AllFreeNovel
Share Us
And I had Frank to get back to, damn it.
Vic set his jaw. “Yes. Well. Good luck with your best man speech, Oscar. I imagine many of us will be eager to see whether you can manage to talk about true love for three full minutes without turning it into a joke.” He smirked. “Come on, Stef.”
Stung but determined not to show it, I watched them walk away. Clearly, not everyone had friendly feelings for me after our breakup.
And how had Vic known I’d opted for a humorous best-man speech anyway? I’d spent the better part of three nights (and three bottles of Chateau Mouton) alternately obsessing over that speech and reminding myself that Oscar Overton, CEO of Overton Investments and well-known playboy billionaire, did not obsess over best man speeches. Finally, I’d achieved what I’d thought was the perfect teasing-but-loving tone… but now, Vic was making me second-guess myself. Had I included a few too many instances of “Better you than me, boys”?
“Ooof,” said a deep, amused voice at my shoulder. “That was cold.”
I turned my head and found a man with golden-brown curls grinning at me, his gorgeous brown eyes alight with a humor that suggested he’d overheard a large part of my interaction with Vic. An expensive-looking camera was slung around his neck, and a large equipment bag weighed down one of his shoulders.
“Pardon?” My voice came out frost-coated, and I raised one eyebrow in a look I happened to know—because I’d practiced it often enough—was scathing enough to make people cower. “Were you speaking to me? I didn’t notice you skulking there.”
I waited for the man to stammer out an apology and beat a hasty retreat to the other side of the room, leaving me to my own devices and—I darted a quick glance at the floor by the gift table—my critical rescue mission. But though his grin widened and his eyes positively danced, showing he’d understood my intention perfectly, the man didn’t cower. Not even the tiniest tremble.
Against my will, I found myself intrigued… and annoyed that I was intrigued.
“Sorry. I’m afraid being inconspicuous goes with the territory,” he said, gesturing to his camera. “Easier to take candids when you stay in the background.”
“Please,” I scoffed without thinking. “A man who looks like you doesn’t go unnoticed for long.”
I glanced away quickly, frowning at myself. I hadn’t intended to say that.
I’d noticed the photographer earlier, obviously—hard not to notice such a good-looking man, especially when he was forcing you and your friends to pose in a hundred awkward positions indoors, outdoors, and in various stages of undress, all the while murmuring, “Don’t forget to smile, please, Mr. Overton.” But no matter what Vic had implied, flirtation was not on my radar today.
When Wells had called a couple of weeks ago and asked me to be his best man at today’s “surprise wedding”—an event Connor’s mother had planned in its entirety when it became clear her boys were too busy being in love and enjoying their lives together to care about how and when they made it official—I’d laughed, but deep down, I’d been incredibly touched. It had felt like a true testament to the friendship Wells and I salvaged after our relationship had imploded, and joking speech aside, I was taking my best man responsibility seriously.
This meant no wedding hookups. Even with undeniably hot, intriguing photographers.
“Ooof again.” The man winced and gave me a pitying look. “That guy was teasing when he said you’d dated half the men in the room, wasn’t he? Because I know you have a reputation, but with pickup lines like that…” He shook his head. “I’d give you maybe a seven out of ten on the charm scale, but you’d lose major points for sincerity— and that’s with me throwing you a pity curve—so no more than a five overall.”
“Are you… Are you rating my flirtation technique?” I stared at him, too aghast to maintain my frosty, superior tone, and repeated, “Pity curve?”
The man blushed. “I… well…”
I lifted my chin haughtily. “And I suppose you are an expert in flirtation, then? A real-life Mr. Romance, right in our midst?”
“It’s… it’s Mr. Linzee, actually.” He smiled, flashing a pair of slightly crooked canine teeth that gave him an innocent, boyish look. “Hugh Linzee. And I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings?—”
“Feelings? Please.” I narrowed my eyes and found myself adding, “I’ll have you know, I wasn’t even trying to flirt, and that was still a solid eight out of ten.”
The man pressed his lips together like he was fighting a smile and nodded, humoring me.
“I assure you, I do not attempt to flirt with every man I encounter.” I was aware I sounded defensive, that I needed to shut up, but I couldn’t stop. “Not even most men. Not that it’s any of your business, but my dating days are over.”
“I see.” His brown eyes danced. “Because you’ve found The One? Or because you’ve given up on relationships altogether?”
I snorted. No one asked me questions like this, and if they dared, I certainly never answered. So it was mystifying that somehow my mouth kept running.
“If you must know, The One is a foolish construct created by greeting card manufacturers and… and… peddlers of romantic fiction. It’s not real or attainable—” My brain conjured up images of Wells and Conor, along with the other men I’d dated who’d gone on to find love and permanence. “—at least not for most people. Spending my life searching for it would be a case study in diminishing returns, and I don’t back losing investments.” Overton Investments’ track record spoke for itself, if anyone cared to google it.
“You’ve given up on love, then.” Hugh smiled crookedly. “That’s too bad.” He looked away for a moment, and I wondered if he was getting ready to politely excuse himself.
“More like love has given up on me,” I corrected quickly, not out of any attempt to prolong my interaction with the gorgeous photographer, of course—obviously not, since I was busy being Wells’s best man this evening—but simply for the sake of accuracy. “And frankly, I prefer it this way. I’m not living like a monk. Far from it. I simply see no reason to hold on to some ideal of a romantic relationship when I have plenty of meaningful relationships in my life already. Especially when I could choose a different sexy man to… hold on to each night.” I gave him a fake smoldering look. “See? That’s what flirtation sounds like.”
Hugh’s eyes widened in dismay, then he clapped a hand to his stomach and hunched over like he’d been gut-shot. “Ugh. No. It’s definitely not. You did better when you weren’t trying. Three out of ten. And maybe it’s time to consider monkhood.”
A startled laugh escaped me before I could bite it back. “This is officially the strangest wedding conversation I’ve ever had.”
