The Story of My Life (The Wedding)

"That's smooth, Ace. Real smooth," I told him.

I was an ace myself, at playing it cool.

I'd noticed the guy four hours ago at the ceremony. I'd given him ten arbitrary points for wearing Italian leather loafers and having enough sense to match black socks with black shoes. He'd won the preliminary round long before he ever pulled the chair up beside me.

But I showed no signs of it, I played it completely cool.

I was far too busy dealing with the national crisis at hand and advising the world's most powerful people via text message to take notice of something so mundane as a six-foot-nothing man with perfect dimples straddling the chair just to my left. At least he should think so. He would think I'm always on the go, too busy to bother with men; that's why the only girl here with perfect hair and a personality to match was still single. Maybe he could show me what I'd been missing. He could change me.

That's what my coolness was telling him.

In reality, I'd just finished texting my friend a line from one of our many inside jokes together when he finally came over. He pulled up the chair and faced me dead on. I tilted my phone so he would only see a glare. My business was not only dire, it was private. He grunted for acknowledgement, and I pushed send.

He swiveled the chair just slightly to make himself more comfortable. I deftly flicked shut the lid of my phone and crossed my legs in his opposite direction. I gave him the briefest of glances and the politest of smiles. I turned my attention to the band.

He was easily frustrated by this, just as I'd planned he should be. I wasn't so easily swayed. My cell lit up quickly, but it didn't make a sound. A person like me was too important to need a belligerent little noise to tell me someone needed me. Someone always needed me. He should think so at least. I'd silenced it right before the reception.

It was my friend again, replying in turn with the other half of our joke. I groaned so Mr. Loafers would know just how important the crisis I was solving was before texting back. I told her something was finally coming of my cousin's wedding in the form of biceps and well-fitting slacks. She knew not to respond.

I made sure a good amount of leg was showing before the band let the groom sing a slow jazz number. It was embarrassingly cliché for the amateur musician to dedicate a song to his bride, but it was his day. At my wedding there would be none of that. I played it cool though, didn't show my disgust, and Mr. Loafers began to snap in time to the tune.

That's when I delivered my brilliant line. I felt like a flapper from an old black and white movie; elegant, sexy, and only slightly inebriated. He laughed once, and gave me a well-rehearsed half-smile.

I returned the sentiment with my wryest grin. I wasn't that easy.

"The groom's best friend," he introduced himself. It was an excuse to lean in and look down my dress. As if I didn't know he was part of the bridal party.

I sat up straighter without pulling away. "The bride's cousin," I told the side of his face. He leaned back and smiled.

He snapped to the music as my foot swayed. It was one of those no-communication bonding moments. He moved even closer at the end of the song. The last slow snap led his hand running up the side of my knee.

I gave him a genuine smile during the groom's applause. He looked grateful for it.

The groom took a moment to announce they would do the garter toss. I waited for the best friend to leave my side. When he didn't, I knew I had won. It was time to play the role of supportive perfection.

"I won't disappear," I assured him. "Don't you want to join the toss?"

He laughed appreciatively and slid a few fingers under the hem of my dress. "I don't think that would be a good idea," he said. "My wife might not like it."

I played it cool. I was an ace at playing it cool.

The scruffy one with long hair caught the garter. The screams in the room matched the ones in my head. My lovely cousin then gave me the excuse I needed. I brushed the hand from my leg and went to join the other lonely women in the room. Mr. Loafers seemed confident of my previous assurance to him.

He obviously didn't know how important I was.

My cousin was stunning in sequins. It made my eyes water to hear her whisper that the flowers were meant for my hands. I laughed off the confidence.

A fourteen year-old stood beside me in the huddle. I was dead center and the bride threw short. One step forward and not even a struggle. The photographer took every advantage of the moment and I felt like a star. I looked back once to Mr. Loafers and the empty chair beside him. I went to the bar instead.

The bartender was young and cute. He had the barely visible stubble on the sides of his face that makes me swoon. I sat down, playing every part the girl who couldn't find love.

He noticed exactly what I'd wanted him to. "You caught the bouquet," he said. "You're next." He smiled and slid a drink down the bar toward me. It was just like it happened in the movies.

"That's smooth, Ace. Real smooth," I told him.