"So what happened to eloping?"

"You know very well what happened to eloping," my cousin Jenny says, flopping back on her bed. "My mother is what happened to eloping."

"Maybe it's not too late?"

She sits up and gives me an evil eye. "You had to break up with Brad this week? Oh, Beanie," she sighs. "This is so like you."

"You've been after me to break up with Brad for six months. He's such a loser. Why are you wasting your time with him? "

"Who breaks up with their boyfriend at the rehearsal dinner?"

"Your wedding is on Valentine's Day. Would you want to spend Valentines Day with Brad?"

"You've got a point. Anyway, I fixed it."

"What do you mean, you fixed it?" I eye her with something between suspicion and horror.

"I got you a date for the wedding."

I groan. "Jenny . . . "

"It's nothing like the other times. I promise."

"You mean like the time in high school when you fixed me up with that guy who was obsessed with Tolkien and kept calling me his precious?"

"Ok, that was a misfire. But you broke up with your boyfriend two days before prom. Desperate times."

She frowns at me. "I actually should have expected this. You always break up with guys before some big event."

"No I . . . hmm. Maybe. Anyway, Jen, just have one less bridesmaid. Since Brad won't be there as an usher, I'll just be a guest."

Jenny grins at me. "Are you kidding me? Terrence couldn't wait to give Brad the boot. We hate Brad, you know? But we love you, and you do not get to back out."

I start laughing. Then I stop. "Wait, so are telling me you subbed in an usher?"

She nods happily. "He's perfect for you, Bean. He's a lawyer in Terrence's office. Corporate tax division. His name's Jefferson."

"You set me up with a tax lawyer?"

"Terrence says he's interesting."

Right. He'll probably talk about obscure tax regulations the whole time.

"And he's not even obsessed with Lord of the Rings," she says virtuously. "I checked."

* * *

I met Brad when I took a marketing job in Atlanta after graduating college last year. In the elevator in the high rise office building where we both work. At the time it seemed romantic. But it turns out the elevator is probably the only place Brad would ever meet a girl because he does absolutely nothing but work.

We barely made it to Miami for the rehearsal dinner because, work emergency. And I totally missed the bachelorette party last weekend thanks to him.

Done, and done. Brad wasted no time catching the next flight back to Atlanta. I think he was actually relieved when I broke up with him because I was distracting him from work.

It's the day before the wedding and the five of us are at a hotel spa being pampered and polished. Right now we are wrapped in white towels with cucumber slices over our eyes and mud masks on our faces reclining on chaises next to a sparkling pool.

"I still feel bad you missed the bachelorette party," Jenny says, and I'm thinking yeah, me too. All they've been talking about is how much fun they had cruising around Miami in a limo with their VIP passes to the hottest clubs. While I was stuck in Atlanta rebooking my flight.

"We should go out for a few drinks tonight," Candace suggests.

"Oh no no no," says Nicki, Jenny's maid of honor and best friend since kindergarten. "Jenny, you are not going out drinking tonight and showing up hung over for your wedding."

Nicki is a super organizer. She looks accusingly at me.

"Did you pick up your dress?"

"No, not yet. As soon as I leave." Because I arrived late my dress alterations became a last minute rush job, and it's finally ready today.

"So, drinks tonight?" says Lauren, the other bridesmaid. "I'm so in."

The ones who aren't in are Jenny and Nicki. But given my recent breakup and my upcoming date with the tax lawyer, I could use some fun. The reception is on a boat. I can't even sneak away early, unless I want to swim for it.

"We're driving?" I ask Candace when swings by my hotel later to pick me up.

Candace shrugs. "I'm not drinking."

"Um hmmm. Sure," I say. Because I know Candace. But I hop in the back seat of the classic convertible.

Lauren turns around and grins. "I'm drinking," she says. "Let's go have some fun!"

We head for South Beach to check out some bars, since it's way too early for clubs.

"Wait!" I yell, just as Candace starts to park in front of an art deco hotel.

"What?"

"The dress! Don't they close at 8:00?"

Five minutes later we're standing in front of the CLOSED sign on the door. I cup my hands against the glass and peer in. My dress is actually hanging on a stand by the counter, waiting for me to pick it up.

Lauren is knocking on the door. But it's obvious no one is inside.

I sigh and rest my head against the glass. "I have to get that dress," I say, just as a text comes in from Nicki asking Did you get the dress? I shut off my phone.

"Let's go get drunk and figure out a plan," Lauren says.

So now we're in the art deco bar and Lauren is on her phone trying to run down the owner of the boutique.

"I know somebody who used to date the brother of a girl who worked there," Lauren says. "Don't worry, I've got this."

Candace rolls her eyes, which is not encouraging.

A DJ steps onto the small stage and announces karaoke.

"You should get up there," Lauren says. "You could sing a breakup song!"

Fortunately Candace interrupts before I have a chance to tell Lauren what I think of that idea.

"Check out Mr. Hottie," she says, and I glance over. He's leaning against the bar. A guy in a leather jacket and skinny black jeans. Black boots. Unruly black hair. Gorgeous blue eyes and a dangerous looking mouth. He's the anti-Brad. He's the guy you dream about kissing in the middle of the night.

And he's looking right at me.

"Oh my God, he's coming over," Lauren says.

But he walks right past our table. I watch as he walks behind the stage. The DJ announces that after a short break Motion in Limine will start their first set.

"Motion in Limine?" I ask.

"I think it's a local band," Lauren says.

I look around the room and notice a crowd has gathered.

The curtain behind the small stage opens to reveal a larger one, and a fancy guitar riff cuts through the air before the room is filled with rock music. There are four guys on stage - one on guitar, one on bass, a lead singer out front, and Mr. Leather Jacket Hottie is on drums. Be still my heart, I've always had a thing for drummers.

After the first set, Candace yawns and asks if we want to go someplace else.

"I'm not going anywhere," I say, finishing off my fourth drink. "Except maybe the restroom."

When I come out he's right there, leaning against the wall, head tilted back, drinking a water bottle.

"Hey," I say. "Great music."

He studies me for a minute and then nods. "Hang around until after the next set," he says, those piecing blue eyes making my knees a little weak.

I walk back to the table wondering if that was a pick up line.

Candace is still drinking club soda, and I'm wondering how long her resolve will last.

For a cover band they're pretty good, and I'm happily zoning out to the music while I have another drink. The set ends to enthusiastic applause, and the next thing I know there he is at our table focusing those eyes on me again.

He tilts one of our chairs around and straddles it, resting his arm on the back.

"I'm JW," he says, looking at me.

Candace thrusts her hand out. "Candace. And this is Lauren, and this is-"

"Elizabeth," I say, cutting her off before she can introduce me by my childhood nickname.

He shakes Candace's hand briefly and nods to Lauren. Then he takes my hand but he doesn't let it go, and I feel little electric tremors shooting through me. "Elizabeth," he says, the syllables of my name rolling off his tongue like a melody. Or maybe I'm just drunk.

"It's hot in here," he says.

"Yes."

"Would you like to step outside?"

"Don't you have to be back on stage?"

"I'm not in the next set. Acoustic guitars," he says, and smiles.

It's the smile that does me in. I'd follow that smile anywhere. Right now, I follow it out the door.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do, Beanie," Candace calls after me, and I wince.

JW steers me out into a small courtyard. "Beanie?"

"Childhood nickname," I explain. "My mother always insisted on calling me Elizabeth. Never Lizzie or Beth. Which backfired when my cousin pronounced it Elizabean which turned into Beanie, so . . ." I realize I'm babbling and my voice trails off.

"Well, Elizabeanie," he says, "I could buy you another drink. But I'd rather kiss you."

"I've had enough drinks," I tell him as I back up against the wall and grab both lapels of his leather jacket and yank him toward me. I press my lips against his, as he braces one hand against the wall and leans in. Right now what I need is to be kissed hard enough and well enough to wipe all memory of stupid boring Brad completely out of my head.

He doesn't disappoint.

* * *

By the time we walk back into the bar I feel intoxicated, and not from alcohol. JW is way more potent than a dozen cranberry vodkas. Then I stop short. Candace and Lauren are gone.

"They left without me?"

"Maybe the acoustic set wasn't their thing." He lifts my chin with two fingers. "You want to get out of here?"

"Oh, yeah," I say.

So I'm thinking we're headed for his place. "Wait," I say, "don't you have to play?"

"Nah," he says. "It's not my main gig."

He disappears for a moment and comes back out carrying a helmet.

"Think you can hang on?" he asks me as we go to the back where his motorcycle is parked.

"Oh, I can hang on."

He pops a spare helmet out from where it's hooked under the seat and hands it to me.

"Let's go."

I'm having second thoughts as I wrap my arms around his waist. He carries a spare helmet. Does that mean he picks up a new girl every night and takes her back to his place?

But I'm even more surprised when we pull up in front of a diner.

"I wasn't expecting this," I say as we get off the bike and he secures both helmets.

He grins at me. "I don't take drunk girls to bed," he says.

"Oh really?" I'm not sure whether or not to be insulted since I am, in fact, objectively drunk. "What do you do with them?"

"I buy them breakfast."

* * *

We talk for hours. Over eggs and potatoes and coffee and toast. About books and movies and some crazy series we've both been watching on Netflix and in one night with no sex it's more fun then I had in six months with . . . what's his name? Oh, yeah, Brad. It's only when I pull out my phone to use Google to settle an argument we're having about Quentin Tarantino that I see all the messages. Shit. I totally forgot I had my phone turned off.

There are ten from Nicki. More important, several from Candace.

Girl where are you? Meet us at Club D.

I check the time. She sent it 20 minutes ago.

Are you still there? OMG did you reach the boutique?

Relax, Candace texts. Got it.

On my way.

"Listen," I tell JW. "I have to go. It's this whole thing. I'm in this wedding and I didn't pick up the dress and now . . . I'll grab an Uber."

"I'll take you."

I'm not about to turn down that offer, so we get back on his bike and head for the club. Candace and Lauren are there, both drinking.

"You're not driving, are you?"

"No," she says, "Uber. We left the car."

"But you got the dress, right?" I don't see anything resembling a dress package.

"She wasn't happy but she met us there," Lauren says.

"It's in the car," Candace explains.

"Well, where is the car?"

"Hmm. " Candace furrows her brow, then her eyes light up. "I know. It's at that place with the pink sign and the green thingy out front," she explains, incomprehensibly, but JW nods.

"I know the place," he says, and I reach out my hand.

"Keys?"

"Right," she says and digs them out of her purse. "Don't be late for the wedding!"

Things are finally going right. Now all I have to do is get through the wedding and reception with the tax lawyer. And find out what JW is dong when I get back . . .

We pull up in front of the bar. There's no sign of Candace's convertible.

"I don't get it," I tell him. "She said she parked it right out front."

Then I look upward. "Oh, shit." I'm staring at a tow away sign. Candace parked illegally and the car is gone. I pull out my phone and dial the number on the sign and get a recorded message.

"Damn," I tell JW. "They don't open until noon on Sunday. The wedding is at 10:00."

"Don't panic yet," he says. "Let me make a few calls and find out where their lot is."

I'm panicking. I lean my face against his back, breathing in the mixture of leather and cologne that my pheromones have been reacting to all night but all I can think about is how disappointed Jenny is going to be. She'll forgive me. But her mother won't.

"Got it," JW says. "Let's go."

* * *

We're looking through a chain link fence. And the gate is padlocked.

"Not a problem," JW says. "Give me the keys."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going over."

"It can't be that easy."

"Sure it can," he says. "Think about it. The fence is here to stop people from driving their cars out. They're not that worried about someone breaking in on foot."

He hands me his jacket, and climbs up the six foot fence, and drops onto the other side.

"I really hope there's no dogs," he says, then disappears.

What's taking so long? I think I see him on the other side of the lot. Then a motion sensor light flicks on and an alarm starts screeching.

"Hurry!" I yell. Now instead of showing up without a dress I'll miss the wedding altogether because I'll be in jail.

JW and the dress land beside me, and we get out of there fast, the sound of the alarm fading into the distance.

When he stops the bike we're back in South Beach, by the water. We drape the dress over the bike and he leads me to a bench.

"It's only a few hours to sunrise," he says.

"I should get back to my hotel. I'm in a wedding."

"So you said."

But it can't hurt just to sit here a few minutes leaning against him. I close my eyes.

The next thing I know someone's shaking my shoulder.

"Elizabeanie. Wake up. Wake up."

"What? Where am I?" Then it all comes rushing back. "What time is it?"

"It's after 8:00. You have a wedding to get to, right?"

I look at my phone. More texts from Nicki, the last one in all caps. WHERE ARE YOU?

"I've gotta' go!"

"Come on."

We roar off, me holding onto his waist with one arm, and the bagged dress flapping over my shoulder. It's a beach wedding, with convenient changing rooms for the bride and her entourage. The groom and the ushers are getting ready at the hotel Brad and I stayed at. I get off the bike, suddenly shy, and for the first time since I met him not sure what to say. What I'm thinking is that I'm sick of that job in Atlanta and I never should have left Miami and just maybe it's time to move back home.

"Thank you for everything."

"You better get in there," he says.

"Am I ever going to see you again?"

He stares at me for a few moments, then finally nods. "Count on it."

"Wait," I call, as he roars away on his bike. "I didn't even give you my number."

But he's already gone.

Whatever. I suppose I can cruise bars looking for the band. If I could remember their name.

I shake my head and hurry into the venue, where Nicki immediately grabs me. "Thank God. Where the hell have you been? Never mind. We're doing hair and makeup in here and getting dressed and . . . " Her voice, fast paced and decisive, barks out directions.

We line up. Terrence and his crew, all in their tuxes, are waiting under the pergola. The guests are seated in rows of white folding chairs. Music plays, and Nicki gives Lauren the signal to walk, then Candace, then me, then Nicki. All eyes turn to Jenny, escorted by her dad. And she just glows.

As the pastor begins to speak, my eyes drift over to the line of ushers and I catch my breath.

It can't be. JW. Jefferson. Tax lawyer. Drummer in a band. It's not my main gig . . .

He catches my eye, and winks.