SWNOVELS Pucking Wild: Chapter 1
“Rachel!” I shout, taking another sip of my champagne. “Come on, girl. I’m growing a beard out here!”
“Hold your horses,” she shouts back. “The freaking zipper is stuck. I’m afraid I’m gonna break it—shit—”
“Well, get out here, and I’ll fix it for you,” I say, hopping to my feet.
This night has been a total whirlwind. Rachel just had to drop the gauntlet with her sexy little taunt, telling Ilmari she’ll marry him if their game against the LA Kings was a shutout. Well, joke’s on her, ‘cause now I’m standing in her mother’s bedroom, waiting as Rachel hunts through her mom’s couture gown collection, looking for something suitable to wear to a wedding. Her wedding.
That’s right, I’m about to be a bridesmaid at my best friend’s surprise midnight four-way wedding. God, I love L.A. In true rock ‘n’ roll fashion, her dad is busy setting his house up as party central. Her brother Harrison is coordinating food, while her mom is downstairs inviting guests and frantically calling in favors to have flowers delivered.
Meanwhile, I’m on dress duty. And I mean to take this job seriously. It’s not every day the girl you thought would never settle down decides to marry three men at once. This dress needs to be one for the ages.
I slap my champagne glass down on the dresser. “Rach!” Just as I’m about to dive inside the massive walk-in closet and drag her ass out, Rachel sweeps around the corner and my mouth drops to the floor. “Ohmygod,” I gasp.
“Well? What do you think?” she says, dark eyes wide as she takes in my expression.
She stands before me in a floor-skimming, shimmery gold slip dress with barely-there straps. The bodice dips low between her breasts, clinging to her like a second skin. If I was a cartoon, I’d have big hearts in my eyes.
“This is as close as we’re getting to a wedding dress,” she says, smoothing the dress over her hips. “I’m sorry, but I’m not wearing pink, and all the black ones felt too austere.”
“Rachel, is that runway Versace?” I say.
She does a little half-turn, glancing at herself in the mirror. “Umm…no, I think it’s custom, honestly. Mom wore this to the Grammys back in the 90s. I tried it on once or twice when I was a kid.”
Her only jewelry is a pair of heavy pearl drop earrings and the stack of thin gold bracelets she habitually wears. Oh, and her dainty septum ring of twisted gold. Her dark hair is tied up in an artfully messy bun, showing off the delicate curve of her neck. Her makeup is just a little bit smeared under the eye.
She looks perfect.
“Well?” she says with a huff, arms flapping as she does a little half-turn, peeking over her shoulder again.
“Oh, honey,” I say on a sigh. “You look so beautiful. They’re gonna die.”
She smiles back at me before gasping. “Oh—the jacket!” Then she’s disappearing back inside the closet. “Get in here and help me,” she calls. “Tell me if you think this is too much.”
I step through the doorway into the huge walk-in closet to see Rachel fiddling a silver beaded jacket off its hanger.
“Do you think these will look weird together?” she says, holding up the shimmery silver jacket. “I thought it made kind of a cool mixed metals statement,” she adds with a shrug. “And the silver at least feels a little more bridal but…you hate it. It’s too much.” She’s staring at me again, waiting for my approval.
I swallow back my happy tears. “No, I think it’s unique. It’s rocker glam and totally you.” I step in, taking the jacket from her. “Here, let me help you, honey.”
She turns around with a grateful smile, dropping her arms back so I can help her slip into the sexy, shimmery jacket. It’s got cute fringe detail at the sleeves that in the right lighting will make it look like she’s dripping diamonds.
“I figured I’ll take it off after the ceremony,” she adds.
I step to the side, taking in the full picture from her signature Rachel bun, following the line of the dress’s slit down to her naked toes. With a tip of my head, I purse my lips. “Something’s missing.”
“I’m not wearing a veil,” she huffs. “That would definitely be overkill.”
“No, you’ve got your something old and something borrowed,” I say, pointing at the dress and the jacket. “The flowers can be your something new. We need to find you something blue.”
She laughs, fiddling with the sleeve of the jacket. “What was your something blue at your wedding?”
My smile falters as memories of the day flash in my mind—the heat of the sun on my shoulders during the outdoor ceremony, one too many glasses of champagne at the reception, dancing until my feet blistered. “My shoes,” I reply softly.
“Oh, that’s brilliant.” Rachel hurries around the corner. “Mom basically has her own shoe warehouse in here,” she calls. “Come help me pick out a pair.”
The back of Julia Price’s designer closet is a room just for shoes, artfully arranged from floor to ceiling on custom lighted shelves. Shoes twinkle in every color and style from Hermès flats to red-bottomed Louboutins. The contents of this room alone are worth more than what some people make in a lifetime.
“Geez,” I say, noting the bottom row of stylish leather boots. “Mama Price gets to shop in her own DSW every day of the week.”
“I know, right?” She turns, holding up two very different blue shoes—one a strappy heel, the other a tall, pointed-toe pump. “Which one?”
“The strappy,” I say immediately. “You’d be kicking those pumps off before you even walk down the aisle.”
“Good call,” she says, replacing the pump and grabbing the strappy heel’s partner.
Taking a deep breath, I glance over my shoulder, grateful to know that—at least for the moment—we’re alone. “Listen, Rach…”
She pauses, one foot flamingoed in the air as she works the buckle of the strap. “Yeah?”
I step forward and grab her lightly by the shoulders.
She drops her foot to the floor. “Tess, what—”
“Just listen for a sec,” I say over her. “I wouldn’t be doing my job as your best friend if I didn’t ask you this. If I didn’t look you in the eye and hear you say the words—”
She groans. “Tess—”
“Rachel Diane Price,” I say, my voice louder. “Are you sure you want to get married tonight? Because I swear to God, if you give me even a look like you’d rather run, I will throw you over my shoulder, linebacker my way down those stairs, and we’ll run.”