How do you top the perfect wedding to the perfect man in the best hometown with the greatest best friends ever?
With an even better reception.
And how do you top the best reception ever?
With the picture-perfect honeymoon in Fiji.
Except…when our past comes back to haunt us, things don’t go quite as planned. I wanted hot sex on my honeymoon.
Not hot sex being filmed next door. On the deck.
With a cringe-worthy view that makes me feel inadequate.
How do you bend like that?
Anyhow…
Will and I met on an adult film set (it’s not what you think…), so when those two worlds collide again, the perfect honeymoon becomes the perfect nightmare.
Between a lascivious film crew in the adjacent beach house rental, a didgeridoo that doubles as something else that starts with D, an unexpected altercation with the police (again…), and some old friends (er, can I call them that?) from my fluffer days (again, not what you think), our extraordinary honeymoon has devolved into a fight for boundaries and — in the end — a stroke of genius.
Which is not the kind of stroke we had in mind, but it’ll have to do.
Because by the time we’re done untangling this mess, we find perfection again.
On our terms.
Just like love.
---
Tasty takes place after Chapter 15 in the book Hasty, in New York Times bestselling romantic comedy author Julia Kent’s Do-Over series. Join Mallory, Will, and all their friends and family as they celebrate their wedding… and the outrageous honeymoon antics that follow.
Chapter 1
"You look extraordinary," Will whispers in my ear as the slow, sensual lyrics taper off into the final notes of a beautiful love song. We’re dancing, my cheek against his shoulder, and I am breathing all the breaths.
Every woman should have this at their wedding. Their perfect wedding.
“I do?” I ask, smiling against his shoulder.
“That’s what you said earlier today.” His thumb caresses my ring finger. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For saying yes. Saying I do. Being my wife.”
“Why would you thank me for that?”
“Because I’m grateful that life gave you to me.”
See? Perfect.
As he kisses me, slow and deep, I am two of me. Mallory who is lost in the kiss, and Mallory who is gleefully cheering on her own achievement.
And both of me reign victorious.
We've pulled it off, Will and I. Five bridesmaids, five groomsmen, one mother of the bride, one father of the bride, one mother of the groom, one father of the groom – and one big, new extended family.
Not a single error happened today.
Color coordination to the point of perfect alignment.
Ratios of food that create culinary masterpieces in each individual mouth.
My sister's artisanal Manchego cheese.
My best friends, all happy, all at peace with their perfect partners.
This wedding couldn't be more exquisite, and now the ante is about to be upped because the reception is almost over and it is time to head to our cottage rental.
A gift from one of my best friends, Perky, who booked it for us before our flight to Los Angeles.
No, we're not honeymooning in L.A. That's just a pit stop, an overnight before the real deal.
Fiji.
That's right. We're spending our honeymoon in Fiji paradise. Halfway across the world, on sandy beaches and breezy cabanas, we’ll make love in the tropics and leave all our cares behind.
Me and Will, alone for two weeks, living in a magical wonderland, having so much sex I packed two tubs of chafing cream.
And that’s just for him.
As I lean into the kiss, his hand on my ass caressing me with intent, Will’s steps shorten, his grip tightens, and I feel how eager he is for the wedding night.
A rush of desire, a loose feeling that belies my careful control to exact this exquisite day, feels so good. Will does that to me. Takes me out of my carefully-drawn boxes and blurs all the lines.
Mostly with his hands, tongue, and body.
“You,” I whisper, turning blurry in all the right places. Our sighs mingle, the sound like sex. If he keeps breathing like that, almost like a lion’s purr, I might yank him into a supply closet and have my way with him.
“Need some water?” he asks, one fingertip stroking my cheek, making me smile as I nod, because he’s tracking me. Watching out for me. We’re in symbiosis mode, and it’s a delight to have someone who cares so much that he notices my state. As he walks a few steps over to the bar, I watch, mesmerized.
He’s mine.
All mine.
Forever.
“You mean because I’m about to spontaneously combust? Flames are pouring out from between my legs,” I joke, but… not joking.
“You need a firehose,” he said, deadpan, nudging me with the one he has in his pants. “A big one. The kind that can go nice and deep wherever you need it. How badly do you need me, Mallory?”
Hello, Supply Closet. I mentally calculate where I saw one, over by the —
“SQUUUUUUEEEE!”
That’s Perky, drunk and screaming in my ear now, honey-colored hair loose from her earlier up-do, the hem of her bridesmaid’s dress torn and her lipstick long gone, probably all lost somewhere on her boyfriend Parker’s cock. He is coming up behind her with a look of embarrassed amusement on his face.
It’s a look he wears often with her.
“You did it! You bagged the quarterback, Mallory! The nerdy valedictorian got the jock!” One arm goes around my shoulders, her breath against my ear. She smells like limes crammed into a frat boy house.
“You keep saying that, Perk.” The more she drinks, the more she turns into a high school freshman, minus the braces and bad hair.
“Because it’s true!”
I start breathing through my mouth. “Just because it’s true doesn’t mean you need to keep repeating it.”
“Maybe if I say it enough it’ll stop feeling so impossible.” Her smile is deep and infectious, glowing with genuine happiness for me. “You deserve all the goodness he gives you, Mal. Every drop. You’re building a life with Will Lotham. The Will Lotham!”
“You’re a The, Will,” Parker calls out, pretending to be serious. The man’s dimples have dimples, and he’s commanding and charming at the same time. “What do I have to do to become a The?” He asks her, his hand on her hip, fingers tapping on her ass.
“You’re a
congressman, Parker. You seriously need another title?”
“Yes,” he whispers, loud enough for me and Will to hear. “How about you call me Sir in bed?”
“I could just call you Skip,” she says, making Parker cringe. It feels like forever ago, but at our rehearsal rehearsal dinner for this very wedding, Parker re-entered Perky’s life after five years of pain. Will knew Parker from grad school, and a case of mistaken identity turned out to be the best coincidence ever.
Because it brought Perky and Parker back together. My bestie is weird as can be, and Parker’s from old money and even older connections, but just like Perky’s happy for me, I’m ecstatic for her.
All my closest friends have their true loves. What could be better?
“If you call me Skip,” Parker says, pulling her close giving her an ass grab that makes her squeak, “I’ll have to spank you.”
“Okay, Skip.”
“You think that’s going to deter her?” Fiona says as she and her boyfriend, Fletch, join us. Some part of me relaxes again. My two besties are here with their guys. Tracking people is a gift and a curse. A receiver inside my neurons makes me aware of every person I love, and homes in on their emotional state.
It’s much like interior design and Feng Shui. I feel the flow of energy, and if it’s stuck, I have to change it.
Emotions are just another kind of energy.
“No,” Parker says simply to Fiona. “I just want an excuse to spank her.”
“As if you ever need one,” Perky shoots back, puling him close for a kiss so deep I’m pretty sure it’s illegal in seventeen states.
Will comes up from behind me. I smell him before I feel his touch on my shoulder, his scent imprinted on me, as if my limbic system now has a category labeled Will and a complete neural-olfactory bulb devoted to him.
And only him.
“The impossible part is that she chose me, ...
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