Best Man...with Benefits

Her supposed escort, the best man, had abandoned his tuxedo jacket a while ago and sat hunched around a table with the rest of the frat boys where the booze was flowing. A couple of women had drifted over, and she suspected there’d be some pairing up when the night finally ended. Cynthia was sitting next to Jackson, she noted, hanging on every word he said. Pathetic.

She found her clutch, which had somehow fallen to the floor, and slipped out of the emptying ballroom. Before she got to the elevator, she dug in her purse for her key card, but it wasn’t there.

Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she went to the front desk, where they gave her another.

With a sleepy thanks, she headed up to bed.

When she entered her luxurious hotel room, she threw open the balcony doors and watched the ocean for a few minutes. The moon gilded the waves and the sand stretched endlessly in either direction. A couple, guests of the hotel, probably, walked on the beach. They seemed happily in love. Good for them, she thought, as she went back inside and brushed her teeth. She donned the pretty nightgown she’d brought with her and stretched out in the huge, decadent bed.

She imagined Amy and Seth were right this moment enjoying married sex up in the bridal suite, and that was her last thought before she fell into exhausted sleep.

* * *

JACKSON PULLED OFF his tie and settled around the table with his buddies. He’d done his part, made a speech, danced with the ice queen herself, and now he could simply hang out. He passed on the shooters, but he accepted a scotch. He felt he’d earned it.

That went down so smoothly he drank another.

He went way back with these guys. They were part of the gang that Seth had introduced him to at boarding school. They’d stayed tight ever since. Seth was the first of them to get married. He knew there was a kind of melancholy to them hanging out getting hammered while Seth was off having sex with his new wife.

This was the way of the future. One by one, they’d all get married or move across the country for new jobs or whatever. Their carefree youth was slowly coming to an end.

It was how life was meant to work. But, while they were all still here, minus one, they partied.

Of course they didn’t exclude women from the party, and between the dancing and the drinking and the laughing, it was late when Jackson figured he’d better call it a night. Cynthia tried to slip him her room key but, even though she was an attractive woman and he was a single man, he couldn’t work up the enthusiasm. He claimed he’d drunk too much and took her number. Which he knew he’d never call.

The band had packed up, and the tired-looking bartender gave them the fish eye. He knew they were going to be a sad and sorry bunch come morning.

He got to his feet.

“Okay, I gotta go to bed.”

To his surprise, all the guys rose at the same time.

“Jackson—” Willy threw drunken arms around him “—you’re too drunk to drive. I’ll walk you home.”

He opened his mouth to tell Willy none of them would be driving and realized there was no point even trying to reason with Willy.

“Have to be quiet,” Rip warned them, staggering along. “People sleeping.”

“Right.”

They piled into the elevator. He pushed the number three. Nobody pushed another button. Seemed they were all on the same floor.

The whole mob of them stumbled down the corridor. He rooted around in his pocket. Pulled out a valet parking ticket. Nope. Other pocket.

There it was. His room key card.

Willy grabbed the card out of his hand. “Allow me,” he said, as if he were the bellhop.

“You angling for a tip?”

They all snickered as if he was Chris Rock. Willy stopped at a door and made an exaggerated gesture. “Your room, sir.”

“No, my room’s down there.” At least he thought it was.

Willy shook his head. “Good thing we walked you home.”

He stood back and waited. Willy was more wasted than he’d thought. When the key didn’t work, he’d... Well, his room was around here somewhere. Down the hall. He’d find it.

But, to his surprise, when the key slid home, the green light glowed.

Willy opened the door, put the key in his hand and patted him on the back. “Night, Jack.”

“Yeah, night.”

Right before the door snicked shut, he heard a gale of laughter. He shook his head, wondering what they’d found to laugh about and hoping they all made it back to their rooms okay.

He stripped rapidly and stumbled into the bathroom. Peed, brushed his teeth. Damn, he’d bought the spearmint toothpaste by mistake again.

He drank a huge glass of water, knowing his morning self would thank him. Then he flipped off the bathroom light and walked back into the bedroom where he fell, naked, into the king-size bed.

As he closed his eyes, he smelled something light and floral and sexy. Someone had worn that fragrance tonight. He couldn’t think who, but his body stirred in memory.

He edged closer and found himself touching warm, female skin.

What?

Apart from Cynthia, one more woman had tried to slip him her room card, but he was sure he hadn’t taken it.

Had he?

Oh, she smelled good.

He eased closer; the curving line of her shoulder captivated him. The curtains were open, as were the French doors, and moonlight cast the palest glow on her skin. He couldn’t resist: he put his lips to the curve where her shoulder met her throat. A pulse beat there, slow and steady.

And then she made a sound like a purr and turned to him.

He wished he could remember her name. Damn.

He might be drunk—okay, he was drunk—but he wasn’t going to have sex with someone he didn’t even know.

He raised his head to look at her more carefully and at the same time she opened her eyes.

His heart stopped.

Her eyes opened wide.

Holy shit.