This isn’t happening. This is not happening.
I couldn’t stop shivering like I was cold, but the room was actually warm from all the body heat and the candles on the tables.
“You ready for this?”
I gasped, opening my eyes.
“Dale!”
“Got it.” He grinned, holding up the garter.
I didn’t bother asking how. Matt’s brother had obviously conceded, and the garter—along with the garter-holder’s responsibilities—now rested with Dale. He held it up, stretching it, wiggling his eyebrows and ogling as I slid the hemline of my skirt slowly upward. Everyone was watching, laughing at Dale’s antics. He pulled the garter back like a rubber band, making a show of taking aim, and let it go. It hit my chest and fell into my cleavage.
“Nice hit!” someone called out.
“Now go get it, boy!”
“With your mouth!”
Okay that was enough. I blushed and threw it back to him.
“Are you gonna play with it or are you gonna put it on her?”
All the voices blended together. I couldn’t differentiate one from the other. And I couldn’t focus on anything but Dale on one knee in front of me. It was the proposal stance and my breath caught as he looked up at me, garter in hand. I hadn’t seen him do this since the night Black Diamond won MTV’s Battle of the Bands, the night our lives changed forever. It was also the night he proposed, just like this, on one knee in front of thirty thousand people, holding out a velvet box and asking me to marry him.
I was still wearing the ring. I never took it off.
Dale grabbed my left foot, sliding my shoe off, letting it clatter to the floor. He tickled my instep and I giggled, pointing my toes as he slipped the garter over my foot.
“Higher!” the DJ called, encouraging the crowd—not that they needed encouragement. I was starting to lean toward Wendy and Carrie’s assessment of this ridiculous tradition. It was beyond sexist—it bordered on obscene. Of course, Dale wasn’t helping. Every time he moved the garter up when they yelled, “Higher!” he would lean down and plant a kiss there, first the top of my foot, then my ankle, now my shin. I was only peripherally aware of the photographer circling us, getting pictures for posterity. Great, we would forever be captured in Aimee’s wedding book like this, me blushing with Dale’s hand up my dress.
“Higher!”
Just below my knee. Could he feel me trembling? I met his eyes and saw the heat there. We would go home after this. I had promised. The look on his face told me we might not even make it to the parking lot, let alone home.
“Higher!”
His lips brushed my leg, just above my knee. He held my calf in one hand, cradling it as he moved his way up my thigh, inching his body between them.
“Dale!” I whispered, glancing around at the overly interested crowd.
“Higher! Higher! Higher!” they called.
Another inch, two, three. My skirt was almost all the way up, the garter pushed up to mid-thigh.
“Higher!”
His mouth on my inner thigh. Oh my god. Not here.
I closed my eyes and felt my sex clench in response, wanting him, goose flesh spreading, nipples hardening as his mouth traveled up and up.
“Okay, let’s have a round of applause for our lucky lady and gentleman,” the DJ interrupted. The crowd grumbled, but the DJ kept talking. “Let’s have everyone in a circle for the hokey pokey!”
I looked down at Dale as kids flooded the stage, dragging their inebriated parents along. Bridesmaids grabbed their husbands or their groomsman. The floor started filling up around us.
“Mine.” Dale whispered, grabbing my hands and kissing the top of each one before standing and pulling me with him.
“Do you want to do the hokey pokey?” I put my arms around his neck, standing on one foot—the one that still had a shoe. The other was still on the floor.
“Is it anything like hanky panky?” He grinned, drawing me closer. “If it is—”
“Come with me.” A low voice behind us made me startle in Dale’s arms. I turned to look, seeing a tall, bearded man who was built like a brick wall, even in a tux.
“Russell, what’s up?” Dale held me even tighter as I turned in his arms to face the giant. I’d never seen him before. “Sara, this is one of my… I guess, bodyguard is the best word. Russell, this is Sara.”
“Introductions later.” The big guy took a step toward us, grabbing Dale’s arm. “We’ve got to go.”
“What’s up?” Dale asked again, his brow furrowed. “Is something wrong?”
“We were just leaving anyway,” I said. “Just let me get my purse and my other shoe and I have to say my goodbyes—”
That’s when I heard it from across the room.
“There he is! That’s Dale Diamond!”
I felt Dale’s muscles tense instantly and before I knew what was happening, the bodyguard, Russell, pushed us in the opposite direction. I tried to protest—my purse, my other damned shoe!—as I hobbled along wearing just one heel. I couldn’t keep up this way. I glanced behind us, seeing a crowd of people—all girls as far as I could tell, none of them dressed for a wedding. They were coming after us all right. Running after us, more like it. The girl out in front looked familiar and I even hesitated for a moment, trying to remember where I’d seen her.
That’s when Dale grabbed me, twisting his body down and sideways for a moment so he could pick me up in a fireman’s carry. Then I was draped over his shoulders as Russell and Dale ran across the dance floor, breaking the hokey-pokey line where they were just putting their left foot in.
“To the left!” Russell insisted, guiding Dale. “Emergency door. I can take her if you want.”
“No.” Dale turned and hit the door with his hip. I read the red letters upside down—EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY ALARM WILL SOUND. And they weren’t kidding. It drowned out everything, the music, even the girls screaming and chasing after them. It blared out in bursts, so we heard waves of sound.
You put your—
BEEP
And shake it all about.—
BEEP