“Ahhhh… The maid of honor. Renee has told me about you.” He held out his hand, and leaned back against the bar.
Suddenly, Samantha realized Mark was the one of the men Renee was trying to set her up with. She could see why. He was built, good looking, and had a voice like shredded sandpaper. Husky, sexy… She shook his hand.
“You’re the artist, right?” he asked then, cutting off her train of thought.
She nodded, catching a glimpse of Tristan out of the corner of her eye. He already had at least three girls around him. One a ballerina that danced in Renee’s company, a brunette who looked harmless enough, and a redheaded hussy.
“I’m a sculptor. How about you?”
“Firefighter.”
Devon leaned forward again, butting into her new conversation. “I think I remember hearing about that. What type of sculptures do you do?”
She cleared her throat, slightly thrown from watching Tristan… But then she turned around, and a sense of calmness overtook her. “Modern—yet recognizable.” She grinned. That was one of the quotes written about her work at the gallery opening. Modern—yet recognizable. She loved it. Because that’s always what she strived to be.
“I like that,” Mark stated. “Do you happen to have any images of your work?”
Her brows furrowed, and she opened her clutch to pull out her phone, but quickly remembered. “No, actually—normally I do, but my phone got wet…” But her words trailed away as she saw Tristan watching her again. “All I have with me is the piece in my room that I made for Renee—it’s their wedding gift.”
Mark took a sip of his beer, almost studying her. “I’d love to see that, later.”
She raised her eyebrows, aware he was asking to come to her room, and she shook her head. But just then the DJ’s voice sounded through the speakers, saving her from giving any sort of reply. He was calling everyone to the dance floor, beckoning them, with his arms above his head, to come closer. Samantha immediately rose from her seat, excusing herself from the two men, and weaved her way through the crowd.
The DJ was standing in the middle of the dance floor and waited until most everyone had moved closer. “Good evening, ladies and gentleman. As you all may know, we’re here to celebrate the last single days of both Phin and Renee. Untraditionally, they have decided to join their parties together, and share their last night with all of you. Every one of you is special to them, and they want you to get to know one another. So look around, say hello, and find a new best friend. To help you get started, we have a game! I have a couple of assistants walking around handing out pen and paper. Take one. Walk around the room and get to know one another. You’ll need to gather both first and last names, plus the answer to one simple question: how do they know the bride or groom? Easy, right? Though if you’d noticed, there are no clipboards provided. Get creative. Backs—or fronts, make a perfectly acceptable surface.”
A roar erupted from the crowd, and a guy across the stage ripped his shirt off and pointed to his chest.
The DJ laughed and patted him on the back. “To sweeten the pot, the person with the most correct information at the end of the night will win a prize. A two week, all-expenses paid trip to Europe, graciously donated by the groom’s parents.”
Everyone began cheering and hollering and moving around the floor.
“The clock is ticking, ladies and gentleman. You have one hour to get to know each other. Have fun.”
Samantha glanced around all the people, hating her best friend as one of the DJ’s assistants tapped her on the shoulder. The woman handed her a pen and paper, entered her information into a tablet, then smiled and nodded thanks before leaving to pass on to others. “Good luck.”
Samantha clutched the paper in her hand, scanning the room, hoping to spot Tristan, but found Mark standing right behind her instead.
He grinned and narrowed his eyes. “We have to stop meeting like this.” He teased. He then took his pen and paper, stepped around the table and placed it upon her back. “May I?”
She nodded, feeling a bit wobbly after only two sips of her Martini. “Go ahead.”
“Samantha. Is that with two M’s or just one?”
She laughed. “Just one.”
“Last name?”
“Smiles.”
“And how do you know the bride?”
She located Tristan just across the dance floor and cleared her throat. “We grew up together,” she said, suddenly feeling winded, because he was talking to a tall blond, who had her paper flat against his chest.
“Can you be more specific please?” Mark grinned.
“Hartford Grove Elementary, playground, second grade.”
His pen hit her back again, then he turned around and offered her his own. “Your turn.”
She cleared her throat, trying to concentrate, but Tristan was laughing at something the blond was saying, and that irritated her.
“Last name?” She asked Mark.
“Wahlberg.”
“And how do you know the bride and groom,” she said, completely distracted.
“We all met on the set of Boogie Nights.”
But before she could finish writing, Mark slipped out from under her paper and stood in front of her. “Okay, so who is he? Or she…? I’m open-minded like that.”
Samantha blinked a few times, unsure what he was talking about. “Excuse me?”
He raised one eyebrow. “I’m not Mark Wahlberg. But I’m flattered you believed me.”
Her eyes widened and she looked down to her paper. “Sorry, I—”
But he took the pen from her hand and began filling out his information. “Look, I told Renee it was too soon.” He scribbled some words on the paper, handed it back to her, then draped his arm over her shoulder to turn her toward the dance floor. “Is he here? The guy who’s captured your heart?”
She shook her head, feeling heat creep up her cheeks. “No. And I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He smiled, then patted her on the backside. “Must be my imagination.” Soon he was lost in the crowd, gathering more names, and she began making her way back toward the bar. If she was going to get through this night, she was going to need more alcohol.
She introduced herself to as many people as she could along the way, collecting information until she saw Tristan heading for the bar as well.
She made a beeline, arrived first, and swiftly turned to order another drink. A hand settled low on her back a second later, and she pulled in a shaky breath, knowing it was Tristan. She turned around, finding him standing right behind her. He was clean shaven, smelled like heaven, and her heart picked up speed simply from being close to him again.
“You better leave,” she whispered, “or someone’s going to get suspicious.”
He leaned in close, so close she could feel his breath against her neck. “We just spent four days driving cross country together. If we don’t talk, people will get suspicious.”
Her pulse quickened for the second time, and she couldn’t help the smile that teased at her mouth. “You’re right.” But the alcohol had hit her harder than she thought, and she stumbled forward, requiring Tristan’s hand to catch her at her hip.
She looked up into his eyes, feeling his fingers press into her skin. “I don’t like watching girls hang on your every word. It annoys me.”
He laughed, but glanced her over from head to toe before settling his eyes on her lips. “I don’t like watching you parade around half naked when I can’t touch you.”
She laughed wholeheartedly and resisted the urge to pull him against her. “You noticed.”
His eyes heated, and he looked her up and down again. “I’m pretty sure everyone in this dammed place noticed you.”
She grinned again, moving around him to place her paper on his back. “Name please?”
His muscles tightened, and he reached around to grip her upper thigh to yank her forward. “You should know it. You were screaming it last night,” he whispered.
She bit her bottom lip. “And how do you know the bride?”
“What bride?”