It felt as if the night of the rehearsal dinner arrived before you could blink. Bucky hadn’t spoken to you since the Friday night before, so when he showed up to the hotel, overnight bag in hand, freshly-pressed tuxedo and suit in the other, you about sobbed in relief.
He gave you a small smile before pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Your mom’s right there,” he breathed into your ear.
Of course she is. Why wouldn’t she be?
You nodded subtly and hugged him despite the fact he couldn’t return it. “She’s been trailing me since I got here, asking when you were coming. To be honest, I didn’t think you’d show up.”
“I gave my word,” he said with a shrug. “So, do I have to check in?”
“No,” you answered reaching into the pocket of your dress . “I already did. They uh, they put us in the same room. If that’s not okay, I can see if they have another one available.”
“It’s fine,” Bucky said tightly, doing little to calm your already frazzled nerves. “I’ll be down in ten.”
You gave him the key and told him the room number. Feeling the heavy weight of your mother’s gaze, you pushed up and kissed his cheek, leaving a smear of Sugar Pink lip gloss on his skin. “Hurry, please.”
“I will,” he assured you. He brushed past, the intoxicating mixture of leather and cologne enveloping you, fueling the dirty thoughts in your brain.
In the ballroom, you had narrowly escaped a conversation with your mother and had just approached the bar when Bucky was by your side. You peeked at the clock on the wall. True to his word, he had changed in under ten minutes.
He ordered a whiskey, neat, double, and pressed his hand against your lower back as he leaned in. “I’m sorry about last week. I… I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.”
It was the first time you’d ever seen him in anything other than sweats or jeans, a t-shirt, and leather jacket. The suit he wore looked as if it were made just for him. It surprised you that the dark tones didn’t completely wash him out. You felt your cheeks flush at the images of it lying on the hotel floor, crumpled, buttons ripped off...
“I’m sorry, too. You okay?” you wondered, mouth dry, peering up at him, reaching blindly for your drink.
“I’m fine,” he answered, shaking his head. “So, how are we gonna play this?” He thanked the bartender and steered you away.
You blew out a breath and peered around the room. “Just be your charming self, I guess. We can figure out the whole break up thing later.”
“You sure?” he rasped, giving your mother a smile. She had pointed him out in conversation, no doubt telling your father’s side of the family all about the blossoming relationship.
He was standing close, too close. The heat of the whiskey mixed a little too well with the remnants of his cologne and you found yourself leaning in, bottom lip trapped between your teeth. Your hand itched to touch his hair, feel the chestnut strands between your fingers, pull him down, and -
“Doll, you sure?”
You cleared your throat and nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sure.”
He waited until you were done taking a drink before he said, “There is something I did want to talk to you about before we get this show on the road.”
Wearing a smirk, he bent down and pressed his lips to your ear. “There’s only one bed.”
Your eyes rolled back and you bit your tongue to keep from moaning. The timbre to his voice made your entire body clench, thrum with need. Your stomach flipped lazily and a kaleidoscope of butterflies exploded in your chest. You didn’t remember placing your hand against his stomach, but it was, and you curled your fingers into the smooth material of his jacket.
“I uh, I noticed,” you stammered, hoping he couldn’t hear your hammering heart. “I was going to talk with the front desk and see if they could send up a trundle bed. Discreetly, of course. We can’t have our cover blown because of one bed.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Bucky informed you, standing tall, a glimmer in his eyes.
“You’re not sleeping on the couch,” you argued weakly.
He gave a wink that made your pulse race. “I don’t plan on it, doll.”
“ I’m not sleeping on the couch, either,” you squeaked, face flushing deeper.
“No, you’re not, sugar.”
You didn’t know how long you stood there, eyes wide, voice incapable of working before your mother’s announcement cut through the thick silence.
“Come and eat,” she beckoned everyone.
“Oh, thank God,” Bucky purred, fingers pressing deep into the small of your back. “I’m famished.”