A Girl Walks Into a Wedding Page 17

  Elvis breaks into song at every opportunity he gets. So there’s a rousing rendition of ‘Love Me Tender’ in place of a sermon. And he does the wedding vows in song as Jane’s mum pats tears from her cheeks.

  ‘If anyone sees any good reason why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace,’ Elvis croons.

  You look around, holding your breath. But nobody says a word.

  ‘… Then by the powers vested in me by the State of Graceland, I now pronounce you husband and ah-huh huh huh … wife. You may kiss the bride.’

  Elvis whips his guitar around to the front of his body, and launches into a lively and inappropriate version of ‘Hound Dog’, complete with wild pelvic rotations.

  Domino cover their children’s eyes with their hands.

  Tom and Jane walk down the aisle hand-in-hand. You can breathe – everyone made it through the ceremony in one piece. Now, who’s ready to party?

  To go to the reception, go to page 286.

  It’s time for the wedding reception

  As if the bridesmaid’s dress from hell wasn’t punishment enough, you’ve been placed at the table with Tom’s Uncle Charlie, who is not only a lech and a bore, but appeared to be three sheets to the wind during the wedding itself. Cee Cee is obviously getting her revenge on you for defrocking the priest. Well played, Cee Cee, well played.

  The dressmaker managed to let out the seams of your dress a little so you could almost get the zip closed all the way. But there was nothing she could do about the fabric, which you can now confirm does indeed match the tablecloths and serviettes. And your boobs are so squashed by the bodice of the dress, they risk overflowing every time you breathe out. Uncle Charlie has barely been able to take his eyes off them, and the only thing stopping you from hitting him over the head with an empty champagne bottle is the fact that you don’t want to cause a scene and ruin Jane’s day (after your shenanigans with the priest, you’ve done quite enough already). Fortunately he looks like he’s on the verge of passing out.

  Even though you can’t see her doing it, you’re sure Aunt Lauren is having an illicit cigarette at the table next to yours – how else do you explain the odd plume of smoke that drifts past your nose? You also notice that she has her eye on both Mikey and Tom’s dad.

  Still, in spite of your dress matching the décor, Uncle Charlie’s lecherous looks and the second-hand smoke, the wedding is going beautifully so far. There have been photographs, there have been toasts, there have been speeches, and there has been one damn hot DJ.

  ‘Cute dress!’

  You swivel in your seat as Mikey crouches down next to you, getting a good look down your very exposed cleavage. All you can think is monkey penis, monkey penis, monkey penis. You’ll never be able to look at this doctor, clearly without borders, the same way ever again.

  ‘Am I imagining things, or does it match the tablecloths? And the serviettes?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes, you’re imagining things!’ you snap.

  ‘Well, you make it look good. Want to dance?’

  You’d like a chance to check out the DJ from closer quarters, so you agree – which you regret as soon as you hit the packed dance floor. Mikey gyrates in front of you, dancing exactly like a man with a monkey penis.

  You try to ignore him and focus on the DJ. He’s funky, but not in a pretentious-hipster way. And he plays good music too – you love this track. There’s been none of that awful wedding crap: no Macarena, Chicken Dance or Gangnam Style yet, for which you are deeply grateful. Best of all, he hasn’t played ‘Every Breath You Take’, which always makes you think of stalkers. He looks up from his decks, a set of headphones clutched between his ear and his shoulder, and catches your eye. He smiles and raises his hand, and you smile back, wishing that you weren’t stuffed into this dreadful dress.

  You notice that Tom’s dad is trying to attract your attention, but Aunt Lauren has him firmly in her grasp.

  The DJ points at Mikey, spinning like a lunatic next to you, and nods in mock approval. Mikey’s so lost in his moves, he hasn’t noticed you drifting away from him. You mime shooting yourself in the head. The DJ throws his head back and laughs, and you instantly want to lick his neck, where one of the tattoos snakes up out of the neckline of his shirt.

  You and Mikey dance the next track in a big circle together with Domino and the Domino-ettes. Jane and Tom join you, and so do Lisa, Bruno and Cat. You’ve been avoiding Bruno since the whole footsie-footsie thing – you’ve had bigger problems to deal with. But he keeps looking at you, and you’re not going to be able to dodge him forever. There are things you need to discuss. Like why he was confessing his feelings for you on the balcony last night, and why he was playing footsie-footsie with you with his girlfriend sitting right next to him. Definitely not cool, even if you had seen Cat making out with Lisa.

  You’re also going to have to talk to Lisa. If there’s something going on between the two of them, she and Cat owe it to Bruno to be straight with him. And then there’s the matter of Tom’s dad, the pilot you were supposed to spend one night with and never see again. And yet right now, he’s gazing at you across a room crowded with people you both know. Everything has managed to get very complicated in a very short space of time.

  A new song starts, a slow number. You give the DJ an exasperated look and he shrugs apologetically. Mikey’s about to pull you into an embrace when a bejewelled hand attached to a long arm, covered in leopard-print, taps him on his shoulder. It’s Aunt Lauren – who is either acting as your saviour or has decided she’s in the mood for a younger man. She gives Mikey her most lascivious grin.

  ‘Care to dance?’ she asks, her voice throaty.

  ‘Actually I was just going to … ’ Mikey starts, indicating you.

  ‘It’s okay, I was going to sit this one out anyway,’ you say.

  Uncle Charlie has finally passed out, his body slumped across your chair. You sit down at the neighbouring table, and as you glance around the romantically lit room, it dawns on you that you’re the only person not dancing. Every single guest is up and slow-dancing with a partner. The pilot – Jack – is dancing with Jane’s mum, Mikey is trapped in Aunt Lauren’s grip, Bruno is wrangling toddlers in the middle of the dance floor, and where the hell is Lisa? What good is it going to a wedding with a friend if she keeps abandoning you?

  ‘Ahem, excuse me.’

  That had better not be dirty Uncle Charlie, back from the dead.

  ‘I was hoping you’d dance with me?’ It’s the hot DJ. He’s holding out his hand, and you surreptitiously wipe your palm on your serviette dress, then allow him to lead you onto the dance floor.

  ‘I really hope this isn’t a pity dance because I was the only person not dancing,’ you say, enjoying the sensation of leaning against his long, lean body.

  ‘Are you crazy? I had to bribe Jane’s aunt to get the best man away from you.’

  You laugh, deciding not to ask what she wanted in return for the favour, and your stomach fizzes as if you’ve just swallowed sherbet.

  ‘In fact, I’ve been wondering all afternoon if it would be appropriate to abandon my decks and ask you to dance. But I didn’t want to piss off the bride.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve filled her pissed-off quota for the weekend, so you should be safe.’

  He spins you around. ‘That’s a really hot dress, by the way,’ he says.

  ‘Now I know you’re lying.’

  ‘I’ve seen worse.’

  ‘No, you haven’t!’

  ‘You’re right, I haven’t. It’s what a dress would look like if Lady Gaga and Laura Ashley got into a fight in a fabric shop. But I was trying to be polite.’

  He twirls you around again, and you feel like you’re dancing on air.

  ‘I’d better get back to the decks. Thanks for the dance. I hope you’ll save me another?’ he says, returning you smoothly to your table.

  ‘I guess that depends what you play.’

  You hear tapping on the micr
ophone.

  It’s Mikey. ‘And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for! It’s time for Jane to throw her bouquet. Can we have all the single ladies on the dance floor,’ he says.

  Monkey penis, monkey penis, monkey penis, you think as you search the room for Lisa. You are not doing this without her. Thank goodness – she’s clacking her way towards you, mischief all over her face.

  You and Lisa hover with the other women. Some feign lack of interest, others limber up, getting ready to make their big catch of the day. You and Lisa jostle each other, pretending this is important. Lisa lifts her heel behind her, holds it, and stretches like an Olympic athlete. You both laugh.

  Jane stands on a chair on the far side of the dance floor, and the DJ plays a quick drum roll. As it reaches its crescendo, Jane releases the bouquet, and it flies in slow motion through the air.

  If you catch the bouquet, go to page 294.

  If you don’t catch the bouquet, go to page 321.

  You catch the bouquet

  You know the legend – whoever catches the bouquet will be the next to get married, or the next to get laid. You wouldn’t mind testing out the latter theory, especially if the hot DJ is on the menu.

  Lisa is standing next to you, her arms crossed over her chest. You cross your arms too, in solidarity.

  The bouquet travels as if in slow motion, and dips about four rows in front of you. A woman jumps into the air, and swipes the tumbling stem with the tips of her fingers. The bouquet bounces off her hand and carries on through the air straight towards you. It all happens so quickly, you don’t have a chance to move, and the stalk of the bouquet lodges hard between your arms and your chest.

  You hear applause as everyone steps away from you, opening up a circle of space around you. You caught it. You accidentally caught the bloody bouquet!

  ‘Now calling all the single men,’ Mikey says, dumping the microphone and making a dash for the dance floor, almost knocking the now roused Uncle Charlie off his feet as they both jostle for a good spot.

  Clutching the bouquet, you step to the edge of the dance floor to watch. Jane stands on a chair, the lights are lowered, and the DJ puts on a classic bump-and-grind track. The guys whoop as Tom lifts Jane’s skirt and rolls the garter down from the top of her thigh. Jane balances on Tom’s shoulder as he slips it off over her foot. Then he helps her down, kisses her and takes his place on the chair, his back to the assembled guests. He waits a couple of beats, and then, as the crowd breaks into a slow clap, he flicks the garter into the waiting sea of bachelors.

  If Tom’s dad catches the garter, go to page 296.

  If the DJ catches the garter, go to page 306.

  If Mikey catches the garter, go to page 315.

  Tom’s dad catches the garter

  You watch the garter soar through the air, and as if on a pre-ordained course, it lands neatly in the pilot’s hands. It doesn’t even look as if he reached for it.

  ‘You have got to be kidding me!’ you say to Lisa.

  ‘It does have a certain pleasing symmetry to it,’ Lisa says. ‘Finish the weekend the way you started it.’

  ‘Hello, stranger,’ Tom’s dad whispers in your ear as he walks you onto the dance floor and takes you in his arms for the obligatory bouquet-catcher, garter-catcher and bride-and-groom slow dance.

  ‘Hello, back,’ you whisper. ‘We’re going to have to stop meeting like this.’

  ‘Do we?’ he says. ‘I rather like meeting like this.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re Tom’s dad!’

  ‘Don’t you think it’s time you started calling me Jack?’ His strong fingers splay against your lower back as he guides you effortlessly around the dance floor. ‘Besides, we have a lot of catching up to do.’

  You’re not sure what to say – you’d never planned on seeing this guy again, he’s ruining your one-night stand.

  ‘I was wondering how you’re getting back to town after the wedding?’ Jack asks, pressing his thumb gently into the centre of your palm.

  ‘Lisa and I were going to take the train.’ You slide your free hand from his shoulder to his chest, and he tugs you even closer.

  ‘That’s a pity. I was hoping I could give you a lift. I’m travelling by private jet,’ he says, dropping it in effortlessly.

  ‘Jet?’ you say.

  ‘Call it a pilot perk. I have to deliver a plane to one of my billionaire clients tomorrow.’

  ‘Count me in!’

  ‘Lisa won’t mind?’

  ‘I think she’ll understand. What time is take-off?’

  ‘I’m ready whenever you are,’ he says, and you can feel the heat of his hand burning into the base of your spine.

  ‘Okay, but you’re going to have to let me change out of this awful dress before we leave. I couldn’t possibly wear it on a jet.’

  ‘If you want. Or …’

  ‘Or?’ you ask.

  ‘Or we could get on the plane, and then I could help you take it off,’ he murmurs.

  Screw one-night stands, you’re going in for a two-night stand.

  ‘Right, I have good news and I have bad news,’ says Jack. The bad news is that we can’t take off for another two hours, because of fog at our destination.’

  ‘And the good news?’ You can’t believe this is really happening – you’re in a private jet, just you and Jack. Okay, so the plane is still on the ground, but you weren’t going to refuse his offer of a tour of his cockpit.

  ‘The good news is that we can’t take off for another two hours. But you can help me with preflight checks, if you like.’

  ‘Just tell me what to do. Co-pilot at your service,’ you say, saluting him.

  ‘Excellent. Well, it’s simple. You just have to do absolutely everything the captain tells you from now on.’

  ‘Everything?’

  ‘To the letter. Lives depend on it,’ he says.

  ‘So what do pre-checks entail?’ you ask.

  ‘Well, first I need to check that you get out of that dress. It’s a fire hazard.’

  ‘Aye aye, Captain!’ you say, turning in the narrow confines of the cockpit so he can pull the zip down, the way you’ve seen it done in movies. He obliges, but the zip sticks and he can’t get it to budge.

  You both laugh.

  ‘I think we need more room,’ he says. He opens the cockpit door and you enter the cabin, which is small but luxurious. There’s a bar area made of walnut, four large, wide leather seats, and a large-screen TV.

  ‘Now where did we leave off?’ You can feel his fingers on your back as he tugs at the stubborn zip.

  ‘Just tear the damn thing,’ you say.

  You hear the rip of fabric, then Jack slips the dress off your shoulders and it drops to the floor. He turns you to face him, and you aren’t wearing a bra under the dress, so you’re in nothing but knickers and heels. He looks at you for a long moment, whispers ‘Wow,’ and brings his mouth down onto yours.

  Kissing him is familiar, yet entirely new at the same time. You had forgotten how well your mouths fit together. But this time he’s clean-shaven, so there’s none of that stubbly texture you remember from before. He slips his fingers down your back, and you pull his shirt out of his trousers, so you can run your fingertips up under it and against his bare chest.

  ‘I think we might be about to experience some turbulence,’ he says.

  ‘Do I need to assume the position, Captain?’ you say, your voice gruff with desire.

  ‘You might need to hold on tight and prepare for a bumpy landing.’ He loosens his tie and then pulls his shirt off over his head, not bothering with the buttons, some of which pop off and ping across the cabin.

  You run your mouth down his chest, grazing one of his nipples with your teeth. Then you undo his belt buckle and unbutton his trousers, which slip to the ground. He steps out of them and pulls off his shoes and socks. You release his cock, already hard and pulsing, from his boxers, and as you clasp it in your palm, you feel the now familiar bend
of it, how it curves to the left.

  ‘You’ll be pleased to hear that I’m a little better prepared this time,’ he says. As he steps away to fiddle in the pocket of his discarded jacket, you climb into one of the luxurious leather seats. The feel of the soft leather on your skin is sensational, and your body beats with desire as you wait for him.

  He returns from across the cabin with a bottle of champagne in one hand, a glass in the other, and the plastic sleeve of a condom clamped between his teeth.

  ‘Champagne?’ he mumbles through the condom, passing you the glass. He pops the bottle and stands in front of you in nothing but his boxer shorts. The champagne fizzes and overflows from your glass, some of it spilling onto your chest.

  ‘Wait, don’t move – let me get that.’ He puts the bottle and condom on a small stand and crouches between your legs, then slowly licks the drops of champagne off your chest. You lie back and groan in delight as his hot tongue laps first at one nipple and then the other one, and then between your breasts.

  ‘Sorry to be so clumsy. Out of practice,’ he says, as he licks the last splashes off your chest.

  ‘Wait, I think you missed a spot.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Here,’ you say, gesturing to a point just below your breast, on your rib cage.

  ‘Oh? How careless of me, let me fix that right away,’ he says, making a big show of leaning forward and lapping at the spot you identified. ‘How’s that?’ he asks.

  ‘Great, but you missed another one over here,’ you say, pointing at your nipple, which is hard and ridged.