Puck The Halls | Jack Hughes

TWENTY FOUR

MY PONYTAIL WAS GIVING ME A HEADACHE, the blue gown I'd chosen days ago hanging off my hips effortlessly, the smile on my face giving the illusion of confidence. I was anything but. Jack was by my side, sitting tensely as we listened to speeches, laughing when something was funny, but mostly, avoiding eye contact.

Getting ready for this thing had been painful, the idea that we'd either have to share a bed for the night, or one of us would have to take the floor hanging between us like a thick blanket. A topic neither of us wanted to brush over, and so we decided that not talking all together was the best option.

The only communication that had been passed between Jack and I since we got to this hotel was when I couldn't get the zip of my dress up, and he stepped in to aid me without thought. His knuckles brushed my bare spine, my breath hitching at the contact, and the way his skin on mine felt electric. He seemed to take his time, brushing my hair over one shoulder as he stood closer than necessary. I missed him, I wanted to turn to my side, yank his tie to me, and kiss the hell out of him.

But I don't, I keep my composure, because we're at a wedding filled to the brim with Jack's family, and I don't want to make out with him in the middle of it. Or, I do, but, maybe after a few more bubbly champagnes.

Jack and I both reach for our drinks at the same time, our hands accidentally meeting half way, and our fingers brushing. I suck in a breath, he doesn't pull away. The bride is crying as her groom makes a speech that is, admittedly, a tear jerker, but I'm not listening. I'm only staring at Jack, my gaze just for him. He looks ridiculous in a tuxedo, but not in a bad way, though I do miss his cap on backwards and sneakers combo.

I felt awkward and out of place and my head was spinning because of how much free alcohol I'd indulged in.

Jack stares right at me, his mouth open slightly like he's about to speak, and I bite my lip at the sight of him, urging him to go on.

He blinks, clears his throat. "You look outrageous in that dress."

I scoff, feeling not even slightly offended, because I knew what he meant. He looked sort of outrageous too.

"I feel stupid," he admits, letting a bubbling laugh slip through his lips, he pulls at his bow tie. "And I'm choking on this thing every time I drink."

With a small giggle, I reach across so that my hands grip the fabric of his tie, working to loosen it until it falls free on the table in front of him. "There, much better."

Jack rubs at his neck, sighing with relief. "Thank God, that thing was insufferable."

"So is fighting with you," I admit, smirking slightly, but there's a serious edge to my voice, a hint of anxiety that tells Jack I'm not quite kidding.

Jack leans down, laces our hands together. "Then let's not fight anymore."

I try to smile, but then I'm wincing and it's definitely because of this damn ponytail i'd curled. Jack notices, furrowing his eyebrows.

"That's the third time you've done that," he notes. "What's going on?"

"It's this damn hairstyle," I admit, rubbing my temples. "I guess I'm just not made for this pretty ball gown bullshit."

"You're right," he whispers, reaching a hand out, wrapping his fingers around the hair tie on top of my head, and pulling. My hair falls free, cascading down my spine in loose, messy curls and emitting a gasp out of me. "You're so much better."

I turn to him, a glint of mischief in my eyes, the speeches are over, there's music playing and a generous amount of people on the dance floor. It's been a pretty extravagant wedding so far, so I half expect the music to be piano style elevator music, but I'm pleasantly surprised that it's not.