Best Man...with Benefits. Nancy Warren

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      Even if she’d been bored by the details, she had to admit that Amy had been right. All her planning was paying off. From the wafer-thin slices of smoked salmon and capers, to the main meal (a choice of beef Wellington, chicken in a champagne sauce or a vegetarian plate) everything was perfect. From her perch at the head table, Lauren could see that everyone was having a wonderful time.

      The frat boys acknowledged the solemnity of the occasion by banging on their wineglasses with their cutlery until Amy and Seth kissed.

      “If I ever get married, I’m eloping,” she muttered.

      She didn’t realize she’d been heard until Jackson said, “Me, too.”

      The frat boys made Amy and Seth kiss a few more times throughout the meal until, finally, it was time for the speeches. To her surprise, Jackson’s toast to the bride was both intelligent and funny. Seth’s toast to the maid of honor was more about himself and how lucky he was that Amy’s best friend liked him, to which Lauren gave a good-natured two-thumbs-up, hoping that thumb-raising didn’t constitute actual lying.

      Just when it seemed that the formal part of the evening was ending, the frat boys started banging away on their glasses again. Really, those servers needed to take their spoons away and send them to their rooms.

      Amy and Seth rose, and Willy, whom she’d nicknamed Head Frat Boy, yelled, “Everybody at the head table. Let’s see some kissing.”

      There was a moment of stunned silence.

      “Oh, no,” she said.

      At the same moment, Jackson muttered, “I don’t think so,” but as the sound of cutlery on glassware increased, the two sets of parents struggled to their feet. She and Jackson both remained seated until Amy and Seth laughed down at them, Amy saying, “Come on, you guys,” and Lauren realized they’d only appear more foolish refusing to play along.

      “I am so eloping,” she said as she rose reluctantly to her feet.

      “Me, too,” Jackson agreed. “Let’s get this over with,” he added, in the tone he’d probably have used on his way to a firing squad.

      And then he kissed her.

      Glasses clinked and wolves whistled and wedding guests clapped and cheered.

      And she felt his mouth on hers. Warm. Not icky at all, in fact, but kind of nice. It was pretty much the briefest possible press of closed lips to closed lips, but still, there was a tiny buzz of something that snapped back and forth between them.

      She sat back down as quickly as she could, banging her butt on the chair.

      A couple of dances, she said to herself, circulate, make more small talk, and then I can go to bed. She’d been up way too late working, and then Amy had called her way too early this morning to remind her to bring a bathing suit. “Because we are going to hit the spa.”

      Lauren had no idea when they were going to squeeze in time at the spa, but she’d thrown her bathing suit in her suitcase anyway and, giving up on any more sleep, padded to her tiny kitchen to brew coffee.

      The short night and long day were catching up with her now. One of the perks of her position of maid of honor was that Amy’s parents had insisted on paying for her room. She had a lovely room on the third floor overlooking the ocean. It was dominated by a big, decadent bed, where she could sleep as long as she wanted.

      Hotel Messina was the kind of hotel that contained a sprung dance floor at one end of the ballroom and a stage large enough for a big band. In its heyday the hotel had boasted its own band and the rich and famous had waltzed and fox-trotted many a night away here. The French doors were all open to the breeze when the orchestra struck up, and the MC called out the wedding couple for their first dance.

      “Hope I don’t fall off my heels,” Amy said as she walked behind Lauren and giggled.

      “You’ll be fine,” she whispered back.

      Maybe it was corny and sentimental, but she had a moment, watching her best friend dance with her brand-new husband. They held each other briefly and then began to move with the music they’d chosen. She’d tried to talk Amy out of it, but ever since she’d seen Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio on the prow of the Titanic she’d been determined that “My Heart Will Go On” would be her wedding song. Lauren had assumed she’d grow out of that idea, but no. And yet, as she watched her best friend in the arms of her new husband, waltzing to Celine Dion, she felt a real hope that they’d be this happy forever.

      “And now, would the parents join Mr. and Mrs. Beauregard, please. And the maid of honor and the best man,” the rich voice said into the mic.

      Oh, crap. This was the part she’d dreaded.

      Jackson looked as thrilled as she was as he led the way to the dance floor. They didn’t touch until they were pretty much forced to.

      He put a hand on her waist.

      She put a hand on his shoulder.

      He took her other hand. “Ready?”

      “I’ll fantasize I’m having electric-shock therapy. The time will pass.”

      He moved her in a circle. “I’ll pretend I’m having a last cigarette before the firing squad. I’ll enjoy it.”

      “You smoke?” Gross.

      “No. But I think if I knew my life was going to end in a couple of minutes anyway, I might take it up.” He twirled her around Seth’s parents. “I’d ask for a king-size cigarette. No filter.”

      She watched Amy and Seth, holding each other so close he kept stepping on her dress. “Think they’ll make it?” she asked.

      She felt him shrug as his shoulder rose up and down under her hand. “They’ve got a fifty-fifty chance, statistically.”

      * * *

      ACROSS THE ROOM, a table of men who’d all gone to boarding school with Seth and Jackson were making full use of the open bar. They’d moved on from the dinner wine and were now doing shooters.

      “Would you do her?” Willy Ragan asked in a general way, his gaze semi-focused on the dance floor.

      “Amy?” Rip Sherken asked.

      “No. She’s married, asshole. The other one.”

      “The bridesmaid?”

      “Yeah.”

      They all studied Lauren.

      “She’s hot.” Rip burped politely behind his hand. “Bet she goes for Jackson. They always go for Jackson.”

      “Not her. Haven’t you noticed? She hates him. Look at them. Acting like a couple of brooms dancing.”

      Rip snorted. “The chicks are always all over Jackson. And he gets stuck with the one woman who thinks he’s dog meat. Excellent.”

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