Blue

Of the many things I hate about my sorority sister, Susanna Simmons, the thing that bothers me the most is her constant, bubbly personality. I am not a continually happy person. The only reason I’m in the stupid sorority in the first place is because my mother was a Delta Zeta and I was expected to follow in her well pedicured footsteps. Susanna (never Susie) was bubbly when she informed us she was engaged. She was bubbly when she showed us the short, strapless, bright pink, chiffon bridesmaid’s dresses. She was bubbly when I told her no, I won’t be a bridesmaid. She was bubby when I finally agreed, mainly because there was promise of an open bar and a reception in the hotel, so there was no need for a designated driver. Ba zing, bridesmaid of the year.

I actually didn’t meet her fiancé until the rehearsal dinner. He was exactly what I imagined a guy named Devon who works in the music industry would be like. Blindingly white teeth, big ‘ol smile, and a handshake that was, at the same time, both cold and sweaty. The first thing out of his mouth was, “You must be Delany—Susanna told me she had a DZ sister with blue hair.”

Whatever.

I took another drink of my sex on the beach and rolled my eyes, reliving the ridiculous, pompous events of last night’s rehearsal. I just…no. I’m not from Los Angeles originally, so it was like watching the most out of control episode of Dynasty that I’d ever seen. Just…without the big 80s hair and enormous shoulder pads. Everyone was beautiful and glamorous and having a fabulous time. I was just working hard on getting drunk.

My roommate and fellow unhappy bridesmaid, Violet Boyd, was already there. She poked me with a straw. “I bet he’s already sucking on other vagina behind her back. And penis. Definitely penis. Do you see the eyebrow game on that fucking bastard? No straight male has that kind of eyebrow game.”

“Tell me more, Vi.” I took another bite of decadent white chocolate and strawberry fresca—whatever that is—wedding cake. It was delicious and that made me mad. “She’s just bubbly and happy and just so darn thrilled that we can all be here tonight! I want to trip her.”

“Do it.”

“No thanks, my hair makes me noticeable enough as it is. I’m happy being the weird bridesmaid with blue hair—“

“And purple underlayer.”

“And purple underlayer. I don’t want to be the bridesmaid who tripped the bride.”

The music picked up a bit and all of a sudden, the Backstreet Boys ‘Everybody’ came blasting on. I took another drink. Maybe members of the Backstreet Boys were actually here; supposedly there were big name people on the guest list. I never actually paid all that close of attention when Susanna talked about what Devon did for a living. Usually I just repeated what seemed to be key words of her conversation to make it sound like I was an active participant: contract. London. Pants. Grammy. Gas station. Pen. Cocaine.

“Laney!” Vi flopped against me. “This is my jam! Dance with me.”

“If I dance, my boobs are going to bounce right out of this dress.” I giggled and shoved her back. “Let’s hit the bar.”

Vi scrambled up on top of her chair and then, in one horrifyingly off balance moment, climbed up onto the banquet table. She wobbled unsteadily.

I was on my feet in a heartbeat, holding my hands up to spot her. This was like a nightmare straight of my childhood summers spent at camp: trust fall gone wrong. Bridesmaid smashed to bits in front of condescending bride. “Vi, child, no…just…stand there and sway. I don’t know. Please do not step on that plate.”

She was singing at the top of her lungs, “Am I everything you need, you better rock your body now!”

I glanced down at the dance floor. Only one person looked petrified at the present situation: Susanna. Everyone else either looked amused, wasted, or was too busy dancing to notice her.

Vi was stumbling around beside me, randomly tapping her feet and bouncing around the table in some kind of heavily modified dance from the music video. She leaned over, giggling so hard she nearly fell off the table and into my arms. “You dance.” She shoved me, giggling so hard she almost fell over again. “You’ll be fabulous.”

Fuck it. I’d never see these people again and it would piss Susanna off. Steadying myself on my chair—drink in hand—I scrambled up onto the table beside Vi. It wasn’t as nearly a dangerous act as I’d imagined it to be. Maybe the white platform shoes Susanna had pushed on us weren’t so bad. I gulped down more of my drink. No. Bright white platforms that laced around my ankles and tied into a bow in the back were that bad. They were worse than that bad. It was like, shoe-pocolypse.

For whatever reason, I suddenly couldn’t stop laughing. Our dancing was clumsy and off balance, far more singing and arm movements than anything, but it was the most fun I’d had in two days. Some of my moves might have actually been from Thriller, not a BSB video. Such is life. My shoulder wiggle game was on point.

The moment the song was over, Vi raised her hand in the air and whooped. “To the bar!”

“Hot damn, yes.” I followed her through the crowd of reception attendees and out of the main ballroom. The bar was set up near the cookie table, so I snagged something covered in frosting and stepped in line behind Vi.

I nudged her with my shoe. “The last time I was up here, I didn’t have any cash for a tip, so I just put my hand in the jar at the same as the kid in front of me and pretended.”

“Did he fall for it?” Vi snorted as she laughed, which only made us both laugh harder. “I bet he didn’t.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Hello.” A voice behind me caught my attention, though I wasn’t sure the greeting was directed at me. It was raspy and deep, with a certain sexiness to it heightened by a British accent. I turned; he was taller than me and broad shouldered, tapering down to a slim waist, and had curly hair that just touched his shoulders. He smiled, revealing a dimple on each side of his chiseled face—was that jawline even legal?—and ran his hand through his hair. His green eyes were locked on me. Yup, the greeting was mine.

I smiled back. “Hi.” Vi was leaning heavily on my arm; I pushed her away. It was probably her way of being discreet.

“I’m Harry.”

“Okay.”

His eyebrows twitched downward into a frown; he quickly recovered. “Harry Styles.”

“Okay.” I nudged Vi away harder this time, hissing over my shoulder, “Can you contain yourself for two seconds?”

Harry chuckled. “Harry Styles of One Direction.”

The way he said it made me feel like this bit of information should mean something to me; whether it was the alcohol or me being lame, it didn’t. “I’m Laney Lee of the bridal party. Which, incidentally rhymes.”

He smiled again, he was sexy. And he knew it, I had that feeling. He didn’t come off as arrogant, per se, but he definitely carried himself like he was used to getting what he wanted. Probably who he wanted, too. “Laney Lee is an adorable name.”

“Yeah, it’s awesome.” My confidence was fueled by my alcohol consumption, so I didn’t even attempt to conceal my obvious checking out of his body. He was wearing tight black pants, black boots, and a mostly unbuttoned black linen shirt. I revised my earlier estimation: He was fucking hot. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that you’re not friends with the bride.”

“And why’s that, Miss Laney Lee?”

“Because you’re not from school and she’s from—fuck, Vi, where is she from? Aberdeen? Yeah, she’s from Aberdeen and you are definitely not from Aberdeen.” I stumbled over my platforms and tried to make it look graceful, leaning up against the bar. “Can I get a shot of bourbon? And whatever that signature drink was, red headed slut? Vi, what was it called?”

“The bride is the red headed slut, the drink was the penny pincher long bottom or something.” She was staring at Harry, her drink poised in front of her lips. She wasn’t actually drinking, though, which was odd.

The bartender looked bored. “I should cut you off.”

“I’m in the wedding party. Just ask Clementine Darling here, as she is also in the wedding party.”

Harry glanced between us, his eyebrow cocked up in curiosity. “I thought you said your name was Laney Lee.”

“It is.” I threw back the bourbon and then waited while the bartender mixed the other drink; the name of which I still didn’t know. Damn. “My middle name is Clementine which, apparently, some people here think is hilarious.”

“It is.” Vi was still staring at him. “Hilarious.”

I was starting to feel a little uncomfortable about this, like she knew something I didn’t. “It’s not, actually, hilarious.”

He stepped up to the bar beside me, a movement that was casual but, at the same time, seemed insanely intimate. He nudged my shot glass back the bartender. “She wants another. I’ll have the same, as well as a Jack and Coke.”

“You mean to tell me the penny pincher long bottom signature drink didn’t sound appealing to you?” I raised my eyebrows. “Because, it’s pretty fabulous.”

“It’s a Skinflint Knickerbottom.” The bartender handed me my drink and then poured the two shots. “Jack and Coke coming up.”

Harry reached around me and stuffed a few bills into the tip jar. As he moved back to pick up his shot glass, his fingertips brushed against my arm. Excitement surged across my abdomen like a jolt of electricity. He knew exactly what he was doing and I didn’t mind one damn bit. “I’m…uh…not entirely sure what a Skinfint Knickerbottom is. It sounds rather painful.”

“Susanna told us but I’ll be honest with you, I wasn’t listening.” I picked up my shot glass; he extended his to me and we touched them together before throwing them back. Fuck, his cologne smelled amazing, musky and spicy and seductive. I didn’t feel surprised that he’d smell like this. “Something to do with old timeyness and the East Coast. Which, considering she’s from Aberdeen, is odd. Actually, there’s little about this whole wedding thing that I don’t find increasingly odd.”

He chuckled and took his drink from the bartender, then fell into step beside me. I wasn’t sure exactly where we were headed, but I was fine with this. He could read me the guest list with that raspy, sexy voice of his and I’d be enthralled. “How do you know the bride?”

“We’re all in college together, back in Philadelphia.”

“Are you from Philadelphia, Laney Lee?” He looked genuinely interested. Also odd. This was not how most guys hit on drunk bridesmaids; but then, from the way Vi was acting, I wasn’t convinced Harry Styles was like most guys.

“No, I’m from NOVA.” I caught myself. “I mean, Northern Virginia. Richmond.”

His shoulder brushed up against mine as we walked, more tingles and electricity through my core straight through to my lower abdomen. “Your accent is almost as adorable as you.”

“Um, no, let’s discuss sexy accents. Your accent is the kind that makes pulses across the world flutter. You’re from Great Britain?”

“Cheshire.” He smiled at me. I wanted to dip my fingertip into his dimple. “The way you say Great Britain is the sexiest way I’ve heard it pronounced.”

“It’s all the heat and gin in the South; it makes us talk slow and enunciate like it’s our day job.” I shrugged casually. “How do you know the groom?”

“Music industry.” He hesitated for a moment. “I’m…um…in a group.”

I looked at him. Between how hard I was crushing on him and the alcohol I’d consumed, it was hard to focus. “A group? Of what?”

“A music group. A band.”

“That would make sense, wouldn’t it?” I giggled. “I’m not usually this dumb. It’s the alcohol. And the alcohol wouldn’t have had to happen if the bride didn’t make me want to slam my hand in a drawer. Repeatedly.”

He chuckled and opened his mouth to speak. Before he could utter a word, however, a shorter guy with clear blue eyes and messy brown hair bounded up and flopped his arm over his shoulder. “Hey, lad, whatcha—ah, it’s you!”

“Me.” I repeated, arching my eyebrow upward. Harry’s cheeks had noticeably reddened and he sheepishly shrugged. “Yes. Yes, it’s me.”

The shorter guy continued. “The one with the legs.”

I burst out laughing and snagged another cookie from the table. Time to carb up: suddenly being drunk off my ass didn’t seem quite so appealing. These guys seemed more fun than passing out at the banquet table which, previously, had been my plan for escaping the evening. “That’s an accurate description, granted, but all the bridesmaids have legs.”

“Not legs like yours.” Harry’s eyes widened as if he hadn’t meant to blurt that out aloud. It was adorable. “I mean, your tattoos.”

“But you do have nice legs.” The other guy flashed a charming smile. “Just so you know.”

I glanced down at my legs. The tops of my feet—which they couldn’t see—was a tangle of watercolor flowers and splotches to look like streaks of paint, with two sparrows on the front of my ankles winding up my calves. The backs of my legs were just tall watercolor cherry blossoms and lavender with splotches of blue and swooshes of green behind them. “Yeah, they’re pretty spiffy. It took like, three sessions to get it all done. I have a high pain tolerance.”

“That’s amazing.” Harry smiled again. His eyes were locked on me, as if no one else in the room existed. His intensity made my cheeks burn. There were a lot of people here—a lot I’d classify as sexier than me—but he seemed captivated.

Or, I could just be drunk.

I heard Vi exhale loudly. Damn—I’d forgotten she was there. “Laney. Seriously. You don’t know who they are?”

“Well, I know he’s Harry,” I reached out and touched his upper arm. It was a mistake: I immediately felt his rock hard bicep and nearly squealed out loud, “and this is a guy who knows Harry.”

“Louis.” Louis, apparently, said. He smiled at me again.

“And Louis.”

“One Direction.” Vi rolled her eyes dramatically, her body swaying with the movement. She steadied herself and then stared at me, speaking slower and louder. “One. Direction.”

I stared back. “Okay.”

Harry and Louis were chuckling. After a beat, Louis whispered something in Harry’s ear; he blushed again.

“They’re famous.” Vi again sighed loudly. “What planet have you been on since 2011?”

I exchanged a glance with Harry. His eyes looked downcast, as if this sudden affirmation of who he was completely bummed him out. This was flat out bizarre: first he tried to use it as a pick up line (lame) and now he acted let down I knew who he was. Either way, the way he chewed on his lower lip was slowly, painfully, driving me insane. I wanted to nibble on that lip. I gulped down more of my drink, shrugging casually. “Okay. My hips are pierced.”

“I know, I was with you when you got it done. What does that have to do with One Direction?”

“Nothing. I thought we were just announcing random trivia about ourselves.” I paused. “I was a vegetarian for nine months but it ended in massive failure. It involved a lot of taco dip.”

“Wait,” Louis held his hands up, “You said your hips are pierced. You’re joking.”

I shook my head and motioned towards my abdomen. “No, they’re pierced. Here and here.”

“Prove it.”

“That’s a lame pick up line.” I threw back the rest of my drink and discarded the cup on the cookie table. “Just so you know.”

“If you can’t prove it, then I can’t believe it’s true.” Louis crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“They’re just dermal piercings, dude, not like enormous hoops sticking out of my hip bones. Besides, a girl has to have some secrets, right?” I touched Harry’s arm again. “What kind of ink do you have?”

“Lots.” He smiled coyly. “You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

I stepped closer to him and touched my ankle to his leg, sliding it upward and showing off my water color tattoos. “See?”

“You don’t play by the rules, Laney Lee.” He sucked in a deep breath. “That’s not fair at all.”

“I’m just playing by your rules.”

“We could always break them.” He touched his hand to my hip, pulling me to him. His thumb hit the stud in my hip, sending waves of pleasure through my body. It didn’t hurt—the piercing was well healed—but I didn’t expect him to find it first try. Damn.

“I’d have to take my clothes off to show you my tattoos.” I looked up at him. “The good ones anyway.”

His eyes were still locked on mine, his lips pursed in a smirk. It was hard to tell if he was accepting it as a challenge or just really bad, drunken flirting. After a moment, he tugged up the front of his shirt. My eyes drifted across random ink on his upper and lower abdomen—but locked on his washboard abs and toned, chiseled physique.

“That’s hot.” I murmured. “And incredibly unfair.”

“Delaney!”

I jumped slightly at the sudden bark of my legal first name, uttered more like a command than a simple greeting. The maid of honor—Susanna’s biological sister—Sunshine was storming through the open French doors to the ballroom, her hands on her hips. For a moment, the alcohol pursing through my veins made me giggle. She looked like a hot pink teapot. And she promptly glared at me. “I expected you to be at the bar.”

I smiled sweetly at her. “I’m not at the bar. I’m twenty feet or so from the bar chatting with some dapper gentlemen.”

“You’re supposed to be dancing.” Sunshine glared at Harry and Louis, evidently not impressed with them. “Not flirting.”

I snorted—not classy. There was no possible way to regain classy status after a snort-laugh, so I just rolled my eyes. “Look. I’ve served my time. I was at the rehearsal. I was at the rehearsal dinner where I ate a lot of gluten free food and endives. I partook in happy pictures while we got ready this morning, I sashayed down the aisle and stood in front of a lot of people while Susanna pledged her unending devotion to a douche bag who looked me square in the boobs when he met me, I posed for thousands of pictures, and I danced the bridal dance, ate the cake, and I didn’t catch the bouquet because I frown at competition. There’s nothing left for me to do. I did not sign a contract.”

“You’re the worst bridesmaid ever.”

“I’m sure I’ll somehow manage to pick up the pieces.” She grabbed Vi’s arm and yanked her forward. “Fine. You stay here and be lame just like everyone says you are. We’ll go have fun.”

Vi saluted her and burst into drunken giggles. “You stay classy, Captain Lame-o.”

“Damn, I hold rank? I should have put that in my high school year book, but I went with that quote from Voltaire.” I glanced at Harry. His full lips were tightened in a repressed laugh; an action that failed to make me want to kiss him less. “But, thanks for pointing out my social awkwardness. It’s been fun.”

I realized I should probably be more embarrassed over this than I felt; alcohol strikes again. “Sorry.” I smiled at Harry—he promptly responded with a dimple punctuated grin. “And now I feel really uncomfortable.”

“Don’t.” Louis shrugged his shoulder. “You’re hot.”

“I’m slightly tipsy and sick of these hideous shoes. There’s just no excuse for me, I know, but I deserve credit for being a good girl,” I hesitated and again looked up at Harry, “until now.”

He was still smiling at me. “You should hang out with us.”

The suggestion caught me off guard. Like he had to ask me twice. I knew I was smiling like a damn idiot, but I managed to restrain myself to a subtle nod. “I needed you guys twenty minutes ago to avoid an awkward table dance and that train wreck you just witnessed.”

“I quite liked your table dance, actually.” He smiled coyly and then slid his hand to my lower back, nudging me forward. The pressure was tantalizing; light enough to not necessarily be inappropriate, but still with enough force to let me know he knew exactly what he was doing. “We could just sit over there, if you want.”

Strains of a vaguely familiar song wafted out of the ballroom. Louis fell into step beside us, wrinkling up his nose. “Let’s go far from here, shall we? Away from that song.”

Bing. No more calls we have a winner. “Oh, that’s you guys—One Direction. Best Song Ever. Tell me I win a prize or something because it boggles my mind that I actually know that.”

Neither spoke; I stopped walking, causing Harry to bump into me. He slid his hand from my back to my waist and I turned, almost—but not quite—wrapping myself in his arms. Fucking alcohol: if I’d known this was going to happen, I’ve have drunk water all night. “It’s…um…okay that I know that, right? Because your lack of comment concerns me. Wait, that’s not the song title, is it? Or, worse, that’s not you who sing it? It was 5ive, wasn’t it? Back in the 90s. It was 5ive.”

Harry held me to him casually, like I was meant to be in his arms. It felt like I fit there perfectly; his height and broad shoulders the perfect counter balance to my short stature. I wondered if he thought so too. His fingertips seemed to be searching my lower abdomen for the stud of my hip piercing. His eyes searched mine, his lips in a pouty smirk. “You’re not a pop music kind of girl, are you, Laney Lee?” It was a statement, not a question.

“I’m a classical music kind of girl. Bach, Brahms, Beethoven, Mozart, Shubert. And, when I’m not listening to that, I listen to death metal. I think pop music falls somewhere in between, but I prefer to be a lady of extremes.”

He flicked his finger over the stud by my right hip. “There’s something very sexy about a girl who likes classical music.”

“You haven’t lived until you’ve rocked out to Bach’s Toccata in D Minor as a metal ballad.” I inwardly groaned. Why the fuck did I say that?

"She gets points for knowing 5ive. So, let’s get out of here.” Louis was glancing around at several attendees loitering outside the ballroom. There was a marked interest that I hadn’t noticed before, like people were taking in the three of us standing so close together. “People are starting to look at us.”

“Do you want to go somewhere quieter? Just talk and…whatever.” Harry looked hopeful, his green eyes wide with anticipation. It made my heart flutter in my chest, flittering upward towards my throat. I didn’t care where he wanted to go; I just wanted to feel his hands on me again—and for longer this time.

“Sure.” I looked up at him and pursed my lips into a smile. “We could go upstairs to the bridal party suite. There’s champagne up there.”

“Lead the way.” He again slid his hand to my low back, matching his pace to mine as we walked towards the elevators. His stance was comfortable and insanely intimate. I still couldn’t decide precisely what was happening. Was this guy legitimately interested in me? Or, was he just used to scoring with groupies and was just looking for a quick fuck? Because, as much as I fully endorse quick fucks, I wasn’t interested in being another notch in his belt.

A guy and girl were heading towards the ballroom; he was impeccably dressed in a suit and she was tall, statuesque and gorgeous in a tight black dress. The guy nodded his head at Harry. “You two are stealing a bridesmaid? Can’t you just steal silverware like everyone else? Sophie’s got a whole purse full.”

“I stole a spoon just for you.” Harry grinned broadly, sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth. “Laney, this is Liam. He’s with us.”

“Ah, the one with the legs!” he grinned. “Running off with these lads? They’re naughty boys.”

“I only look sweet and innocent, so it works out well.” I glanced at Harry, gently nudging him with my elbow. “I am interested, though, about who started this rumor about me being the one with the legs. I’m used to being the one with the blue hair. This leg fetish is new.”

“It…erm…it was a…mutual decision, actually.”

“Okay, good talk.” I nudged him again, this time with my hip. He nudged me back with his.

It was hot.

Liam was glancing between me and Harry. “And…so…you’re a bridesmaid?”

“I was earlier. By this time in the evening, I may have been demoted squarely down to nameless wedding attendee. It remains to be seen.”

“The maid of honor did not look impressed with you choosing us over her.” Louis pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and glanced at the face. “I gotta split, dude, and get Niall from the airport. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Liam clapped him on the shoulder. “Stay safe, man.”

“What’s he gonna do? Steal me Lucky Charms?” Louis winked at me. “Hopefully, I’ll see you again, lovely.”

“Nice to meet you, Louis. Peace out.”

Liam cocked his head towards the ballroom, where the strains of Etta James ‘At Last’ was slinking into the corridor. “I promised Sophia a slow dance and it’s time to follow through. Watch out for this boy, love, he’s a heartbreaker.”

“Not on purpose.” Harry pouted and then winked at me. “Nobody asked you anyway, old man.”

“Nice to meet Laney.” Liam smiled at me as he led Sophia towards the ballroom. His smile was genuine. He seemed like a sweet guy—they all seemed sweet (though Louis seemed to hover on the sassy side). It was just a friendly reminder that celebrities are people too…well, maybe not Betty White. Betty White is a national treasure.

I realized Harry was looking at me, his eyes unabashedly trailing down my body. “So, love, now I’ve got you all to myself.”

“And what do you plan on doing with me?”

He smirked, tapping his index finger to his lip, thoughtfully looking up to the ceiling. “How about we start with that champagne?”

Notes