Into You Series: The Complete Collection

39. Ian

CHAPTER 39

IAN

C ameron waits less than five minutes before rushing the food bar and shoveling shrimp onto his plate with the serving spatula.

“God, I thought those photos would take a thousand years,” he moans.

“We took literally ten pictures,” Ramona says. “Which, honestly, is not nearly enough.”

Grace cuts forward, snatching a plate as well. “As long as we have at least two pictures for our fireplace, what do I care?”

Guests are sitting at their assigned round tables under the white tent erected for the reception. Their plates are empty, and I’m honestly unsure if the wedding party was supposed to serve themselves first or wait for everyone else. Looks like we’re going with the former.

“You’re embarrassing yourselves,” Wes says.

“No, we’re not. Nia embarrassed herself enough last night to cover for the rest of us,” Cameron says, grinning.

I look over at Nia, whose eyes are already locked onto mine, a shy smile twisting her mouth.

A line of guests finally file behind us by the time we’ve made it through the buffet. There is a long table reserved for the wedding party near the end of the tent, and Nia and I sit on opposite ends. I wonder if she’s thinking what I am—that only one word will strike a match between us, and the flame will be impossible to snuff out.

Grace and Cameron barely have time to stuff their faces before the DJ calls them out for their first dance. He must not have gotten the memo that food is serious business for these two newlyweds.

“Let’s fire him,” Grace says, patting her mouth with a napkin.

“Well, honey, we’ll have to cut him some slack for now,” Cameron says, grabbing her hand. “We can’t exactly find another DJ this last minute.”

“Only request cliché wedding music,” I suggest. “ Really ruin his night.”

Cameron claps a hand on my shoulder. “This is why you’re the best man.”

The party commences faster than expected. Every person walking past our tent is graciously invited in by the bride and groom until our group grows to about two hundred drunken beach bums, resort guests, and families jumping up and down, hands flying in the air to the words of “Shout” over and over. I can sense the shift in the DJ’s demeanor as he plays song after song of wedding classics like “Cha Cha Slide” and “Macarena”. He has a permanent sneer of disgust. Conversely, I don’t think Grace and Cameron have ever had so much fun.

I decide to sit this song out, finding an empty round table to relax at. I throw off my tie, undo the top two buttons of my shirt, and cross my ankle over my knee, stretching my arms out over the back of the chairs next to me. I sweep my eyes across the crowd, looking until I spot the white-blonde hair paired with a tiny peach dress.

Nia is over near the pop-up bar, leaning against the counter and chatting with the bartender mixing drinks. I’ve patiently waited all night for her to speak to me. It’s been maddening to watch her walk around in that bridesmaid dress. The straps rest loose on her delicate shoulders, and the neckline slopes just low enough to give a chaste peek at the start of her chest. Once it hits her waist, it doesn’t leave much to the imagination, and I’ve had to avert my eyes many times to quell a growing hardness in my pants. Now, though, I’m alone and too greedy to look away. My zipper may be strained, but I’m not depriving myself of this sight.

As I soak Nia in, memorizing every bit of her body, her head shoots up and looks around. I know exactly what she’s feeling because I feel it too. It’s that pull—the tug of an invisible wire connecting us, like some impulse to know where the other is. If we lose track of each other, we search, and we always find one another.

Her eyes land on me, and she smiles. I raise my hand in greeting. She wiggles her fingers back in a wave.

She leans in to mouth a few words to the bartender before making her way over to my lonely round table. This will be the closest we’ve been in proximity all night, and I can feel my blood pumping heavy at the thought of it.

I pat the chair next to me and she falls into it.

“Come here often?” I ask.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes with a laugh. “That’s the best you got?” she asks. Her brown eyes are warm, inviting, and scouring over my face and bared chest. I let them wander as they like.

“What do you want me to say?” I ask.

“Something more original.”

“Fine. Then…are you lost? Because heaven is a long way from here.”

She rolls her eyes again—so hard that this time I think they get stuck for a moment.

“Oh, has that been said before?” I say, feigning innocence.

“You’re incorrigible.”

She shakes her head slowly, a smile spread from ear to ear and that beautiful, plump lip pulled taut between her teeth. I want to say something, but I’m finding it hard to form the words needed to express how unreal it is to have Nia next to me, biting her lip, one eyebrow raised and leaning against my arm. Not only is she relaxed, she’s allowing my finger to stroke along her shoulder.

“Do you want a drink?” I ask, jerking my head to the bar.

“I think I’m pretty much done with drinking for a while.” She leans back with her arms crossed. “Two hangovers in one week is about my limit.”

“Two in a week?” I gasp. “Wild child.”

“Shut up,” she says, pushing my side.

“Ooh, that tickles,” I croon. “Do it again.”

“Stoppp,” she says through laughter, elbowing my stomach.

We grow quiet and sit there in silence. My eyes roam over every part of her while she looks out at the dancing crowd.

“So, are you going to forgive me for being such an asshole?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Maybe.”

“I can take maybe.”

“Are you going to forgive me for being such an asshole?” she asks.

“Maybe.” I smile.

Her head swivels toward me and she inhales sharply as if carefully considering her next words.

“I almost kissed you a few years ago,” she says. “Did you know that?”

My breath catches. I laugh awkwardly, trying to conceal my surprise with as much casual ease as I can. “Wait—what?”

“Yeah.” She places a hand on my knee, stroking around it absentmindedly. I stiffen. “After that write-up for Grace and Cam.”

“I’m not recalling…” It’s irritating to think there was a moment I lost. Jesus Christ, I need to know when Nia fucking Smith tried to kiss me.

“Of course you don’t remember,” she scoffs. “You were too distracted by the receptionist.”

And then it hits me— I do remember that night.

“That was Beer Friday, wasn’t it?” I ask.

I remember that fucking night.

“You told me you didn’t date co-workers,” she says.

It all comes rushing back to me: our chat in her office, the termination paperwork for Cameron’s indiscretions looming between us, the way she looked at me. I felt weird at the time, but I assumed it was just my inappropriate lusting after Nia finally crossing some line. I remember her odd expression at the awkward situation, and I never considered that maybe her face was revealing something else. I remember saying whatever I could to make her think I wasn’t coming on to her. The last thing I needed was a harassment lawsuit from my own HR manager, but I had a feeling there was something between us.

I fucking knew it.

But then Saria—the young receptionist many years my junior—stepped in.

“Saria… She tried to… Nothing happened.” I remember Saria gripping my leg, sliding it up my thigh. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, and a disaster waiting to happen. Imagine the uproar of the in-house lawyer sleeping with the young receptionist. Not a chance. Then she was too drunk to drive, and I did what I always did: I drove her home, and that was it. She tried to hit on me when I dropped her off, but that was only right before she lost all her alcohol in the bushes. “I wasn’t lying. I don’t date co-workers.”

“I believe you,” she says. Her tone is to the point and indicates that the topic is closed. No discussion needed. It’s simple and decisive, just like everything Nia does.

I smile. “Plus, come on, I was too in love with you to think about anyone else.”

Nia lets out an uncomfortable laugh then narrows her eyes. “You say that like you really mean it.”

“I am a lovesick, head over groomsman oxfords, mess of a man around you. You’re why I left the company,” I say.

“You left because of me?” Her mouth is slightly open, scanning me for lies.

There are none to be found, Polly.

“I left for you.” I remember when I decided to job hunt. I knew I wouldn’t be happy unless I tried to be with Nia, and she wouldn’t give me the time of day as long as we were co-workers.

A smile creeps up her face, widening ever slightly. I can tell by her twitching cheeks that she’s trying to resist, but she’s losing the battle.

“There’s a smile,” I say. “I like your smile.”

Her hand shifts from my knee up to my thigh. Patience be damned, I want Nia. I need Nia.

“Want to get out of here?” I ask.

“Yes.”