Songbird (3 page)

I’
m suffering from the mother of all hangovers. That’s the only explanation for the beautiful hallucination that’s standing right in front of me.

I try to act nonchalant, as if I’m not at all affected by the sight of the woman on the terrace. She was gorgeous last night, in just her hoodie and jeans. This morning, in her peach bridesmaid’s dress and strappy killer heels, she’s breathtaking.

And she’s pissed. I can tell by the fire flashing in her eyes.

Owen, my little brother, fakes a cough.

“You two know each other?”

I just grin and drink my juice.

“Why do you need concealer?” Megan asks, scrutinizing the girl’s face. “I don’t see anything.”

She turns toward the crazy bride. “Do you want me to wear my hair up?”

“Yes . . .”

“Then I’m going to need some concealer. It seems that I have a . . . blemish on my neck.”

I laugh, and the girl’s head whips around like something out of
The Exorcist.

I smirk and pick up my fork, never breaking eye contact with her as I stab at my scrambled eggs.

Yes, I marked her.

No, I’m not sorry.

She all but drags the bride toward the bedroom. I chuckle and pour myself another glass of juice. Simon sits down beside me, effectively sandwiching me between my friend and my brother.

“You didn’t,” Simon says quietly. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

Owen grins. “You did.
Please
tell me you did.”

“Did what?”

“You and Callie.”

Callie.

I lazily pop a strawberry into my mouth. “Is that her name?”

My brother offers me a congratulatory fist bump. Simon curses and buries his head in his hands. This wedding has turned him into such a girl. Megan’s cute, but I’m not sure any woman is worth this much aggravation.

Simon groans. “Megan will kill you. Why, Dev? Why
her
? Why today?”

“Well, technically, it was last night.”

Owen cackles. “You’re a hotshot attorney, and that’s all you’ve got? Dude, you slept with the maid of honor. Surely you have something eloquent and poetic to say.”

“You know me, little brother. I never kiss and tell.”

“Since when?”

Simon continues rubbing his temples.

I roll my eyes. “Would you relax? The fact that I slept with the maid of honor—and quite thoroughly enjoyed it, I might add—has nothing to do with your precious wedding. I didn’t even know she was
in
the wedding.”

“You would’ve known if you’d bothered to show up to the rehearsal dinner,” Simon mutters.

I ignore that. “Besides, I’m a groomsman. Aren’t hook-ups within the wedding party fairly customary?”

“It’s tradition,” my brother agrees.

Just then, a door slams. Owen’s eyes glaze over when a busty redhead suddenly appears on the terrace.

“Who’s that?” I whisper.

“Lorie. Yet another hot bridesmaid,” Owen says, his eyes never leaving her face.

And the tradition continues.

“Where are the girls?” Lorie asks.

Simon sighs and points toward the bedroom. “Looking for concealer.”

Lorie narrows her eyes in confusion before stomping back inside.

“She seems fun.”

“Doesn’t she? I’m making it my mission to find out,” Owen says with a firm nod.

The groom groans in frustration.

I grin. “So, what’s on the agenda? Do I have time to get a massage before we do this thing?”

Simon’s eyes grow wide. “Please, for the love of God, don’t be late. I’m begging you, Dev.”

“Dude, I’m just going to get a massage. I won’t even leave the hotel. What time do you want me here?”

“Pictures are at four,” Megan says as she breezes back onto the terrace. To my great disappointment, she’s alone. “You need to be here at three to get dressed. If you are late, Devin McAllister, I will hunt you down and kill you. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.” With a grin, I stand up and walk over to the bride, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. Megan smiles. Either I’m forgiven for the hickey or Callie kept her mouth shut. I suspect the latter.

“I’m coming with you,” Owen says. “How ʼbout it, Simon? You look like you could use a massage. Maybe relieve some pre-wedding tension.”

Seeking permission, Simon looks to his bride.

“
Fine
, just don’t be late.” Megan sighs heavily and heads inside. We follow her into the suite. “Besides, I don’t have time to babysit you guys. I have to find some concealer because my maid of honor allowed some asshole to put a massive hickey on her neck last night.”

Owen laughs and nudges my shoulder. “So, who is he? Did Callie say anything about the guy?”

Megan unzips a makeup bag and pulls out a lipstick tube. “Not really. She said it was
pretty good
 . . . whatever that means.”

My head shoots up in disbelief.

Pretty good? She said it was pretty good?

“It was freaking epic,” I mutter under my breath.

Owen laughs loudly as he and Simon grab me by the arms and shove me out the door.

“I
want a name.”

I ignore Lorie and drink my water through a straw. I’d love something stronger, but I’ve vowed never to drink another drop of alcohol for as long as I live. Booze is evil. Anything that can make you completely lose your mind like I did last night really should be illegal.

“You have beautiful hair,” my stylist says.

“Thanks.”

Fascinated, I watch as the hairdresser works his magic with the curling iron. The concealer had done a decent job of hiding the gross purple bruise on my neck, but I still wasn’t comfortable with the up-do Megan wanted. It only took thirty minutes of begging to convince her. In a show of bridesmaid solidarity, Lorie decided to wear her hair down, too.

“Why can’t I make my hair do that?” I ask as one of my blonde curls bounces into place.

“I’m waiting, Callie Franklin.”

I sigh and glance across the room. Megan’s in a pedicure chair and well out of listening range.

“Trust me, Lorie. You don’t want a name.”

“So, I know him.”

I nod.

“That’s some hickey on your neck. Is he a teenager?”

“No, he’s not a teenager!”

Every head in the salon turns our way. I flush with embarrassment and drop my voice to a whisper.

“Is it really noticeable?” I reach up and gently touch the mark. “You’d think I’d remember that happening, wouldn’t you?”

“Not necessarily, and stop touching it! We nearly used the entire tube of concealer to cover it up the first time.”

I quickly drop my hand back down into my lap.

“Look on the bright side, Callie. At least you have a date for the wedding. I’ll be stuck dancing with one of the McAllisters.”

At least I know his name.

Devin McAllister.

The rogue groomsman.

“I don’t have a date.” I shake my head, earning me a glare from my hairdresser.

“You didn’t invite him to the wedding?”

“Oh, he’ll be there.”

It’s not enough that I have to endure—not to mention
wear
—the shame of my one-night stand. Do I really have to look at him all night, too?

I can tell Lorie’s curious, but she doesn’t push for details.

Three hours later, we’re all perfectly primped and ready for pictures. True to their word, the guys make it back in time. I can feel Devin’s gaze on me, but I avoid looking at him, even when we all gather in the elevator. When we finally make it down to the Spanish Ballroom, I’m a bundle of nerves and trembling in my five-inch heels.

“What’s wrong?” Lorie whispers.

I just shake my head and follow the directions of the photographer as she places us in some of the most ridiculous poses. When pictures are finally over, Betsy, the wedding planner, herds us into an adjacent room to wait. Megan’s mom adjusts the bride’s veil, and Lorie hands me a glass.

“Drink this. You seriously look like you’re about to puke.”

Despite my booze boycott, I allow myself one long sip, hoping it’ll calm my nerves.

It doesn’t.

“Are we ready?” Betsy asks.

The three of us nod, and her face is beaming as she barks instructions into her headset. We line up in the hallway, and I chance a glance at the guests in the crowded ballroom. Suddenly, I feel a hand on the small of my back.

“Aren’t you going to say hello?”

His warm breath tickles my ear, making me tremble. I ignore him and stare straight ahead.

“It’s show time!” Owen shouts, clapping his hands. “All boys to the front!”

I exhale a shaky breath as his hand quickly disappears. Betsy murmurs something into her headset, and the music starts to play. It seems like forever before Lorie finally makes her way inside the ballroom. She glides down the aisle like a runway model, which does nothing to calm my racing heart.

“Callie!”

Megan’s frantic whisper interrupts my inner turmoil. I look behind me, and the bride’s frazzled face quickly reminds me of my duties.