I immediately flipped out of the photos app and opened my porn account, and sure enough, instead of my recent history, there was unfamiliar stuff, her history. There was one that was obviously watched a lot, so I clicked on it. It was one of those videos that tries to add some romance and emotion to it, supposedly catering to a female audience or whatever, I guess. It was hot, though, and became all the more hot when I imagined Eva watching it right now, at that exact moment, her fingers on her clit, a big vibrator in her pussy, moaning, thinking of me…
I jerked off again, a matter of minutes after the first time, thinking of Eva. Of us. Of what we’d done, of what I wanted to do. I didn’t need porn, didn’t need visuals, just needed my own imagination and memory, and the thought of Eva.
She was all it took for me, now.
I shoved the phone in the pocket of my leather jacket, which I tugged on against the coolness of the night, and fell asleep thinking of her, hoping and hoping and hoping I’d get a chance to even see her again, to kiss her again. To find out if there was something here, or if I was fucking nuts.
13
Evangeline
With the bridal march playing, and the guests standing, I literally marched up the aisle and finally reached the archway, where Thomas and the minister were waiting. Father gave Thomas some kind of meaningful look, the way men can express a whole conversation with each other in a single manly stare, and then the minister was asking who was giving me away. Apropos, that—he reallywasgiving me away, as if I were a possession, a prized mare.
I stood, trembling, fighting tears, and trying not to think about Baxter, ignoring the nattering, rambling bullshit of the minister. I think he’d been coached on my silence, and had tailored the ceremony to necessitate me saying as little as possible, it seemed, since when I finally I tuned back in he was in the middle of asking Thomas if he had rings to exchange.
At that moment, there was the snarling roar of a motorcycle from off in the distance. The minister stammered to a stop, glanced at Thomas and then Father for an explanation, but both just stared back in confusion and consternation.
Hope welled in the pit of my stomach, and I tried to not let it bloom too fully until I knew what was going on.
The minister tried to go back to the ceremony. “Thomas, do you have rings with which to pledge your eternal—”
The motorcycle engine roared again, cutting him off, and it was even louder now and approaching rapidly, and everyone was turning and twisting, trying to see anything, but there was nothing to see yet.
I stood in place, quietly slipping out of my heels in case I needed to jump out of the way or something—a silly precaution to take, making me think I had probably watched too many Lifetime movies. But then, with a third deafening roar, a black motorcycle rounded the side of the mansion and streaked toward us, ripping up the grass as the rear tire fishtailed.
I knew, immediately, who it was, despite the helmet obscuring his features.
The shoulders as broad as mountain ranges gave it away, the arms as thick as most men’s legs, the trim waist, the powerful thighs gripping the snarling motorcycle. Father’s bodyguards leapt to their feet and rushed toward him, but—obviously to me, not so obviously to them, I supposed—he had no interest in Father.
Bax only slowed a little bit as he carved across the lawn and straight down the aisle between the rows of chairs, scattering the people like bowling pins—they ran screaming as the bike approached. Hauling the bike to the side at the last second, he barked the throttle and squeezed the front brakes so the front tire locked in place and the rear tire ripped sideways in a dramatic arc, spraying sod and mud. He ended up less than three feet away from me, the motorcycle parallel to the archway, and his feet planted in the ground to prop himself up.
He was wearing a full-coverage helmet, which had a camera affixed to the top—his brothers would get a kick out of all this, I realized, and it was classic Baxter, to record this for them. I was grinning ear to ear as Baxter lifted the helmet off and tucked it under his arm so the camera would still record a level shot of what went on next.
I had eyes only for Bax, of course, but utter chaos ruled around us. Wedding guests were yelling and arguing, some were watching Bax and me, and others were taking videos with their cell phones. Mom was trying to do damage control, attempting to calm the guests. Thomas was freaking out, shouting at Dad, who was shouting back, and the venue security and management were hustling over, pointing at the damage to the lawn caused by the motorcycle, not to mention the broken chairs scattered by panicking guests.
It was chaos, and it was beautiful.
Not as beautiful as Bax, though.
He shot me an amused, cocky grin, wearing a rumpled but well-cut and insanely sexy tuxedo. “Hey, Eva. What up, babe?”
Father approached, his face stormy with rage. “YOU. Leave now or I shall have you arrested. I might anyway, you filthy redneck.”
“You know people, I know people,” Baxter answered, breezily. “Shut the fuck up a minute, though, I’m talkin’ to the lady.”
“Hi, Bax,” I said, my voice bright and happy. “What a surprise.”
“Yeah, well, I was in the area, thought I’d drop by.”
I laughed, a genuine belly laugh. “In the area? Baxter…you live inAlaska.”
He ran his hand over his head and squeezed his neck, and I realized then, with that gesture, that he was a nervous wreck despite his easy demeanor. “Yeah, got me there. Truth is, I drove sixty-some hours to get here.”
“You did?”
He tilted his head to one side. “I stopped last night outside Scranton, so I could time my entrance. Gotta make a flashy entrance, you know? Folks love a good show.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Thomas demanded, stomping forward with puffed-up bravado—but not before checking to make sure there were bodyguards nearby. “Seize him at once, Theodore.”
