent her stumbling sideways. I quickly stepped forward and shot a hand out, grabbing her upper arm to steady her. She blinked a few times, her forehead creasing as she stared at my chest. She snapped out of whatever stupor she was caught in, pulling her arm from my grasp easily—not that I’d been holding tight to begin with. Plucking the champagne glass from the table, she raised it in my direction, then headed back to the group she’d been with before.

I stood there, watching like a fucking idiot as she gulped her champagne. All the while, her eyes held mine, heat blazing in them. My hands flexed at my sides as her throat moved, my focus caught on the movement, forcing myself not to let my gaze travel further south.

Once she’d taken her sip, she lowered the glass to her side, holding it by the top. Like an idea struck her, a smirk lifted the side of her lips. She took one quick glance at the man standing in front of her, who was lost in conversation with another one of my cousins.

Her hand rested on his shoulder, causing him to look down at her. With his attention now on her, she reached up to pluck his hat from his head, then proceeded to set it on her own.

My teeth practically shattered as they ground together at the sight of her in his cowboy hat. She was trying to rile me up, doing her best to get a reaction out of me because she was drunk, and she was fucking succeeding.

Before I could stop myself, I beelined for her, tunnel vision taking over as every fucking sense in my body homed in on her in that thin bridesmaid dress wearing another man’s hat.

Her smirk only grew as I approached, and the moment I reached her, I was grabbing the hat and shoving it at the guy’s chest. I didn’t give a fuck who he was—Brandy didn’t get to wear his hat.

Not giving a shit if he grabbed it from me, I let go, taking her wrist in my hand. I pulled her away from the mass of people, hoping we didn’t make a scene but also not caring if we did. Brandy’s laugh echoed behind me as she hurried to match my pace.

“What’s wrong, Reed? Are you jealous?”

As soon as the word passed her lips, I spun on her, yanking her wrist with barely any effort so that her chest collided with mine. “I don’t get jealous, Brandy.”

The effects of the alcohol made her eyes glossy, which in turn made the lights reflect right off them like the stars in the night sky. Fuck , seeing her like this wasn’t good. Not when I knew for a damn fact she was nothing but repulsed by me—only using me as her fucking play toy because she was bored.

“Tell me what the fuck is wrong,” I demanded.

She pouted out her bottom lip. “I’m having fun.”

I drew her closer, so close that her breath coasted off my cheeks. “You think wearing some random guy’s hat is fun, Brandy?”

She nodded.

“You think him sleeping with you would be fun?”

She shrugged. “Probably.”

“No. It wouldn’t be. Because you’d lie there bored like you always are while he got off on you, and then you’d leave unsatisfied.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, all traces of her smirk now gone.

“You want to know how I know that?”

Somehow, those lips pursed tighter as she gave no response.

“Because you like when a guy handles you like a fucking slut. Not like some precious little gem he found and wants to cherish.”

Her cheeks tinged pink as her eyes darted between mine.

“Because I bet, if I felt under this dress of yours right now, you’d be fucking soaked. All because of your little act, trying to get a rise out of me.” My nose nearly brushed hers as I lowered my voice. “That’s what you like, isn’t it? When I react to the shit you do?”

“Shut up,” she muttered, but her words were soft. I wanted her fucking mad. I wanted to see her react, and maybe that was fucking toxic, but I didn’t give a shit.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” I demanded, each word clipped.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she questioned, her tone taking on that playful lilt I liked to hear.

“You’re drunk.”

A gasp escaped her bee-stung lips, dramatically so. “You’re so smart.”

My fingers flexed on her wrist. “Tell me what’s upsetting you.”

Her eyes narrowed the slightest. “You’ve never cared before, Reed, so don’t start caring now.” She pulled back an inch. “It’ll ruin your reputation of being an incurable asshole.”

She yanked free of my grasp, then headed back toward the party, leaving me standing there like a fucking possessive idiot.