Barra couldn’t imagine her new hairstyle was the culprit. It’s not like it made her look that different. Maybe it was the shimmering lilac dress that skimmed her frame when most people expected her to be in bicycle shorts and an ugly Hawaiian shirt. Or a suit. Or something androgynous.
“It’s fine,” Barra said, waving away the apology like a fart. “I’m not offended.” She wasn’t. She was rarely offended, and when she was, she got over it quicker than a hiccup.
“Well, you should be,” the woman said. “I’m Allie, by the way. Now you at least know the name of the woman who obviously has face blindness. I’m mortified.”
Barra smiled. Allie did, in fact, look mortified. Her cheeks were flushed pink, which cutely clashed with her fair skin. Barra couldn’t help glancing at Allie’s lips, which were full and kissable.
“Come on, people!” the MC called. “The brides will be heading out this way in exactly two minutes. We wouldn’t want to keep them waiting.”
Barra, whose arm was still shockingly hooked with Allie’s, guided them toward the main area of the marquee where four long farmhouse tables were stretched along the length of the space. Each table was dressed up with stonewashed linen runners and decorated with ranunculus, garden roses, and feathery cosmos spilling from low ceramic bowls. There were hand-lettered name cards pressed with tiny wildflowers clipped into little driftwood holders, and delicate crystal glasses. There were bone-colored plates and gleaming silverware. And overhead, strings of Edison bulbs crisscrossed the ceiling.
With the setting sun spilling through the open canvas side of the marquee, it felt like a scene from a movie. Except in a movie, Barra would’ve been left alone to wallow in her own self-pity and not be forcibly escorted by Allie, who couldn’t stop apologizing for not recognizing her. At least when they reached the wooden board with the table arrangements, she shut up long enough to trace her finger along the raised gold calligraphy. Then she squeaked. “No way! We’re sitting next to each other.”
Barra wasn’t sure whether to groan or be happy that her heart and mind would at least be distracted. Not only was Allie gorgeous, but she also seemed like a person who could out-talk a salesperson.
“Wow!” Frankie said when they reached their seats. It became increasingly obvious that theOutlast Hercontestants were all placed together. Distant friends of the brides were mingled in. Kendall and Frankie sat opposite them. Aggie and her wife, Pat, were adjacent, and then all around them were people doing that very specific brand of wedding small talk where nobody actually knew each other.
Barra flicked her short hair. “I’m trying something new.”
“Well, I almost didn’t recognize you,” Frankie said, looking impressed. Of course, she was impressed. Barra looked smoking hot.
She considered flicking her hair again, but then Allie exclaimed, “Neither did I.” She then bumped shoulders with Barra as if they were old friends. “I can’t believe I’m sitting next toOutlast Herroyalty.”
“Hush, hush,” Kendall said, looking amused. “Just because Barra won doesn’t mean—”
But she didn’t finish her sentence because the marquee suddenly erupted into cheers. There were claps and whistles, and then chairs scraped back as everyone leapt to their feet. Barra’s head snapped toward the end of the table where Dominique and Kiara walked in with their hands together, arms raised overhead.
Barra’s heart flipped. Then flapped. Then she felt sick to her stomach because what was she doing here? Why was she secretly pining over a now-married woman? And then, in all the commotion, Allie’s hand landed lightly on Barra’s lower back. Barra cast a quick sideways glance to check... and yep, Allie’s palm was there, pressed against her spine.
What was it doing there? Or, a better question was, did Barra mind?
Surprisingly... no. She needed a distraction more than ever.
Chapter Two
Allie Chen was tracing the chain of events that had brought her here. Here being a bathroom stall at a college friend’s wedding in Big Sur, California, where she was kissing Barra Jones.
It was imperative she remembered every detail since she would, at some point, need to relay this story to her book club, who wouldn’t believe her unless she narrated the entire thing as completely and with as much sensory detail as in the books they never actually read.
It had all started with cocktail hour. That awkward interlude while the brides were off taking photos, and the rest of the guests were wandering about pretending they knew what to do with themselves. Allie liked cocktail hour for one reason only, and that was to quench her thirst.
She’d liberated a glass of Sancerre from a passing tray. Two sips in, and she’d tripped over a tuft of grass and baptized the earth with the French Sauvignon Blanc. Somewhere between “oops, I hope no one saw that” and “holy hell, I’m so clumsy” she had ended up at the bar.
And that was where she’d met Barra.
Things had escalated quickly from then on. Food. Speeches. Lots of eye contact. Allie, who’d been told on several occasions that she was too touchy-feely, had more than once overstepped Barra’s personal space. If the woman minded, she didn’t say, which was how they’d ended up on the dance floor. They’d twirled throughDancing Queen, spinning while their arms flailed, and the string lights made everything feel like a musicvideo. ThenShut Up and Dancehad started, and Allie had dashed off for drinks—two margaritas. One of which had ended up all over Barra’s dress as Allie bumped shoulders with the MC, who was ridiculously drunk. She’d apologized profusely and then offered to help, which Barra had declined. Though that hadn’t quite stopped Allie, who was already too many drinks in.
She’d followed Barra to the bathroom, and then handed her tufts of damp tissues. Somewhere between blotting citrus off silk and offering unhelpful stain removal advice, Barra’s thin strap had slipped. Allie had fixed it. Just a little lift. A tug. Nothing significant. And yet, the next thing she knew, Barra’s hands were on her hips, steering her backward into a bathroom stall.
“I don’t usually do this,” Barra said, then slipped her tongue into Allie’s mouth.
Right, Allie thought. Not that she minded. She, on the other hand, had a long, thriving habit of kissing women at weddings. And at gallery openings, where networking was essential. At charity auctions. And at the dimly lit bar called La Sirena, which was tucked behind a florist in Melrose, where she spent a considerable amount of time. Allie had, on more than one occasion, fucked someone in the red-walled bathroom stall.
So this entire situation felt quite normal.
“I can’t believe you wonOutlast Her,” Allie said, pulling her mouth back just a little. Barra’s lips tasted like bourbon. Her skin smelled faintly like flowers. She wasn’t sure why she was bringing upOutlast Her, especially since kissing involved minimal talking, but there was something fateful about this moment. It was a perfect happening through chance. Allie had applied forOutlast HerSeason Six, and she’d gotten rejected. Maybe Barra was her way in for Season Seven. Not that this was ever her intention in the first place. Not at all. Barra was hot. Smoking hot. Allie had spotted her during the ceremony. There was something so forlorn about the way she’d stared at thebrides that it had tugged Allie’s heartstrings. She loved people who showed emotion. And besides, weddings always made Allie ridiculously horny. This was more than likely to happen anyway.
“Sometimes I can’t either,” Barra replied, her mouth brushing Allie’s jaw. Her hands bunched up the satin fabric of Allie’s dress to her hips. “It’s probably because I haven’t really let it change my life.”