Sutton saves the day by taking my hand, smiling up at me like I’m her whole world. It makes my heart hitch. It makes my breath stop. And everything freezes. I feel like it’s just us standing here. It surprises the hell out of me, and it scares the hell out of me too. Especially since a part of me wishes the look could be real.
“Go,” Mom says more gently. “Get in line. It looks like it’s nearing the end anyway.”
I make a fast exit out the side aisle before she can change her mind. Sutton keeps up with me, so I don’t have to drag her along. She keeps her hand clenched tightly around mine, a silent gesture of support I appreciate the hell out of. Only Sutton wouldn’t ask me why I wasn’t in the wedding party. Why I didn’t walk my sister down the aisle. Only Sutton wouldn’t dig and dig and dig into the parts I’m not ready to talk about with anyone.
I feel like I have to give her something, so near the back of the line that is actually quite short by now, I bend my head and whisper near her ear. “I hate public things. I told my sister if I had to stand up there, I’d puke for sure. I wasn’t kidding. As for the rest, I—I’m not my dad. It didn’t feel right pretending. And I would have probably puked all over her dress with everyone staring at me. She knows me. She might have been disappointed, but she gets it.”
Sutton’s brows lift up just a fraction. “But you lead board meetings all the time. Talk with clients.”
“I also don’t do presentations or speak to audiences. Ever.”
“Yeah, I know. I see that now. Thank goodness I’ve never had to prepare a motivational speech for you. Not that I could. I’m actually quite pessimistic about most things.”
“You?”
The very tiny, very fine lines bracketing her eyes crinkle when she wrinkles her nose up at me. “Yes, me. Does it surprise you?”
Does it? I realize that for a person I’ve worked with closely for a very long time, I hardly know anything about Sutton at all. I know important details, like how she lives with her grandmother and is willing to lick the cheese off someone else’s pizza. I also know what her pussy tastes like…
Shit. Now my cock is rock hard, and even though my jeans are tight, it only goes so far to hide what’s going on. I try and think about something horrible and gross to deflate it, but nothing works. The line moves, and I’m getting closer and closer to the wedding party. And my sister. I cannot hug my sister with a fucking boner.
Panic sets in. Sutton is still holding my hand. Dutifully. Still, it’s warm. Tight. Which makes me think about something else that is warm and tight. I have a pretty bad memory, but as for how she tasted, how she felt, the sounds she made, and her delicious scent, those are ingrained in my mind for life, which isn’t helping. At all.
“Make an excuse for me.” I rip my hand from Sutton’s. “I—tell my sister I’ll catch up with her in a bit. I just…I have to…I have to uh—go to the bathroom. Like right now.”
She stares blankly back at me. Okay, yeah, so it’s not normal to just blurt that out, but then again, I did just tell her about the way I get nervous and my penchant for throwing up when stuff like that happens or peeing my pants, as my grade three choral speaking has proven.
“Okay.” She looks terrified at having to face the hug line alone.
“I’m sorry. This is…it’s urgent.”
“Are you okay? Philippe?”
Great. Now Sutton is looking at me like I’m about to have another panic attack or worse. I hate the frantic concern flooding her face. “Yeah.” I bend down and brush a quick kiss over her temple, half to throw her off guard, half to assure her. “I’m good. Just really do have to pee.”
“Erm…okay…”
I make a mad dash for the exit, walking in the exact opposite direction of the bridal party. I feel terrible about abandoning Sutton, but I cannot, absolutely cannot freaking stand in that line with a noticeable freaking erection.
I head down the hallway with the bathroom sign at the top and burst into the men’s. Thank god no one is in there at the moment. It’s a big bathroom. There are four stalls, so I lock myself into the first one and lean against the wall.
Oddly and ironically enough, there were words engraved across the door of the stall. Have you done something today that would make someone proud?
No. No, I have not. I’ve done the exact opposite. I glare down at my jeans. They’re not skintight, but they’re tight enough to show the bulge of my hard dick. Eff you, you bastard. Why! Why now! Why won’t you just listen to me? Perhaps the more pressing question is, why do I have a hard-on for my fake girlfriend? For my secretary? Oh, yes, that’s right. Something about the little incident that never happened. When I ate her perfect pussy while she was propped up on my bathroom counter with her heels pressed into my back.
Fuuuuuuuuuuucccccckkkkkkkkkkk.
At this rate, I’m never going to be able to get out of here.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. It doesn’t help. And another. Nothing is going to help. I can’t just whip off my jacket and wrap it around my damn waist, but I can’t hide in here forever either. Maybe I can find
