The Nice Guy: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance Page 2

  She groans. The scent of lavender from the crushed petals perfumes her hands. She stumbles away from Sasha, Arabella, Nora, and all of her other college friends. They whoop and cheer. The band plays a victory tune. Then the MCs calls all of the single men to the dance floor.

  Dazed, Audrey watches guys from college and other guys she doesn’t know walk to stand before the band. The groom gets on stage and grabs the mic from the MC. Grinning, he says into the mic:

  “You too, Pierce!” The groom points his index finger at Pierce who’s leaning against the bar and laughing. He shakes his head. The groom says, “It’s my wedding. You have to.” The crowd claps and cheers Pierce to come forward. The band plays a lively tune. Pierce walks—saunters?—across the hardwood floor.

  When he gets to Audrey, he places his right hand at the small of her back and whispers into her ear, “Nice catch,” then keeps walking to join the group of single men.

  Amidst the guys hollering and the drummer drumming, Audrey can make out the tapping of Pierce’s dress shoes across the dance floor. Her heartbeat picks up. What if Pierce catches the garter belt? What if she has to sit on a wrought iron chair covered with white fabric while Pierce kneels on the floor, places her foot on his thigh, and runs his hands up her calf and thigh? Will she be able to keep from blushing? Will she be able to keep from trembling from the agony of his hands on her? Her heart rate increases. She breathes deeply just like she learned in hot yoga to re-center. She wills Pierce to miss.

  As if in slow motion, the sequence of events unfold: the band plays a tune that sounds distant and old-fashioned; the single men stand in their tuxedos and arms stretched up; the weddings guests cheer and clap; the groom winks—at Pierce?—turns around and tosses the garter belt over his shoulder. Pierce dives for the delicate piece of lingerie as if catching a diamond ring dropping from his beloved’s grasp. He snatches the undergarment out of the air just before an overly eager teenager with a face full of acne and a mouth full of braces catches it. The teen yells. The crowd erupts in cheers.

  Audrey breaks out in a sweat. Why does she always sweat when she gets nervous? Why can’t she get a nervous blush or some other more attractive reaction? She swallows. Then straightens her head, pushes her shoulders back, and inhales the scent of lavender covering her hands. She decides to face the dreaded wedding tradition with dignity. She wishes she had a poker face.

  The MC calls the single lady and the single gentleman to the middle of the dance floor. Friends and relatives of the wedding party form a circle around Audrey and Pierce. A chair appears. Kate helps Audrey to sit down. She crosses her legs at the ankles. Pierce kneels before her. Grinning, he says: “You’re going to have to open your legs a little wider than that for me.”

  The crowd cheers at his lewd comment. He grins. Audrey wants to run. She wants to wipe the grin off his face. She wants to meet his experience with her own. But she doesn’t have any sexual history to pull from. So, she does what most of her friends tell her they do when they like a guy and don’t want to disappoint him: she fakes it. She smiles coyly. She moves one foot and slowly spreads her legs. They’re about two fist sizes apart, like in yoga.

  “Is that good?” She challenges him. Her friends cheer. Her armpits sweat. Her palms sweat. She grips her knees and straightens her back.

  “Yeah. That’s perfect.” He says loud enough for everyone to hear. The wedding party claps and cheers. The band plays a lively tune.

  Audrey wants the moment to end. She wants him to hurry up and put the garter belt on her already. She can’t stand the anticipation of his hands on her body—even if it’s just her legs.

  Locking eyes with her, Pierce picks up her right foot and removes her gold stiletto that Whitney begged her to wear. She never wears high heels, but it’s her friend’s wedding, and she wanted her guests to all be glamorous. So, Audrey complied. Now, seeing Pierce pluck the thin strap from her heel and slip the nothing-of-a-shoe from her foot nearly makes her collapse into a pool of desire on the dance floor. She cannot wet her panties. She wills her body to obey her thoughts.

  She curses her body for being so turned on at the touch of a man who she can’t stop staring at. Does she get so wet because she hasn’t really had sex yet? Well, not penile penetration, anyway.

  Pierce pulls the garter belt over her pointed foot and red-painted toenails.

  “Red. Nice.” His grin sets loose a kaleidoscope of butterflies in her tummy. She feels their wings beating up through her torso. They tinge her cheeks red. This makes Pierce slow down. He trails his fingers up her calves—unnecessarily—as he pulls the garter belt up to her knee.

  Audrey imagines him moving up her thighs and then tunneling his fingers into her. Her breath catches. She pleads with him with her eyes to hurry up. He stops.

  “Come on, Pierce.” She doesn’t want to give away her arousal. She doesn’t want him to know that she wants him. She hopes that her blushing cheeks will trick him into thinking that she’s embarrassed by the spectacle in front of the crowd.

  Pierce looks around at the crowd as if a street performer. With her right foot resting on his left thigh, he leans back and asks the crowd:

  “What do you think? Should I use my mouth?” He laughs as the wedding guests clap and cheer.

  Internally, Audrey is running out of the wedding tent, across the field, to the hotel. She’s running up the stairs, because she can’t wait for the elevator, and up to her room on the second floor. She’s left behind Pierce with his tattoos and long brown hair and inviting grin. Except her body is still sitting in the chair and her foot is still resting on his muscular thigh. Audrey groans.

  “Pierce.” She wants to tell him to stop. But she doesn’t want him to stop. She wants to tell him no. But she wants his mouth and hands on her thigh.

  “Relax, Audrey.” He tilts his head to the right. “I’ll be gentle.”

  Her face flushes red. She thinks that he must remember that night when they kissed. She must’ve told him that she’s a virgin. Did she? Does he know that she still is one? Can he see her technical virginity waving its white flag?

  The audience whoops and cheers even louder. Audrey finds her friends’ eyes. Each is laughing and cheering her on. They don’t know that she’s still a virgin. They haven’t had a moment to sit down and catch up. Their chats have all been wedding rehearsals and mani-pedis and wedding talk. No personal talk. She hasn’t told Whitney about her many failed dates. She pleads with Whitney with her eyes. Whitney wolf whistles. Audrey shakes her head.

  “Relax,” Pierce repeats.

  Then, in a haze, with her heartbeat pumping in her eardrums, Pierce leans forward and dips his head underneath her dress. The guys in the crowd chant: “Pierce! Pierce! Pierce! Pierce!”

  Then the girls cheer: “Au-drey! Au-drey!”

  Audrey covers her face with the bouquet. Inhaling the lavender, she wills the moment to be over. Then she feels the warmth of his face hover over her thigh. Then his teeth graze her thigh. Her muscles tighten. She breathes in the perfume of the crumpled flowers. The ribbon absorbs the sweat from her palms squeezing the girth of the bouquet. She imagines her hands are gripping Pierce’s girth and she relaxes a little, causing Pierce to pull the garter belt up her thigh faster. He pulls his head back with the dainty lingerie elastic band in his teeth and then releases it. It snaps against her thigh. She looks up quickly from the bouquet, drops it, and her mouth drops open. The crowd cheers. Pierce keeps his head underneath her dress.

  Audrey is hyper-aware of his right hand cradling her left calf from behind, while his left hand holds her right ankle. Then a soft, warm sensation touches her thighs just above the garter belt. Is he kissing her? Audrey swallows. Her blood must be flowing through her body at a hundred and fifty beats per second. She feels her skin warming from his touch. She can’t stop the warm pool waiting just at the apex of her thighs to moisten her panties and maybe even her dress. He places her foot gently on the floor.

  “Pierce,” Audrey hi
sses.

  In one swift move, Pierce emerges from beneath her dress. He releases her ankle and calf. He smooths out her dress over her thighs with a light touch that sends bolts of electricity shooting through her body. She inhales deeply and sits up straight. He slips her golden high heel back onto her foot. His fingers linger on her foot—unnecessarily—she thinks. But she doesn’t move his hands away.

  “Yeah, Audrey!” Whitney yells from the crowd.

  The guests clap and cheer. The band plays a lively tune that sends people moving and dancing away from the spectacle. Audrey breathes in relief. She’s annoyed with herself. Why does her body betray her? Just when she’s decided that she isn’t going to date anyone. No more dating apps. No more speed-dating. No more after work mixers. Now she runs into Pierce Goode. He’s just as cute as she remembers him. He’s got tattoos now. She wonders what the rest of his tattoo says. She wonders where else he has tattoos.

  “Need some help?” Pierce’s eyes twinkle. He extends his two palms and takes her free hands. Slowly she stands up with his help. His palms are soft.

  “What was that?” She stands up straight, causing her breasts to rise. His eyes flit down to her chest and then back up to her face.

  “What was what?” He grins, still holding her hands.

  “You know what I mean.” She doesn’t want to say it. Doesn’t want to ask him if he actually just kissed her thigh.

  “I want to hear you say it.” He tilts his head to the left and pulls gently on her hands, making her step toward him.

  “Pierce.” She can smell his cologne. Her body wants to lean into him, run her fingers through the soft waves of his hair, and kiss those lips that just kissed her thigh. But, she’s sworn off bad boys. “Stop playing.”

  “I thought you liked it.” His grin is infectious, and she resists returning it.

  Audrey scans the dance floor. She releases Pierce’s hands. He lets go, reluctantly. She moves to walk back to the bar.

  “Audrey, wait!” Pierce calls to her. She turns around to watch him stoop to pick up the dropped bouquet. The chivalrous act sends butterflies flying through her veins. She feels as if she will faint like in a Victorian novel. She must get away from him.

  “Thanks.” As she takes the bouquet from him, their fingers touch, and she wants to feel his hands on her ankle and calf and thigh again.

  Just then a slow bachata song comes on. Audrey looks over at Whitney who yells across the dance floor:

  “What happens in the D.R., stays in the D.R.” Then the bridesmaids laugh.

  Audrey can’t help but join in on the laughter. While she missed the bridesmaid trip, she did spend a few spring breaks in the Dominican Republic with Whitney and her college friends.

  He places a hand on her arm.

  “May I have this dance?”

  Desperate to get away from Pierce before she thoroughly wets her panties, Audrey scans the dance floor for a friend. She sees Sasha, Arabella, and Nora each dancing in their long lavender colored gowns with single guys in tuxedos who they must have met tonight, because Audrey doesn’t recognize any of them. She sees older guests sitting at tables on the periphery of the dance floor watching the children and the couples swaying and tapping to the popular song that the DJ now plays. Beyond the semi-circles of round tables with lavender floral centerpieces in large vases with water and pebbles anchoring them, Audrey spies Whitney and the groom hugging the seated elderly guests on the outskirts of the semi-circles.

  “Excuse me.” Audrey slips out of Pierce's grasp and nearly jogs across the hardwood and between the white tablecloths with white placards and gold letters on them to where Whitney is moving on to the next table. “Whitney!”

  Audrey grabs her friend’s hand. They stop and hug. Whitney smells of perfume and baby powder and hairspray. The college friends embrace beneath the sparkling white lights from the spinning mirror ball at the apex of the tent.

  “I’m so happy for you.” Audrey surprises herself. She doesn’t realize she feels this way until she says it.

  She is genuinely happy to see her freshman college roommate. They had matching pink pajamas and white teddy bears. They both loved spaghetti-and-meatball Mondays and vodka-and-orange-juice Friday nights. They also shared the same lavender perfume that they discovered on their spring break to Barcelona freshman year.

  “I always thought that you’d get married first.” Whitney releases Audrey and takes her hands. She’s glowing with happiness and sparkling from the lights from the dance floor.

  “Why?”

  “Because you kept your v-card for so long.” Whitney squeezes Audrey’s hands.

  “Are people still calling it that?” She rolls her eyes and squeezes back Whitney’s hands.

  “So, Pierce, huh?” Whitney giggles.

  “Girl, please.” Audrey starts to pull her hands away. Whitney tugs back playfully on her hands.

  “He’s really into you.”

  “Me and the next supermodel.” Audrey scans the dance floor and sees Pierce dancing with a model-like girl in a skin-tight fuchsia dress.

  “Did you see the way he went for that garter belt?” Whitney tilts her head back and laughs loudly. Guests turn to her and beam. “He wanted to put that thang on you.” She giggles.

  “Stop it. He’s just a flirt. Look at him. Dancing with that pretty girl. She can’t be more than eighteen.” Audrey watches Pierce’s body language. He dances at a respectable distance from the girl and nods politely when she leans forward and says something to him. The more she observes, the more she sees two polite strangers dancing opposite each other and never touching.

  Just then, Pierce looks across the dance floor and catches Audrey’s eye. He winks at her. She blushes. Warm blood coloring her cheeks pink. She looks back at Whitney who’s staring open-mouthed at her old friend.

  “Oooh, Audrey’s got a crush!”

  Audrey shakes her head, unable to speak.

  “You do! It’s in your eyes. You like Pierce Goode.”

  Audrey frowns.

  “He’s a good guy.” Whitney punctuates each word by shaking Audrey’s hands. When Audrey shakes her head, Whitney says, “He is! He’s from a good family. Literally. The Goodes. His family owns the largest oil and gas firm in America. They all went to the prestigious Chevalier Boarding School in Princeton. They’re legacies at you-know-where in Connecticut. You went to similar ivy-league schools in Greenwich and New Haven. His parents would love for you to join their family.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Audrey pulls her hands out of Whitney’s grasp. “You’re talking marriage. I just want to get a second date.”

  “Why do you always sell yourself short?”

  “I’m not, Whitney. Just because I went to Gwendolyn doesn’t mean that I want to marry my male counterpart.”

  “So you admit that he’s your soulmate!” Whitney yells.

  “Keep your voice down.” Audrey gestures with her hands. “I didn’t say soulmate. I said counterpart. Anyway, he’s a playboy. He only dates models and actresses.”

  “Not true.” Whitney shakes her head. “I happen to know that Pierce just got out of a one-year relationship with a certain good girl from the Upper East Side. She dumped him.”

  “Why?” Audrey glances over at Pierce. Their eyes lock. He winks, again. She suppresses a smile and shakes her head at him. Then looks away.

  “Rumor has it, he wanted something serious, and she didn’t want to settle down.” Whitney nods her head in self-approval. “Just chat with him. He’ll ask you out. Then see where things go.”

  “With my luck, they won’t go anywhere.” Audrey shakes her head.

  “Why not?”

  “Because every time I tell a guy that I’m a virgin, they ghost me.”

  “So, don’t tell him.”

  “He already knows.”

  “You told him already?”

  “No! I mean, he knows from college, I think.”

  “What are you talking about?”

 
“Remember when he and I were dancing—”

  “Bumping and grinding?”

  “And kissing—”

  “Making out?”

  “On the dance floor?”

  “Yeah. I practically had to pull you away from him. Your hands were all in his hair. His hands were all over your ass.” She giggles.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not quite sure, but I think that I told him that I was a virgin. And he didn’t want to hook up with me.”

  “That’s not what happened.” Whitney crosses her arms across her satin white wedding dress.

  “It’s not?”

  “Nope.” Whitney suppresses a smile.

  “Don’t keep me hanging. What happened?”

  “You really don’t remember?”

  “No! If I did—”

  “Then you probably would’ve run away a lot sooner.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you said—”

  “Last dance! Last dance!” the MC interrupts Whitney.

  “Babe!” Whitney’s groom calls. “They’re ready for us!”

  “Chris!” Whitney gushes as her new husband takes her into his arms and kisses her fully on the mouth.

  “I love you, Whitney.” He stares deeply into her eyes.

  Standing across from the blissful couple, Audrey feels certain contradictory feelings: joy and envy. On the one hand, she’s happy for Whitney, who had a crush on Chris since senior year at boarding school and dated long distance during college. Whitney went to college in Connecticut with Audrey where they were roommates freshman year and remained friends ever since. Chris went to the West Coast for college but met up with Whitney in Hawaii and Morocco and Ibiza on spring breaks. That’s why they’re getting married in Maui. They’re celebrating their love for the island and each other. Audrey’s heart melts. She wants their happiness. She wants their kind of love. She’s afraid to believe that a cute guy from a good family would be interested in her. She’s been ghosted for so long, she can’t allow herself to want love. She can’t even hope for it. She’d rather just love their love from afar, drink cognac, and reminisce about past good dates—not even relationships. Just one-and-done dates.