The reluctant bridesmaid...

Ginny is a VERY unhappy bridesmaid. She’s just been dumped and her dress is too tight in the bust. To make matters worse the world’s most perfect groomsman wants to dance with her—as if. Enjoy this excerpt from my latest romance/comedy short read novella, The Bridesmaid Gets Lucky. Sam and Ginny were a blast to write. I hope you’ll check out the Kindle version (linked above)— Audio version coming soon.

Sam watched with amusement as the curvy librarian did a little jump and wiggle, yanking at the neckline of her low-cut dress. The pale mounds she was so desperately trying to conceal were still exposed in all their wondrous glory. Chewing her lip furiously, she bent over, putting her incredible cleavage on display while she held onto the bodice and attempted to shimmy her ample bust into the top—to no avail.  Talk about a pair of scene stealers—it was a wonder anyone had noticed the bride at all that evening. He certainly hadn’t. Beth looked pretty, but the strange bridesmaid with the breasts of a goddess had hijacked his attention. Now she gave a little stamp of her foot and grimaced, crossing her arms over her chest. It seemed she’d finally given up the wrestling act. Head down, she made her way across the dance floor, her face the same fuchsia shade as her gown. He’d met her before—he knew of her inclination to run into things. She’d run into him before, that day in the city, and she was about to run into him again. He’d been aiming to ask her to dance. He’d always wanted to speak with her—she was an oddball, not like the rest of Beth’s friends who all seemed like vapid blondes. Funny, that used to be his type. Not anymore. Something about this strange and flustered bird interested him. He liked that her hair was pulled back into a simple bun and that her face wasn’t plastered with makeup like the other girls, just enough to accentuate her thick lashes and green eyes. She had freckles, which he found adorable. She had them between her breasts too. He’d snuck a peek when he’d led her down the aisle. She was coming straight for him and she’d probably step on his freshly-polished dress shoes, but he’d forfeit the shine for the feel of those breasts smashed up against his chest.   1…2…3…here she comes…   One more step and they’d be upon him. Yes, there they were, like soft pillows pressing through his shirt front. And she smelled nice too. It hadn’t been a gentlemanly move on his part. He really should have stepped out of the way, but he’d been compelled to feel her against him, even if just for a second.  “Sorry,” she ground out.  She teetered, half slipping on the slick dance floor. He steadied her by the wrist, but she pulled away with a look of horror, quickly adjusting her dress (yet again) in a futile attempt to cover her outstanding bosom.  “Don’t be sorry. I was just coming to ask you to dance.”  She frowned furiously. “Uh…yeah, right.”  “I beg your pardon.”  “You can’t  seriously  want to dance with me.”  She puffed out a breath which caused her luxurious breasts to swell and her thick dark bangs to fly up in the air. They stuck straight up for a second and then drifted over her brow in disarray. She probably needed a bang trim, they hung over her thick brows and when she blinked at him it made the fringe twitch because her lashes were so long.  He found the effect quite fetching.  “I  seriously  do want to dance with you.” He put extra emphasis on the word seriously, just as she had. “The groomsmen are supposed to dance with the bridesmaids. This bunch is a pathetic lot in the dancing department. Most of the wedding party is already half in the bag or making out on the veranda. Denny and Beth wanted a classy affair.” He gave her an easy smile and held out his hand. “Let’s show them how it’s done.”  She gaped at his hand. “I can’t dance.”  He wrapped his fingers around hers. She leapt at his touch. “Don’t worry, I’m a good lead.”  This time when she huffed, she followed it up with an exaggerated eye roll as well. “Of course you are.”  He began to pull her onto the dance floor, but she jerked against him. “It’s not like you are my date or anything,” she threw at him defensively. “I mean, we were partnered up for the procession, but that doesn’t mean you have to dance with me.”  He dropped her wrist. She certainly didn’t like his hands on her. Sam thought back to the few times they’d met. He remembered things hadn’t gone smoothly, but he didn’t remember offending her in any way. She was treating him like the enemy.  “Do you want a glass of champagne first? You seem a little uptight.”  She let out a long sigh. This one was more of a tired sigh. It left her bangs intact.  “I’ve already had too much champagne. That’s why I’m acting like I have Asperger’s.”  Sam chuckled. “You’re Jenny, right, Beth’s friend—we’ve met a few times. That day in the rain—you were a drowned rat.”  Her eyes bulged and she momentarily forgot her breast-hiding routine to fist her hands at her sides. “It’s Ginny, not Jenny! And I prefer Virginia. After all, I’m not a grandma yet—although Virginia isn’t much better than Ginny. I may as well be Jenny. Ugh! What’s a girl supposed to do with a name like that, I mean really.”  He’d called her the wrong name on purpose, just to get her goat. He should be trying to make her more comfortable, but she was so cute when she was riled. He just couldn’t help himself. The drowned rat comment was a little below the belt, he’d make up for that now.  “I like those old-fashioned names. Virginia is a beautiful name. I was only teasing about the drowned rat comment. We were both soaked through that day.”  “I was soaked through—you were perfect with your perfect big umbrella.”  She spat the word perfect at him like it was an insult.  He laughed good-naturedly. “Which I tried to share with you.”  “But I skittered off like a ‘drowned rat’, right?”  “Your clothes were plastered to you. I hope you didn’t catch a cold.”  She tapped her foot impatiently, not meeting his gaze. “I did actually. In fact, I caught pneumonia and died.”  “That’s too bad,” he muttered distractedly.  His mind drifted back to the way her figure had looked that day with her sopping wet clothes clinging to her. She’d worn a blue knee-length dress and heels. He recalled her mind-blowing curves—she’d been a perfect hourglass. They didn’t’ make bodies like that anymore, just like they didn’t make women named Virginia anymore. That figure of hers was partially concealed in the billowing Grecian-style dress she now wore—shame really. Her breasts certainly weren’t concealed however, and for that he was thankful. He didn’t remember them being quite this robust that day in the rain—a healthy size, but not as sumptuous as they were at present. He knew she was a librarian—she was Beth’s bookish friend, but she certainly didn’t have the body of a librarian—she looked more like a 1950’s pinup.  Yes, he definitely wanted to dance with this strange woman, but she was squinting and glaring at him.   She really hates me.   Sam wasn’t used to women hating him. She was definitely a cranky librarian with a Granny name, but that body and that face—so natural and pretty, in spite of her sourpuss expressions.  Suddenly a loud rumble sounded between them. She winced and slapped a hand over her belly.  “Didn’t you eat dinner?”  She shook her head rather forlornly, her green eyes dropping to the tips of her satin ballerina slippers. She probably wore flats because she was taller than the other girls. That was why he’d been partnered with her. He usually dwarfed women with his rangy build, but not her. That meant their parts would match up properly—fit into place nicely.  Sam shook off the forbidden thoughts. Perhaps he was the one who’d had too much champagne.  “I think the food has all been cleared away, let me get you some cake at least.”  “No cake! I’m too fat for cake.” She grew very serious. “I have recently gained eight pounds.”  “Well, it suits you.”  Sam hadn’t meant the words to come out in such a throaty manner.  Her vivid eyes flashed with fury. “Is that a crack about my boobs! Because it all went there, four pounds to each boob!”  He had a hard time not breaking up. “There are worse places.”  “I’m a disaster in this dress,” she fretted. She started up with the yanking again. Then her gaze turned intense, almost fiendish. “Where’s your jacket? I’ll pay you for your jacket. Anything you want—I’ll give you all my savings for your jacket, just so I can cover these things up.”  He did laugh then and took her by the wrist again, very gently this time. “It’s too hot for jackets. Come on, let’s dance.”  She tensed when he threw a wave to the bride and groom. Denny gave him the thumbs up while Beth clapped.  Ginny groaned childishly. “Now we have to do it—they’re watching.”  “Yes, we can’t disappoint them.”  “Ok, but listen up. You have to hold me really close, like smashed up against your chest. Otherwise, my boobs will flop out.”  “I will gladly accommodate your request.”  They faced each other on the dance floor as an old standard began to play. He guided her into his arms, gathering her near and tight, so she felt secure.   Ah, those breasts are sheer bliss.   “Smoosh them flatter,” she ordered.  He followed her directions, wondering if she realized that the “smooshing” only acted as a push-up bra.  His lips quirked. “I don’t think it’s the champagne. I think you might actually have Asperger’s.”  “I may be on the spectrum,” she said nonchalantly. “Oh, and  don’t  dip me.”  “Of course not—that would result in a calamitous party foul and a mammary mishap of epic proportions.”

Sam watched with amusement as the curvy librarian did a little jump and wiggle, yanking at the neckline of her low-cut dress. The pale mounds she was so desperately trying to conceal were still exposed in all their wondrous glory. Chewing her lip furiously, she bent over, putting her incredible cleavage on display while she held onto the bodice and attempted to shimmy her ample bust into the top—to no avail.

Talk about a pair of scene stealers—it was a wonder anyone had noticed the bride at all that evening. He certainly hadn’t. Beth looked pretty, but the strange bridesmaid with the breasts of a goddess had hijacked his attention. Now she gave a little stamp of her foot and grimaced, crossing her arms over her chest. It seemed she’d finally given up the wrestling act. Head down, she made her way across the dance floor, her face the same fuchsia shade as her gown. He’d met her before—he knew of her inclination to run into things. She’d run into him before, that day in the city, and she was about to run into him again. He’d been aiming to ask her to dance. He’d always wanted to speak with her—she was an oddball, not like the rest of Beth’s friends who all seemed like vapid blondes. Funny, that used to be his type. Not anymore. Something about this strange and flustered bird interested him. He liked that her hair was pulled back into a simple bun and that her face wasn’t plastered with makeup like the other girls, just enough to accentuate her thick lashes and green eyes. She had freckles, which he found adorable. She had them between her breasts too. He’d snuck a peek when he’d led her down the aisle. She was coming straight for him and she’d probably step on his freshly-polished dress shoes, but he’d forfeit the shine for the feel of those breasts smashed up against his chest.

1…2…3…here she comes…

One more step and they’d be upon him. Yes, there they were, like soft pillows pressing through his shirt front. And she smelled nice too. It hadn’t been a gentlemanly move on his part. He really should have stepped out of the way, but he’d been compelled to feel her against him, even if just for a second.

“Sorry,” she ground out.

She teetered, half slipping on the slick dance floor. He steadied her by the wrist, but she pulled away with a look of horror, quickly adjusting her dress (yet again) in a futile attempt to cover her outstanding bosom.

“Don’t be sorry. I was just coming to ask you to dance.”

She frowned furiously. “Uh…yeah, right.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“You can’t seriously want to dance with me.”

She puffed out a breath which caused her luxurious breasts to swell and her thick dark bangs to fly up in the air. They stuck straight up for a second and then drifted over her brow in disarray. She probably needed a bang trim, they hung over her thick brows and when she blinked at him it made the fringe twitch because her lashes were so long.

He found the effect quite fetching.

“I seriously do want to dance with you.” He put extra emphasis on the word seriously, just as she had. “The groomsmen are supposed to dance with the bridesmaids. This bunch is a pathetic lot in the dancing department. Most of the wedding party is already half in the bag or making out on the veranda. Denny and Beth wanted a classy affair.” He gave her an easy smile and held out his hand. “Let’s show them how it’s done.”

She gaped at his hand. “I can’t dance.”

He wrapped his fingers around hers. She leapt at his touch. “Don’t worry, I’m a good lead.”

This time when she huffed, she followed it up with an exaggerated eye roll as well. “Of course you are.”

He began to pull her onto the dance floor, but she jerked against him. “It’s not like you are my date or anything,” she threw at him defensively. “I mean, we were partnered up for the procession, but that doesn’t mean you have to dance with me.”

He dropped her wrist. She certainly didn’t like his hands on her. Sam thought back to the few times they’d met. He remembered things hadn’t gone smoothly, but he didn’t remember offending her in any way. She was treating him like the enemy.

“Do you want a glass of champagne first? You seem a little uptight.”

She let out a long sigh. This one was more of a tired sigh. It left her bangs intact.

“I’ve already had too much champagne. That’s why I’m acting like I have Asperger’s.”

Sam chuckled. “You’re Jenny, right, Beth’s friend—we’ve met a few times. That day in the rain—you were a drowned rat.”

Her eyes bulged and she momentarily forgot her breast-hiding routine to fist her hands at her sides. “It’s Ginny, not Jenny! And I prefer Virginia. After all, I’m not a grandma yet—although Virginia isn’t much better than Ginny. I may as well be Jenny. Ugh! What’s a girl supposed to do with a name like that, I mean really.”

He’d called her the wrong name on purpose, just to get her goat. He should be trying to make her more comfortable, but she was so cute when she was riled. He just couldn’t help himself. The drowned rat comment was a little below the belt, he’d make up for that now.

“I like those old-fashioned names. Virginia is a beautiful name. I was only teasing about the drowned rat comment. We were both soaked through that day.”

“I was soaked through—you were perfect with your perfect big umbrella.”

She spat the word perfect at him like it was an insult.

He laughed good-naturedly. “Which I tried to share with you.”

“But I skittered off like a ‘drowned rat’, right?”

“Your clothes were plastered to you. I hope you didn’t catch a cold.”

She tapped her foot impatiently, not meeting his gaze. “I did actually. In fact, I caught pneumonia and died.”

“That’s too bad,” he muttered distractedly.

His mind drifted back to the way her figure had looked that day with her sopping wet clothes clinging to her. She’d worn a blue knee-length dress and heels. He recalled her mind-blowing curves—she’d been a perfect hourglass. They didn’t’ make bodies like that anymore, just like they didn’t make women named Virginia anymore. That figure of hers was partially concealed in the billowing Grecian-style dress she now wore—shame really. Her breasts certainly weren’t concealed however, and for that he was thankful. He didn’t remember them being quite this robust that day in the rain—a healthy size, but not as sumptuous as they were at present. He knew she was a librarian—she was Beth’s bookish friend, but she certainly didn’t have the body of a librarian—she looked more like a 1950’s pinup.

Yes, he definitely wanted to dance with this strange woman, but she was squinting and glaring at him.

She really hates me.

Sam wasn’t used to women hating him. She was definitely a cranky librarian with a Granny name, but that body and that face—so natural and pretty, in spite of her sourpuss expressions.

Suddenly a loud rumble sounded between them. She winced and slapped a hand over her belly.

“Didn’t you eat dinner?”

She shook her head rather forlornly, her green eyes dropping to the tips of her satin ballerina slippers. She probably wore flats because she was taller than the other girls. That was why he’d been partnered with her. He usually dwarfed women with his rangy build, but not her. That meant their parts would match up properly—fit into place nicely.

Sam shook off the forbidden thoughts. Perhaps he was the one who’d had too much champagne.

“I think the food has all been cleared away, let me get you some cake at least.”

“No cake! I’m too fat for cake.” She grew very serious. “I have recently gained eight pounds.”

“Well, it suits you.”

Sam hadn’t meant the words to come out in such a throaty manner.

Her vivid eyes flashed with fury. “Is that a crack about my boobs! Because it all went there, four pounds to each boob!”

He had a hard time not breaking up. “There are worse places.”

“I’m a disaster in this dress,” she fretted. She started up with the yanking again. Then her gaze turned intense, almost fiendish. “Where’s your jacket? I’ll pay you for your jacket. Anything you want—I’ll give you all my savings for your jacket, just so I can cover these things up.”

He did laugh then and took her by the wrist again, very gently this time. “It’s too hot for jackets. Come on, let’s dance.”

She tensed when he threw a wave to the bride and groom. Denny gave him the thumbs up while Beth clapped.

Ginny groaned childishly. “Now we have to do it—they’re watching.”

“Yes, we can’t disappoint them.”

“Ok, but listen up. You have to hold me really close, like smashed up against your chest. Otherwise, my boobs will flop out.”

“I will gladly accommodate your request.”

They faced each other on the dance floor as an old standard began to play. He guided her into his arms, gathering her near and tight, so she felt secure.

Ah, those breasts are sheer bliss.

“Smoosh them flatter,” she ordered.

He followed her directions, wondering if she realized that the “smooshing” only acted as a push-up bra.

His lips quirked. “I don’t think it’s the champagne. I think you might actually have Asperger’s.”

“I may be on the spectrum,” she said nonchalantly. “Oh, and don’t dip me.”

“Of course not—that would result in a calamitous party foul and a mammary mishap of epic proportions.”

Faxon Russ