Free Second Opinion by Lisa Suzanne

as the last strains of Bon Jovi’s “I’ll Be There for You” died out. The deejay invited the bridal party to bring their dates to the dance floor. I hugged Veronica, and Jesse walked up to us.
    “Mind if I cut in?” he asked good-naturedly.
    “Be my guest. Nice chat, Veronica.”
    “You too, Grant,” she said, her eyes lighting up as Jesse took her in his arms. I felt Reese’s eyes on me trying to offer a friendly dance since she hadn’t brought a date, but she ended up with Paul when Avery made her way toward me.
    The first notes of O.A.R.’s “Peace” started playing, and I pulled Avery into my arms. I felt a flash of déjà vu, but I wasn’t sure what experience I was recalling.
    I listened to the words of the song as I held Avery in my arms. Our eyes met, and I raised my eyebrows as she smiled wickedly up at me. The soft, floral scent of her shampoo wafted up to my nose, and I inadvertently inhaled.
    That was my first mistake.
    You don’t inhale the scent of a woman you’re just planning to bang.
    You inhale the scent of a woman you’re developing feelings for.
    I’d known Avery for years. Why was I suddenly seeing her in a new light? Why did I feel happier when I was holding her in my arms?
    And why did Veronica’s admission that Avery “played the field” piss me off so much?
    If anyone “played the field” here, it was me. Why the fuck would she play the field? Wasn’t that more of a guy thing?
    Even as I thought it, I knew it was a sexist thing to think. Why were women who played viewed as slutty, but it was fine for men? It was a clear double standard my sister had once pointed out to me.
    I didn’t know the answer, but what I did know was that holding Avery in my arms felt good. It felt right.
    And it confused the living fuck out of me.
    I wasn’t even thinking of banging her while I was holding her. I was consumed by her floral scent. Normally I hated flowery smells, but hers was clean and fresh. I wanted to take her on a date. I wanted to kiss her like we had kissed the night before.
    Of course I wanted her hands (and her mouth) on my cock. Of course I wanted to bang her. But as we swayed softly to the music, I wanted more.
    It was the first time there was even an inkling in my mind of “more” since Rachelle.
    Neither of us spoke, but we didn’t have to. Words became unnecessary as our bodies spoke for us. We both knew what was coming, and I was starting to worry if we did talk, if we spoke the things we were both feeling, there would be no turning back. The way we had things set up, we would hook up later that night, and that would be the end of it.
    That was all I wanted.
    And I knew if I kept reminding myself it was all I wanted, I would start to actually believe it was true.
    The song ended and LMFAO’s “Party Rock” blared through the speakers, forcing us apart from our intimate moment. Her eyes locked on mine briefly before she turned to dance with the rest of the girls in the bridal party.
    And when those big, brown eyes met mine, it was confirmed. I knew she was developing the same feelings for me I was for her.
    I detoured to the bar, taking a deep breath and shaking my head again to clear it as I ordered myself another glass of whiskey before I headed to my parents’ table to mingle.
    I greeted aunts, uncles, and cousins. I danced with my grandma. I held babies and shook hands like a politician. And through it all, I couldn’t stop stealing glances across the room at Avery, wondering what she had hidden under the dress that fit her so well, wondering what sort of animal she would be beneath the sheets.
    Between my family obligations and fate working against us, we didn’t get the chance to dance together again. I’d consumed enough whiskey to justify the cost of the open bar, but walking the room all night allowed the alcohol to filter through my system. I wasn’t drunk, but my inhibitions—however lacking they tended to be—were loosened, and I was horny and