problem was where they would do it. Certainly her room would be full of creepy childhood items, like teddy bears that said “I wuv you” when you pressed them, ballet participation certificates from elementary school, posters featuring those douchebags from One Direction and old haunted-looking Barbie dolls with tangled hair and rubbed-off eyes. Not to mention her bedroom was under the roof of her inevitably protective stepfather. Jason’s room wasn’t much better as it was under Marla and Steven’s roof, with Lauren, the self-appointed Cockblocker-in-Chief, across the hall. He did have a car, though.
“Hello,” he said, sidling up to Maddyson. She looked up from her phone, which displayed the Snapchat app. She met his stare, her eyes widening slightly. Either she was intimidated by his confidence and swagger, or creeped out. He was inclined to believe the former.
“Hey,” she said, looking bored again. “Sorry, I didn’t see you standing there.”
“What’s with the pink streak of hair?” Jason asked. “Is that a wig? You’d look better if you were Asian.”
“Are you a friend of my dad’s or something?”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” he said with a smirk. He could never let comments like that get to him. Then he would be just as emotional and self-centered as Christina, or any other woman for that matter. He had to remain stone-cold and keep his alpha game tight.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just trying to get through this party without having to talk to anyone.”
“This attitude is going to stop being cute when you’re older.” He had to keep the smile on his face or else he’d just seem mean. The goal was to be cheeky—rude, maybe even arrogant and slimy, but never antagonistic. He felt a tap on his shoulder and a man’s voice. “I implore you to leave her alone, good sir.” The accent was vaguely British, like the generic old-fashioned accent used in gladiator movies.
He turned and saw an overweight man in his early twenties. He looked as if he were in a community theater production of The Matrix, complete with a shiny black trench coat lightly coated in sweat and giving off the fishy, chemical smell of synthetic leather.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“I am Nathan, good sir, brother of the groom.”
“Wait, I heard about you. Are you the one who got banned from the live-action role-playing group for scaring those women with your sword?”
“Even LARPers can’t always appreciate true historic accuracy,” he said a little defensively. “In bygone days, females appreciated valiant warriors, and I never intended to fight a lady. In fact, I wasn’t fighting anyone—merely displaying my sword-fighting skills for the womenfolk to behold. My plan was to throw my handkerchief to the most beautiful one once my performance was done...but next thing I knew, the police were there, and I was being asked not to return. Chivalry is dying in this society, verily.”
“Damn,” Jason said, taking another sip of beer. “You couldn’t just talk to the girls?”
“Good sir. Do not try to debate me on the importance of chivalry. I implore you to step away from the lady.”
Jason almost laughed but then realized he wasn’t joking. “I’m sorry, I’m a friendly guy. I was just chatting with her.”
“I am the protector of her innocence.”
“Nathan,” Maddyson groaned. “For the last time, I’m not a virgin! Both of you, go away!”
“Nonsense, milady.” He turned to Jason. “You, sir. Be gone, unless you desire a duel in the arena of intellect. Care to discuss Descartes?”
“I don’t want any trouble, buddy.” He paused. An idea. “See that woman over there, man?”
He pointed to Christina, who had moved on from Joss and was now sipping some sauvignon blanc with Susan, laughing as she plopped a plastic ice cube into her glass. He could only hope she wasn’t talking about him and his “constant infidelity” or “alcoholism.” Women would complain to anyone who would listen, and Susan seemed like enough of a chump to fall for Christina’s whole self-pitying routine.
“Yes,” Nathan said. “The fair blonde lass.”
“You want to intellectually duel someone? Duel her. She loves being told when she’s wrong. Makes her hot.”
Nathan smiled smugly, as if Jason had just made an embarrassingly basic grammar mistake.
“What?” Jason asked. “What is it now?”
“A gentleman cannot duel a lady. For if he did, he would no longer be a gentleman.”
“Oh, brother. How about this? I promise to leave your sister alone if you—”
“Stepsister.”
“Okay. I promise to leave her alone for the entire night, if you go and talk to that blonde lass. I hereby beseech you to flirt with her, serenade her and defend her honor.”
“But why? I don’t know her.”
“Look. I know her. She loves guys like you who are romantic and old-fashioned and whatnot. So if you’re looking for a girlfriend, go talk to her.”
“Intriguing.” Nathan nodded and tipped his fedora. Then, with a whoosh of his trench coat, he headed for Christina. Jason sat back on one of the patio chairs, put his beer to his lips and prepared to enjoy the show.
Nathan
Nathan took a deep breath as he approached her. The closer he got, the older she looked, but she was still pretty. She reminded him of how he always imagined a miller’s wife or tavern wench would look in the books he read—a bit weathered compared to her much more attractive eighteen-year-old counterparts, but comely still with clear blue eyes and flaxen locks. Below her loose-fitting top he could make out a relatively ample bosom.
With all the aplomb he could muster, he bowed deeply, removing the fedora from his head with an elaborate flourish. “Milady...” he said, staring at her feet. After sufficient time, he straightened himself and made eye contact. She looked frightened. Perhaps she had never met a true gentleman before.
“Um...hello,” she said. His stepmother had vanished. For all her faults, she always knew when to make herself scarce.
“What is your name, sweet lass?” he asked, taking her hand. She had a dry, freckled palm like a farmhand, but her fingers were small and delicate.
“Christina,” she said, her voice shaking. “I’m the mother of the flower girl. And you are...?”
“Nathan Porter. Best man and second in line to the country seat of Portershire.”
She looked past him to where Jason was sitting. “Okay. Be honest with me. Did my jackass of an ex-husband tell you to come over here?”
“I know not the man of whom you speak.”
“Okay. That’s what I thought. Go back and tell Jason this shit isn’t funny, and if he wants to see his daughter at all this week he’s going to need to act
