Bad Bridesmaid (Billionaire's Club Book 11) by Elise Faber (important books to read txt) 📕

traced her down then up. “Sure you can handle that cock, baby?”

She had handled that cock.

Six months ago, Jaime’s brother Brad had stopped in the Bay Area for a quick visit, and she’d had a few too many glasses of wine. He’d offered her a ride home . . . and then he’d given her a fucking ride.

So yeah, she’d had that cock, and she couldn’t lie, it had been incredible.

But . . . he’d been gone before she’d woken the next morning.

And she might be tough on the outside, she might be a strong, independent woman who hadn’t been expecting a ring and a relationship, but she’d thought she at least warranted a note or a text or a fucking goodbye.

Heidi sniffed. “I’ve had plenty of cocks in my life,” she said, chin lifting, eyes narrowing. “And none are more than I can handle.”

She pushed past him.

He snagged her arm.

She yanked it free, stepped back when he went to grab her again. “Don’t,” she snapped. “Just because I made a mistake once doesn’t mean I’m easy prey now.”

A cocky—no pun intended this time—smile. “Mistake? I happened to think we were—”

“That was your mistake,” she said, glaring. “Thinking.”

Pretty hazel eyes flared. “Baby—”

“Not. Your. Baby.”

A sigh. “Heidi.”

“Yes, Brad, the groomsman who should be paying attention to his brother’s wedding instead of bothering a woman who isn’t interested?” It wasn’t a sweet question, for as sickly saccharine as her tone was.

“I think—”

She rolled her eyes. “Not that again.”

Heidi didn’t mean to. It just . . . it all happened so fast.

Brad grabbed her arm.

She shoved him back at the same time the crate door burst open, and Sir Fuzzy McFeatherston shot out of the pen.

The rooster took off running.

Brad lost his footing, crashed into a waiter, who was carrying a large tray of appetizers.

The food went flying.

Brad went flying . . . into the cake table.

Sir Fuzzy McFeatherston went flying, feathers scattering in all directions.

The tray came down.

And Heidi didn’t think she’d ever forget the sound of it colliding with Brad’s head.

Nor how much joy it gave her.

At least until she took a step back, promptly tripped over the fucking rooster . . . and ended up sprawled across Brad’s chest.

Fuck, she loved that chest.

Two

Heidi

“I am so, so, so sorry,” she said, wiping cake off her temple. “I—”

Kate giggled and swiped a finger through the frosting currently occupying space on her cheek. “I told you, it’s fine. The Fuzz is a naughty rooster, and I should have known better than to think he would behave at a wedding of all places.”

Heidi grabbed her friend’s hands. “He was the cutest ring bearer ever.”

Kate’s face softened, and she pulled free to grab another towel from the counter of the tiny bathroom they’d sequestered themselves in after the cake debacle, dampening it and working at the frosting embedded in one of Heidi’s curls. “He was, wasn’t he?”

Heidi snagged the towel and nudged her friend toward the door. “Go, babe. Enjoy your big party.” She forced a smile. “I’ll do my best to not ruin anything else.”

“Heid—”

She reached for the handle, tugged open the wooden panel, nudged her friend out into the hall. The music vibrated through the airwaves, punctuated by laughter and conversation. “Go. Dance yourself into sweaty exhaustion. I’ll be out once I’m frosting free.”

Kate hesitated.

“Go. This is your night. I’m fine.”

With a nod and a squeeze of Heidi’s arm, Kate disappeared down the hall, her dress swishing and sparkling in her wake.

Her friend was a goddess.

Thankfully, Jaime realized how lucky he was and treated Kate right.

Which meant Heidi didn’t have to kill him.

Snorting to herself, she closed the door, going back to work on her frosting-filled curls, and eventually just gave up on her half-up, half-down hairdo and started to take bobby pins out, lining them up neatly on the counter.

The door opened as she had her chin tucked to her chest, staring at the line of pins on the white granite while fighting with a pin stuck right at her nape.

“Go party, Katie,” she said, fingers trying and failing to grasp the little folded piece of metal. “I’m fine.”

Fingers on her nape, tugging the bobby pin out.

“Thank—” She glanced up and saw that it wasn’t Kate in the bathroom with her, guilt drawing her back from her own party to help Heidi out.

It was him.

Brad.

Brother of the groom, best lay of her life, and a complete and utter player who was . . . looking at her like he wanted them to play all over again.

Look, she couldn’t lie. A part of her wanted that—wanted the hot, sweaty sex, wanted him to hoist her up onto the counter, lift her dress, and plunge home, over and over again. But the rest of her still had some self-respect left. She was smart and reasonably pretty. She couldn’t hold her booze, but she was a funny drunk on the odd occasion she got that far. Plus, she could cook a mean meatloaf, bake killer chocolate chip cookies, and she always made coffee for herself and whoever stayed over—whether it be friend or fuck—first thing in the morning.

Heidi was more of a catch than not.

And she was tired of being with people who didn’t recognize that.

So there would be no hoisting onto counters or dress-lifting. And the man certainly wouldn’t be getting any of her special chocolate chip cookies or expensive, caffeine-laden coffee.

He reached up to grab another pin, and she smacked his hand away. “You can go.”

A slow, sexy smile. “I made the mess. I don’t mind cleaning it up.”

“I guess I wasn’t clear.” She kept her back to him, glaring at him in the mirror. “Go away.”

Silence.

But he didn’t move. She could feel him at her spine filling up the small bathroom, didn’t know how she could have ever thought he was Katie. The man exuded pure heat and sexually, and . . . the fucker just standing there had her lady parts all perked and at the ready, his mere presence