Make Me Sin

2

The bell on the front door jingles as the door opens and closes. The Jerk is now inside. Last time he was here, when Nico first bought flowers for Kat seven months ago at the beginning of their relationship, it felt as if all the air had been sucked out the minute he walked in. A.J. has a way of negating all the space that surrounds him. He’s a dark hole that devours all the light.

I already feel devoured, and he hasn’t even been here for ten seconds.

But he can’t know that. I’m determined that he’ll never again get a rise out of me, no matter what he says or does. So I take Kat’s advice, adopt a casual tone, and say, “I was thinking we’d use white peonies as the focal flower for the centerpieces, bridal party bouquets, and gazebo, and incorporate lavender roses for a touch of contrasting color. That will give the design more dimension than an all-white palette.”

Distracted from the talk of A.J., Kat asks hopefully, “We can get peonies in August?”

“They’ll be imported from Holland, and therefore ungodly expensive, but considering how much they mean to you and Nico . . . yes. I’ll make sure we get them.”

She beams. Then Nico walks up behind her, leans down and kisses her on the temple, and she beams so bright she’s incandescent.

I now have two members of the most famous rock band on earth in my shop, and all I can think of is how fast I can get them out.

Not that I have anything against Nico. Quite the opposite. He makes Kat so happy she floats, which is because he treats her like a queen. Which she totally deserves. We’ve been best friends since high school, and she’s the funniest, most honest, and most loyal girl I know. But Nico comes with A.J., and A.J. comes with thunderclouds boiling over his head, and now he’s standing by my flower cooler glaring at a bucket of happy yellow gerberas like he wants to murder them. I feel a migraine coming on.

Sixty seconds and the man is already wreaking havoc on my nervous system.

This was such a bad idea. Stupid wedding planner and her stupid insistence on the “cohesiveness of the wedding party” and “including the men in the process” and yada yada yada. I don’t care that I’m the maid of honor and A.J. is the best man and that we’re both adults and should act like it—I can’t stand the guy! He’s just . . . mean. It’s unnerving how easily he gets under my skin with nothing but a look.

A withering, arctic look like the one he’s just turned to give me.

I pretend like I don’t see it, or him, and smile at Nico. “Hey, Nico. Good to see you. I was just telling your bride that the peonies are a go.”

Nico grins. This is like watching the sun burst through fog. He wasn’t named People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive three years in a row for nothing. Jet hair, blue eyes, and a set of dimples that can kill a woman on the spot . . . Occasionally, I have to remind myself not to stare. It’s not that I’m interested in him—he and Kat are crazy in love, and I’m perfectly happy with my boyfriend, Eric—but not appreciating Nico’s looks would be as criminal as standing in front of the statue of David at the Galleria dell’Accademia in Florence and spending the entire time texting on your phone.

Right now I’m too busy not looking at A.J. to appreciate the full effect of Nico’s beauty.

“Good to hear, darlin’. Unless there’s some other flower you can recommend that’s a symbol of a happy marriage, peonies are definitely what we want.” Nico sits down next to Kat, stretches out his long legs under the table, picks up her hand and kisses it. Slanting her an adoring look, he murmurs, “Make sure we get plenty of lavender roses, too.”

Lavender roses are symbolic of love at first sight. Long story short, Nico grilled me once on all the different meanings of the colors of roses before he chose lavender for an outrageous birthday surprise for Kat. If only Nico’s best man could channel an ounce of that sweetness, I wouldn’t be sitting here acting indifferent toward the third ugly sneer he’s sent my way.

Not that I’m counting.

Only I am, because the experience of being loathed by a complete stranger is new to me. If I’m being perfectly honest, it kind of freaks me out. Okay, it really freaks me out. Almost as much as when Grandpa Walt stuck his dentures in the mouth of the pig my father spit-roasted for the luau-themed birthday party my parents threw for me when I was fourteen.

I had nightmares of grinning pork chops for months. To this day, I still can’t eat meat.

Continuing my charade of indifference, I say, “How about if we add some Stephanotis into Kat’s bouquet? They smell amazing, and they symbolize marital happiness, too.” I show Kat and Nico a picture of the tiny white star-shaped Stephanotis. They both nod in agreement.

As Kat, Nico, and I continue our conversation, A.J. begins to rove around the shop like a restless tiger in a cage, sniffing things out. I find that even more unnerving than his bad attitude. He’s supposed to be participating in this meeting, or at least feigning interest to support the groom, but instead he’s . . . what? Ogling the merchandise? Looking for something to break?