“Just ask her to dance.”
“What?” I look at Emmett, then back to Jennie, and ask again, “What?”
“Looks like you wanna dance with her.”
“What? No.” Am I yelling?
“Why are you yelling?”
“I’m not yelling.” I’m yelling.
Emmett cocks a brow, downs his beer, and shoves me toward the girls on the dance floor. His wife wastes no time yanking me into her, using me to spin herself.
“C’mon, Gare-Bear.” Cara pouts at me as Emmett’s arms circle her, bringing her into his chest. “Shake your ass, baby.”
“I don’t—my ass doesn’t—I can’t—”
“My God.” Jennie looks me over with disdain as her hips move. “You have no rhythm, Andersen, do you?”
She rolls her eyes when I blink wordlessly at her, then links her fingers through mine and tugs me across the space. Our bodies collide with an oomph that seems to heat me from the inside out, and when she turns around and settles her ass an inch from my cock, I think I might pass the fuck out.
Her warm hands slide over mine, guiding them to her hips as they sway in tune with the music, and Emmett winks at me as if I’m not currently short-circuiting.
“Move your damn hips,” Jennie growls.
“I don’t…I don’t know how.”
Slanted eyes glare from over her shoulder, softening when my face flushes. Jennie sighs quietly. “Just move with me, Garrett. It’s not that hard. How the hell do you get so many women?”
“It’s been slow lately,” I blurt thoughtlessly, then slam my jaw shut. Then open it again, for some fucking reason. “I haven’t gotten so many…I mean, there was this girl last week in Pittsburgh that I almost…” I clear my throat, registering the way Jennie’s body has stilled below my hands. “I’ll stop talking about my sex life now.”
“Sounds like a lack of a sex life to me, big guy.”
Fucking tell me about it. Emmett and Cara got married this summer, and Carter’s basically been married to Olivia in his head since they met last year, even though she kept him offside for a while. Adam’s still in a shitty place from finding out his long-term girlfriend cheated on him months ago, but he’s infinitely better off without her.
That means the first month and a half of our hockey season has seen me getting drunk postgame with my hockey buds only, followed by repeated sausage fests back at the hotels, fueled by junk food, Xbox, and listening to my pussy-whipped roommates have borderline phone sex with their wives. Things have been bone-dry on my end.
That has to be the only reason I’m currently considering taking my captain’s little sister into the bathroom, hoisting her onto the vanity, and seeing what color her panties are.
Aside from being totally and completely off limits, Jennie also scares the living shit out of me. She’s bold, confident, and sassy as fuck. My eyes rarely leave her when she’s in the room. Except when she looks my way. Or when Carter does.
Like right now, at the exact moment my hands glide over his sister’s hips, up to the dip in her waist, gripping it tightly. Fucking tighter when his eyes land on mine.
“Garrett,” Jennie whimpers. “That hurts.”
“Garrett.” Carter’s hard voice sends a shiver of terror up my spine, and he aims a pointed glare at my hands.
“Ah!” I kinda-sorta shriek, shoving Jennie away from me. “I’m not touching her,” I toss over my shoulder as I scurry off the floor, leaving Jennie standing there alone, unimpressed, and nearly as scary as Carter looks, even though he’s twirling both his beautiful bride and his golden retriever around the dance floor at the same time.
I slink down the hallway, lean against the wall, and scrub my hands over my tired face. “I need to get laid.”
“I can help you out with that.”
A pretty redhead stops in front of me, pulling a napkin and tube of lipstick from her purse. She presses the napkin to my chest and scrawls over it.
Am I impressed by how easy that was or do I just wanna go home and devour a box of Pop-Tarts? I’m not sure, but when Jennie saunters down the hallway, my blood pressure spikes.
The redhead tucks her phone number into my chest pocket and presses a whispered, “Call me” against my cheek, and Jennie’s disgusted scowl is so terrifying I can’t look away.
With an eye roll, she turns and heads for the bathroom, and my feet chase after her.
“Wait, Jennie! I wasn’t gonna—I’m not—I wasn’t—”
“I don’t care, Garrett. Chase all the skirts you want. Maybe just not one that came with one of your defensemen.”
“What?” I look to the redhead, catching her wink before she disappears. “No, but I-I-I…” I hang my head, rubbing the back of my neck as my ears burn. “I wasn’t gonna do anything.”
“But things have been so slow for you,” Jennie murmurs, smirking. She digs a wipe out of her tiny gold clutch and tosses it at me before shoving the bathroom door open with her hip. “You’ve got lipstick on your cheek, big guy.”
Somehow, I manage to miss the lipstick kiss, and Adam ends up cleaning my face for me, inciting coos and snickers from all the girls. By the time Carter and Olivia climb into their limo at the end of the night, my buzz is gone, my arms are permanently pinned across my chest, and every word out of my mouth is a grumble. Even the dog panting at my feet can’t cheer me up right now.
I don’t want to know what kind of shit Carter had to pull to have Dublin at the reception, but I’m not surprised. The man can talk his way into and out of everything. Plus, as it turns out, golden retrievers look dapper as fuck in a pup tux.
“Come here, Dubs!” Jennie calls, clapping her thighs. “You’re comin’ home with your favorite auntie! Yes, you are, my handsome boy!”
“You’re his only auntie.”
She pins her arms across her chest, luring my gaze to her spectacular cleavage for the umpteenth time tonight, then to the pop of her left hip, which she swings out, dress sweeping open at the thigh-high slit, showing me a phenomenal set of toned legs. “Shut up, you twat.”
“We should call you sunshine,” I grumble under my breath. “’Cause of your sunny disposition. Always so fucking nice and happy.”
Man, this liquid courage is really fucking me over tonight.
Blue eyes narrow. “Get in the fucking car, Gare-Bear.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I slide into the back of the limo waiting to take a handful of us home, and take a seat next to Hank as everyone else piles in behind me.
Hank is eighty-four years young, one of Carter and Jennie’s best friends, kinda like a pseudo-grandpa, and cool as hell. He used to be Dublin’s dad, which is probably why Dublin leaps across me, nailing me in the nuts, and sprawls out on his lap.
“Motherfucker,” I grunt, gripping my junk.
He chuckles. “You’re really taking a beating tonight.” His sigh is soft and happy. “Such a beautiful wedding. Olivia was stunning tonight.”
Cara snickers as she runs her fingers through Emmett’s hair from her spot on his lap. I suspect it’s because Hank is blind, and has been since the age of fifteen, but he never fails to pump a woman’s ego.