Songbird (4 page)

“What’s wrong? And where’s your father?”

“In the bathroom. The man’s bladder is the size of a toddler’s.” Megan looks toward the ballroom. “Cal, I’m doing the right thing, right?”

“What?” I look toward the altar. Lorie’s nearly there.

“I mean, I love Simon, and I know he loves me. But is this
right
?”

Not once has Megan ever questioned her relationship with Simon. They’ve been together so long it’s hard to remember a time when they weren’t Megan and Simon.

“Callie, you’re up,” the wedding planner says.

“Back off!” Megan suddenly yells, grabbing my hand. “I’m having a moment here and I need my best friend.”

“I’ll . . . just go find your dad,” Betsy says. She rushes away while muttering frantically into her mic.

Do your job, Callie.

Pulling the bride by the hand, I lead us out of view of the wedding guests.

“Megan Young, look at me.”

Her eyes dart around the room.
Is she looking for an exit?

“Breathe, Meg. You’re just nervous.”

“I’m not nervous. I’m petrified. Tell me this is right. Please, Callie. You’ll tell me the truth. Tell me I’m not making a huge mistake.”

I sigh softly. I’m no expert on relationships. My parents divorced when I was a kid, so that’s pretty much skewed my views on love and marriage. My own relationships—what few I’ve had—have been purely physical with absolutely no emotion involved. What do I know about happily ever after?

Nothing at all.

But I know my best friend, and I know how much she loves the man standing at the altar. So, I do what any good reporter would do.

I plaster on a smile and make it up as I go along.

“Simon loves you. He worships the ground you walk on, and I know you feel the same about him. I can’t think of any other couple who are more right for each other than the two of you. You are going to make gorgeous babies and live happily ever after.”

“Really?” Her voice shakes with relief.

“Really. And he’s waiting for you. He’s ready to make you his forever. Isn’t that the most amazing feeling in the world? This man is going to love you until the day you die.”

Megan sniffles softly. “It is. It’s incredible.”

I smile. “So, let’s do this.”

Her face splits into the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen before she kisses me on the cheek.

“Thank you, Callie.”

Betsy arrives with Mr. Young, and I give her a nod. She sighs with relief before ushering me through the door. Ignoring the confused but smiling faces of the guests, I make my way down the aisle. I’m so overjoyed not to be falling on my face that I make the mistake of looking toward the altar. When I do, I find myself staring into the eyes of Devin McAllister.

I should look away. I should focus on anything but him. But the intensity of his gaze actually grounds me, and for the first time today, I’m blissfully calm.

The wedding march begins, and I force myself to look at my best friend as she makes her way down the aisle with her father by her side. When Megan places her hand in Simon’s and the preacher starts the ceremony, I’m once again swept into the web that is Devin’s steely gaze.

Vows are spoken.

Rings are exchanged.

Simon kisses the bride.

I’m sure it’s beautiful, but as the newlyweds make their way back down the aisle, I realize I can’t remember any of it.

Part of my duty as maid of honor is, of course, a speech at the reception. I’m a journalist, so naturally, I’d written my speech well in advance and practiced it in the car to and from work every day for the past week. It’s a little humorous and somewhat sappy—and I rarely do sappy—but I can appreciate that this day warrants it, and I love them both, so I wrote it.

The DJ hands me the microphone, and I nervously rise from my seat at the head table. I force my gaze to remain on Megan’s face as I start to speak.

“When Megan and I were ten years old, she and I made a pinky promise that, someday, she would be my maid of honor and I would be hers. If I’d known she planned to strap me in five-inch stilettos when the day finally arrived, I might have kept my pinky to myself.”

The crowd laughs. The groomsmen whistle. I ignore them. When I’m not looking at Devin McAllister, it’s so much easier to pretend he isn’t here.

“They aren’t five inches,” Megan mutters, but her face beams with happiness as she smiles at me.

“Despite that
torture
,” I continue with a smirk, “I want you both to know how much I love you. I’ve seen very few instances of true love in my life, but trust me when I say that Simon and Megan have found it in each other. We should all be so lucky. I wish you nothing but joy and happiness. Congratulations.”

The guests raise their glasses to toast the happy couple. Relieved, I sit back down while Simon and Megan share their first dance. Forgetting my no-alcohol stance, I take a sip of champagne and glance at Lorie. Her head is close to Owen’s. His arm is around the back of her chair, and she giggles when he whispers into her ear.

Lorie never giggles.

I sigh dejectedly. I’d been counting on Owen for a dance partner. I watch in despair as the two of them make their way onto the dance floor, leaving me and Devin alone at the table.

Thankfully, he’s
way
down there.

“Darlin’, please explain to me why you’re sitting here looking all pitiful when there’s a beautiful man at the far end of the table who can’t keep his eyes off you.”

Leo!

Leo’s our entertainment reporter at the
Journal
. He’s cute and funny and one of the few male reporters who doesn’t hit on me. All pluses, so I’m happy to call him my friend.

“Leo, dance with me. I’m begging you.”

He chuckles and downs his glass of champagne.

“Can’t. I’m afraid I’m spoken for tonight.”

He points across the room to Oliver—his boyfriend and my favorite photographer at the paper.

“You’re spoken for every night,” I grumble.

“Is that jealousy I hear?”

“It’s just not fair. Why are all the good guys taken or gay?”

Leo laughs. “I know. It’s such a curse.”

I sigh loudly and reach for my glass. “Fine, go dance with your beautiful boyfriend and desert me in my hour of need.”

He grins mischievously as someone sits down beside me. I don’t even have to turn around. I call tell by the glazed expression on Leo’s face that it’s Devin McAllister sitting by my side.

“Oh, look. Desertion avoided. Have fun!”

With a wink, he’s gone.

Traitor.

Devin places his arm along the back of my chair and leans close to my ear. “You know, you can’t ignore me all night. It’s actually quite rude.”

My temper flares, but I refuse to turn my head in his direction. I’m obviously unable to look at him without losing my mind.

“You’d know all about rude behavior.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

With a resigned sigh, I tilt my head in his direction. He’s right
there
, with his piercing brown eyes.

I take a deep breath and steel my resolve.

“Marking me and leaving me without even the courtesy of a goodbye qualifies as rudeness, don’t you think?”

A slow smile creeps across his face. “I wanted you to have something to remember me by.”

“You’re a pig.”

“And you’re gorgeous. Come dance with me.”

I grab a nearby glass—probably Lorie’s—and down it quickly before placing it back on the table.

“No.”

“We shared a bed, but you won’t share a dance with me?”

“I was drunk.”

“You weren’t
that
drunk.”

I wave my hand toward the guests. “There are literally hundreds of women in this room. Take your pick.”

“I just did.”

I snort.
Smooth.

“I think that’s a very bad idea.”

Devin slides his hand along the back of my neck. My skin tingles beneath his touch.

“Just one dance, Songbird,” he says softly, letting his nose trail against my cheek.

Songbird.
It’s the name he used to charm me in the bar last night. The same name that charms me
now
—right out of my chair and onto the dance floor, where I find myself in his arms.

Devin pulls my hand to his chest while he rests his palm on the small of my back. He holds me close, and our bodies sway to the slow rhythm of the music.

“I know it’s a little late now, but my name’s Devin McAllister.”

I glance anxiously around the room. “Callie Franklin.”

“So, Callie Franklin, I guess you’re pissed about last night?”

At least he has the common decency to keep his voice low.

“Yes, I am.”

“May I ask why?”

“Because I don’t do one-night stands. Ever.”

He smirks. “Well, if that’s what’s bothering you, I’m sure I can be persuaded into a repeat performance. I wouldn’t want you to feel unnecessarily guilty when it’s so easy for me to make it right.”

“You’re a pig.”

“You said that already.”

“Still true.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Doesn’t change the fact that your dress and those heels are killing me.”

“You don’t want me. You want to sleep with me. Big difference.”

“Not to me there isn’t.”

“You really are a p—”

“A pig. I know. So what? We both get what we want.”

“And what makes you think I want you?”

“Because last night was epic and you know it.”

“It was so epic you couldn’t be bothered to say goodbye?”

He tilts his head. “That really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“It really does. But the hickey bothers me more. What are you, sixteen?”

“A hickey which made it possible for you to wear your hair down tonight, which I love, so I’m not apologizing for that, either.”

“I get the feeling you don’t apologize for much.”

Devin weaves his hand in my hair and pulls me closer. Nervously, I glance across the room. My eyes lock with the bride’s. Megan’s expression is livid.

“We can’t, Devin.”

His mouth hovers close to mine. “We can. And if it’s really that important to you, I promise to say goodbye this time.”

I shake my head, but it’s half-hearted, and he knows it.

“Say yes, Songbird.”

Can I do this? For one weekend out of my lonely life, can I allow myself this? Devin McAllister is a gorgeous man, and for some reason, he wants me. It’ll be meaningless and amazing, and then he’ll walk out of my life for good. And when it’s all said and done, the only reminder I’ll have of this weekend will be the hickey on my neck.

“One condition.”

His eyes glow with triumph. “Anything.”

“This time, leave your mark where only I can see it.”