Chasing Bliss (Bliss Series Book 3) SAMPLE CHAPTERS ONLY

Mamihlapinatapai

Mamihlapinatapai: (noun) a look shared by two people with each wishing that the other will initiate something that both desire but which neither one wants to start.

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To say that I wished I couldn't recall how it all came about would be a complete lie. The chains linked. The motions started rolling. The fates had interfered. Levi and Nica's wedding was my D-day.

Everything began with a simple...

"Look... and tell me you don't want that."

It took me a while before I realized that Julie had spoken. All I heard was "want that." I have a lot of wants.

"Want what?" I narrowed my eyes at the couple across the way.

"That. Love, marriage. What Levi and Nica have. They're so lucky." I glanced at her, spotting that silly, dreamy look on her face. She sighed, wrapped her arms around herself and swayed on the spot.

Julie, much like Nica, was a hopeless romantic. They believed in crap like true love, love at first sight, soul mates. Yadda-yadda. It was a load of Grade A turd, if anyone asked me...

And yet, my sights focused past the newly weds on the wooden floor, dancing their first dance as Mister and Missus, and eyed the troublemaker. He'd been flushed against the photographer from the wedding magazine, flirting, laughing drinking together, eating at the same side of the long table during dinner. Not that I'd noticed. I, after all, had managed to bag the interest of the only other eligible man in the wedding.

Out of fifty guests, half were women. Ninety-nine percent of the men were married, balding or gay. Since I was the MoH, I was expected to hook up with someone at the end of this. Thankfully, Alex wasn't the only single man here. There was that guy standing at the bar. If I could only remember his name.

It sounded like Jerry or Barry. Or was it James? Franklin? Franco? Shoot. No, I recalled noting that he resembled James Franco. Well, James Franco look-alike had gotten me a drink, and he was back at the bar again, re-filling my glass. I'd drink anything to survive this night. Not that I didn't love Nica, I did. I'd give her my first born if she asked, or if I'd ever have one. And really, Levi wasn't too bad for her, for a Laurent.

What tortured me was witnessing Alex and Miss Big Shot Photographer practically necking in front of all of Nica and Levi's guests. Had they no shame? I scoffed when missy pie threw her head back and laughed at whatever inane thing Alex had said to her.

James Franco slid right back in front of me, blocking my view of Alex and his whatever-she-is, handing me a tumbler which contained two shots of scotch.

Julie gave me a questioning look when I, in the most saccharine voice I could muster said, "Thanks... darling." (I really should try and figure out what he was called.) I knocked back the liquid, letting it burn down my gullet, before I grabbed James Franco's arms, dragged him stand to my right side, sent a quick side glance across the dance floor, and when Alex looked our way, I pressed my lips onto James Franco's mouth.

I felt him melting underneath me. Wait, that wasn't right... He was supposed to be getting harder, not... swooning? Was James Franco swooning over my kiss? I released his lips, and stared into his eyes. Sure enough, he had that glazed look on him.

Thoughts filtered in my mind. Did I even ask his name? What else was I missing? I scrutinized his features. Wait a dog-gone minute...

"How old are you?" I asked the swooning James Franco. There was something amiss.

"Seventeen. I'll be eighteen in three months," he drunkenly answered.

"Ah!" I let go of his arms, and he fell backwards.