Brooke

I love weddings.

"Take this to table one, please," I tell one of the servers. "The bride ordered chicken with a side of brown rice, not the white."

The cute purple clad waitress nods and weaves through the dinner party like a champ. I smile to myself, marking off a check on Get FOB through the wedding sober! and glance up at Mr. Heubert. His champagne glass is full of sparkling cider-delivered it myself-so he's not tempted to get shitfaced and start singing My Little Girl in a bunch of slurs. It was my top priority for this wedding, and I rocked it.

A flash goes off from the corner, and Nate pauses and adjusts before another flash. He looks sexy in his suit, shirt buttoned all the way to the top, thanks to yours truly, and his glossy purple tie swings down his torso. I wish he knew how appealing that is. Mmm.

"Brooke?" Ms. Marks says through my headset. "I need our MOH and best man to prepare for their speeches. Refill all champagne glasses for the toast in twelve minutes."

"I'm on it."

I'm kicking ass on this wedding. So far everything has run on time and I haven't lost anyone's microphone. And I look incredibly cute in my wedding assistant attire. When I put it on, I stood in front of the mirror, headset settled in my ear and I repeated, "Yes, Ms. Marks" and "It's already been taken care of, Ms. Marks" and my personal favorite, "Nate, tuck in your shirt." I look so legit, I've been goofy smiling every second I find no one looking.

I get the head caterer and everyone's glass is filled before our best man stands and taps the edge of his. Nate moves his 35 mm to the side and pulls out the digital, adjusting the lens and works at lightning speed. I can't help the curve of my lips as I watch him work, crouching in his suit, leaning over tables, weaving through people. Click, click, click...every shot feels like it's on purpose, yet he's not distracting anyone in the room-minus me.

My body flushes and tingles as I watch him work, trying not to remember the way he moved against me last night, but also trying not to forget it either. I've never been much of a dancer. I've done the girl-on-girl thing with Tasha and Morgan just to get this guy Morgan was making eyes at revved up enough to pull her away, but honestly, I just stood in the middle laughing while they grinded around me.

Nate was different. I thought dancing had a pattern-a certain planned way of moving so it looks good. And he told me to just go with it and I kept thinking he was nuts, I'll look like an idiot. I may have looked completely out of rhythm, but I felt incredible. He felt incredible. If we weren't working, and this was a wedding where we were actually guests, I think I'd want to walk out on the dance floor again with him.

I shake my head and laugh to myself. Stop looking at him, Brooke. I am at work, damn it. I did not schedule time to get distracted.

I lean back on the bar, muting my headset and focus on the wedding itself. It's so romantic with the scents in the air and the décor, I let my mind wander to that day when I'll be the blushing bride, snuggling with my new hubby at the head table, surrounded by more people than can fit in the big hall. But when my eyes drift back to Nate, I think about what he said about Elvis and the back of a junky car, and even that sounds romantic...if it's with the right person.

There I go watching him again. I can't help it!

Our maid of honor wraps up the toasts, and Nate finds his way to me while everyone claps. We have exactly fifteen minutes of "wait time" before we move everyone into the ballroom.

"Did you get any special moments?" I ask, grabbing my glass of wine and taking a sip. I don't normally drink even though Ms. Marks says I'm allowed one glass on the clock, but I need something to do with my lips.

The side of his mouth quirks up and he leans into me, smelling completely lickable. I involuntarily take a deep inhale.

"Do you want to see?"

I nod, taking another sip to hide the wide grin that has nothing to do with looking at pictures, and he pulls his camera in front of us.

He flicks through the shots, each one as brilliant as the next, and I know he'll make them even more amazing after he works his Photoshop skills on his computer in the room later. My eyes drift from the camera, over his masculine, strong hands, up his suit covered forearm and eventually land on his profile, which is so close I can count the hairs on his lightly scruffed face. He has good cheekbones. And a strong jaw. There's a small scar near his eye, and when he laughs at a picture it crinkles and twitches. It's so cute I want to touch it.

"Brooke, you're supposed to be looking at the pictures." His eyes shoot to mine, and I jump because he caught me gawking, and the wine splashes from my glass...and onto his crisp white shirt.

Shit!

He pushes his cameras out of the way, luckily I didn't get those, but still, that shirt and red wine... I quickly put my drink down and smack the top of the bar.

"Club soda, quick!" I panic at the bartender. Once he gets the glass to me, I snatch it up, and grab Nate's wrist, and tug him through the dining hall.

I push him into the ladies' room and check all the stalls before swinging the lock shut on the main door. He raises an eyebrow, then laughs his ass off as I make quick work of his tie.

"Get this jacket off," I rush. "Hurry up. It's getting worse by the second."

He shrugs his suit coat down his arms, and I dig through my emergency kit. Please tell me I have it packed. I've had a very distracting couple of days and if I'm not on my game, Nate will be walking around this wedding with wine all over him.

"There you are," I say to my stain remover. I let it fall to the counter next to Nate's tie and turn back to him, opening the buttons on his shirt with a speed I had no idea I was capable of.

"Whoa there!" He laughs again as I spin him around, grab the collar of his shirt and yank. I'm glad he thinks this is funny. Not. Every second this red stain is creeping into the fabric permanently.

I grab the club soda, my Tide stick, and work my magic. A big gush of relief leaves my mouth as the red slowly disappears.

Nate slides up behind me, gazing over my shoulder as I hold the shirt out. Perfection. Just need to dry it off.

"If you pull a blow dryer out of that purse, I'm calling you Mary Poppins."

I roll my eyes and turn to the hand dryer, but my eyes drift to his white undershirt, a big red stain right under his pec staring me in the face.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

I throw his button-up over my right shoulder and dive for his undershirt. My nails scratch his sides as I tug it off. I try my best not to get distracted by the feel of his skin, but my knuckles seem to be filled with buzzing sensations as I work more stain removing magic.

He leans against the counter, folding his arms and watching me. It's then I realize this may not have been the best idea. I was so in the Business Brooke mode, it's just now hitting me I basically stripped him in the women's bathroom. And now he's leaning next to me with his shirt off and my eyes want to dart to his skin, the muscles on his arms, the dark hair sprinkled across his chest, and down, down, down to see exactly how low those slacks are on him.

But I keep my gaze locked on his shirt, scrubbing so hard I think I may put a hole through the fabric.

"Uh, I think you got it, Brooke."

"Oh." I cap the Tide pen with shaking fingers and take a deep breath. My body is buzzing with heat, and if he doesn't move two inches to the left I'm going to send him up in smoke. I shake my head and scoot around him to the hand dryers. Focus, damn it. We can't be gone too long and the bouquet toss is in...

"Oh shit!"

He bolts to my side, taking his shirt and looking at it from every angle. "What happened?"

I shake my head. "Not your shirt. I left the throw bouquet upstairs." I turn, my intention to get out of this bathroom and up to our suite, but I'm stopped by Nate and his sexy as hell bare torso. He reaches around me to continue drying his clothes, and I'm frozen to the spot. His chest is so close, and if I thought I was on fire before, I now feel like I'm in an inferno. My neck is probably tomato red and cheeks filled to the blush max. I can't breathe, and this is so abnormal for me because I'm in control of everything. I see half naked guys, and I can function just fine. But Nate's body heat swims with mine... plus the heat from the dryer and the way he keeps flicking his eyes to mine and smiling, just like last night when his lips were so close...

I'm going freaking crazy. I'm so wound up I can't think straight.

"Better go get it then." He nudges me, bare skin to bare skin and I have the sudden urge to clench my legs together.

"Eh?"

"The bouquet..."

Oh! "Right, right." I snap my eyes shut just so I can get past him. "I-I'll be right back down."

I throw open the lock, and click out of the women's room so fast it sounds like I'm tap dancing my way out. I'm still calming my breathing when I get to the elevator. When the doors close leaving me by myself I fan my face, inhale...exhale...try not to picture his chest and his face and his hands and his arms and his...everything. He's got me so jacked up I can't even walk. I trip and fall over myself to our room. It takes me a few seconds to get the key in the door.

The bouquet rests neatly in the sitting room, but I so can't work like this. I need a minute. I didn't schedule a minute, but I also didn't schedule spilling wine all over Nate's white shirt and spending five minutes alone with him shirtless in the bathroom.

Instead of heading to the bouquet, I go to my room. I grab a mini-fan I have packed in my extra purse and sit on the edge of the bed and let it cool my face. I really should stick it between my legs.

Actually... maybe that's not a bad idea. Not the fan, but I need to cool off...unwind so I can do my damn job. It shouldn't take long. I've got fresh memories of a sexy chest and cute smile. And I'm pretty sure things have been buzzing for weeks down there, and I haven't done anything about it. Nate said it helps with pressure. Relieve the pressure, and rock the rest of this reception.

I stand up, bunching up my dress and hooking my thumbs in the edges of my "after dinner party" panties.

Five minutes. That's all I need. Five minutes to unwind, and I'll be back on my game.