Leave it to Madge Undersee to be late to her own wedding.

I cross my legs again in a different direction—just another feeble attempt to get comfortable. It's a good thing that Gale decided to only have family stand in the ceremony, because I keep seeing Posy and Vick shifting from foot to foot restlessly. Even Gale's given up at this point and has taken a seat on the altar's marble steps. Everyone's patience is wearing thin.

"I swear to God, if you don't stop that, I'm going to make you sit with the mutants in the back. You sound like a farm animal."

Johanna shoots me a glare and slowly I remove my thumbnail from between my teeth, noticing the hard layer of skin just above it pink and broken from my assault. It's a gross habit that's difficult to break, especially when I'm nervous or impatient. Now would certainly fall into that category.

"They're not mutants. They're Gale's cousins. Jesus Christ, can you not be nice just this once?"

I crane my neck and briefly glance three pews back at the thick-rimmed glasses and ruffled dress shirts of Gale's two highly intelligent, but extremely awkward distant cousins. I know one of them — Beetee —who I've met once before. He wasn't so bad once he stopped talking about firewalls and system software.

"When are you going to get it through your thick skull, Brainless? Me and nice don't go together."

"Neither did you and Marvel Callahan, but that didn't stop you from fucking him against the bathroom door at an all-you-can-eat Chinese restaurant. By the way—really classy, if you ask me."

"Keep talking. I will gut you like a fish," she threatens.

"Keep being a slut and you'll die of an STD first."

"I hate you," Johanna mutters.

"We've already established that. Now would be the time for you to educate me on things I don't know," I fire back, my arms crossed, eyes avoiding contact.

"So this is like, Honesty Hour? I get to say whatever I want?"

"Like I could stop you," I reply sarcastically.

Johanna smirks wickedly, as though this moment has been long awaited. "Oh, I've got a fucking list for you, Pocahontas. Do you need someone to teach you how to use hair styling accessories? There is such a thing as a brush; you may want to try it out. While we're at it, we can address your shoes. Who the hell wears combat boots to a wedding? You look like a lesbian lumberjack. Madge is going to flip her shit when she sees you."

I roll my eyes. "Another lesbian joke. How creative."

"If the shoe fits..."

I glance down to the black combat boots and shrug. If I was going to be forced into wearing a dress, I was going to do it comfortably, dammit.

"You know, Madge cried during Ted. I think she's lost all her credibility at this point. Besides, who are you to be judging hair, Girl With The Dragon Tattoo."

Johanna rolls her eyes bitterly. "Whatever. That chick got laid. When was the last time you had sex with something other than your right hand?"

"My right hand is still better than antibiotics. Oh, did you find a place to buy that special shampoo? I hear crabs are a real bitch to—"

"Hey guys, sorry I'm late," Delly interjects, throwing her purse on the ground and plopping down next to me. Her timing is perfect; otherwise God's name probably would have been taken in vain, accompanied by f-bombs and all. In a church of God, nonetheless. It's not like I'm above doing it. Neither of us is.

"Where the hell have you been, Cartwright? You know better than to leave me and Brainless in the same room together."

Delly chuckles and scoots herself back against the wooden bench. The polyester of her dress static clings to my nylon momentarily. The shock reels me back to reality, and I become even more aware just how long I've been sitting here.

My eyes roam the room for the millionth time. I've practically memorized the flower patterns scattered everywhere (which, by the way, even I have to admit are quite exquisite—the contrasting colors radiate warmth). The ceilings are so high that it makes the church Gale and I have been working in for the past few weeks look mediocre in comparison. But perhaps it's the heavy white marble floors that are the most impressive of all, with flecks of silver that sparkle against the light cascading through the windows. It's moments like these where Hazelle Hawthorne must really appreciate Gale's choice to marry Madge, I'm sure. There's no way they ever could have paid for such an extravagant event.

I feel a soft tug on my arm, and Delly leans into my side, eyes clearly pinpointed on something across the room. "Katniss... is that..."

I follow her gaze and it ends on a mess of blonde curls and broad shoulders. Next to him sits another man with familiar bronze hair slicked back neatly. Slowly, it begins to register.

"What the hell?" I don't even remember opening my mouth to speak; it just comes on its own.

"Oh, my God. What are they doing here?" Johanna asks.

I'm thinking the exact same thing. How does a scumbag bartender from Cleveland wind up at a respectable Saturday afternoon wedding in Akron? I'm half-tempted to march over there right now ask that very question.

But I don't get to because the sound of a violin playing "Here Comes the Bride" begins to fill the crowded room, and after making nearly two hundred people wait for three hours, Madge Undersee comes walking down the aisle with a bright smile and the Mayor proudly hooked to her arm.

The reception isn't nearly as elaborate as the ceremony and there's no doubt in my mind that it has everything to do with Gale. The Hob was a big part of our childhood. We sort of grew up in the place; our families would come together for dinner every Friday night, fighting over pizza and stuffing our faces with homemade stew. And while a lot of people think it's just a dingy diner with a liquor license, to us it's everything that we love about home.

"How'd you get her to agree?" I question Gale as we sit down at the head table. I knew the original plan was somewhere much fancier. He smiles proudly.

"They kept talking about Wyndham; something about a hundred and fifty bucks a plate? It was getting ridiculous. I just put my foot down. I told her we either go to Sae's or we don't have a reception at all."

I give him a half-smirk, knowing just how uncomfortable he gets when the Undersees throw their money around. Gale's a lot like me in that respect; we don't like being indebted to people, and we definitely don't like feeling inadequate—which is exactly how Madge's family makes him feel sometimes.

We sit silently for a moment, watching the train of his wife's wedding dress drag across the floor as she makes rounds, hugging all the people that not-so-patiently waited for her. When looking around, I meet a set of piercing blue eyes across the room. My breath hitches and I immediately avert my gaze.

"So... uh, I got a question for you," I say like it's no big deal. Which I guess it really isn't. It shouldn't be anyway.

"Shoot," Gale answers, but his attention is wavering as he keeps looking over at Madge. I roll my eyes at him. I know I have to be quick, otherwise I won't get the answer to the question that's been burning in my mind for the last two hours.

"How do you know those guys?" I point to the back where the two bartenders from last weekend sit, slouched in their chairs. Gale chuckles.

"If you're talking about the one on the left, Peeta, I play racquetball with him every Sunday." Gale is signaling to him—the douche-nozzle. "The other is probably his friend or something. I don't know him."

"Wait, his name is Peeta?"

Gale chuckles lightly. "Yeah, Peeta. He's a cool guy. We've become decent friends."

I'm befuddled. How can this be happening? How did I not know about this happening?

"And since when do you make racquetball boyfriends and not tell me about them? How long have you known him?"

His expression turns from amused to curious. "Like six months, I think? How the hell am I supposed to know, Katniss? It's really not that big a deal. I'm allowed to have friends other than you, you know. Why the million questions?"

"I didn't say you couldn't. I just find it strange that you've never mentioned him. And I'm just curious, is all."

He eyes me intently for a second, but I know it's going to be dropped in a matter of moments. Gale's way too distracted. He's staring at Madge like a puppy or something. It's gross.

I'm not wrong. Twenty seconds later, he's up and walking towards his wife, leaving me to my own devices. I sit there for a minute, waiting to see if I'll spot anyone else I know. I could go find Johanna and Delly, but I'd really rather not; Johanna's been driving me nuts all day. Instead, it takes me a whole three minutes to mosey on over to the bar area, where I decide to entertain myself with alcohol until I can find something better to do.

"Can I get a shot of Jäger?" I ask the bartender. He nods at me politely.

"Jäger?" I hear from behind me in a condescending manner. I snap my head around and find that smug-ass grin and disheveled blonde hair I hate so very much. Admittedly, his dress shirt is well-fitting with the sleeves rolled up just below the elbows. His hands are stuffed in his pockets. And while his black slacks aren't nearly as tight as the jeans I last saw him in, I still appreciate the fit. They make his ass look fantastic.

"Wow, go hard or go home, huh? Who would've known," he says, taking a seat on the bar stool next to me. His eyes train down and focus on my legs before coming back up and settling on my breasts longer than they should. Wow. Way to be subtle, guy.

The bartender sets a drink in front of me and then moves over to Blondie. "What'll it be?"

"I'll have, uh, Hendricks and club soda, please." I watch as the man reaches toward the gin and begins to swiftly pour it into a glass. I practically gag at the smell.

"What?" he asks, dumbfounded.

"Gin, really? You're even grosser than I thought."

"Hey, you haven't had gin until you've had Hendricks," he explains. "And you think I'm gross? I'd almost be offended if you hadn't already slapped me across the face. But then again, it was kind of hot, so..."

Ugh.

Once his drink is set in front of him, he brings it to his lips with a smirk, staring at me the whole time. In this close of a proximity, you can see just how soft his face is, with the faintest of blonde hairs trailing across his defined chin. I silently curse that and his smile, already despising the fact that I can't hate all of him. With a face like that, I definitely can't.

"So, what's your name, Boots?" His eyes are fixated on my feet when he asks.

"I dunno. What's yours, Tight Squeeze?"

He narrows his brows and locks his gaze on me, but still smiling during the process. "'Tight Squeeze?' That's new."

I chuckle a little bit and down my shot of Jäger in one swift motion before speaking again. "I'm just saying, it takes a comfortable man to wear pants that tight. Channing Tatum would be impressed."

He laughs and I swivel my now-empty shot glass around, trying to gather the bartender's attention. If this is how the evening is going to pan out, I'm going to need a lot more than just one shot.

"My name is Peeta," he says, grinning and extending his hand. He needs to stop with that damn smile.

"Katniss," I give in.

"So, does this mean we're friends, Katniss?" He asks hopefully.

"You wish," I retort.

"Maybe I do," he says, flirtatiously.

"Well, I hate to break it to ya, but you're going to be gravely disappointed."

"And why is that?"

"Because I pretty much hate everyone. Which means I have like, three friends and even they all hate putting up with me." I sigh thankfully when the bartender fills up my glass once more.

"Well, aren't you just a little ray of sunshine."

"Hey, you're the one that wants to be friends with me." I put an emphasis on friends, letting him know that I'm calling his bluff.

"Hey, you took it there, not me," he says, putting his hands up innocently.

"I'm pretty sure you took it there last week."

"You look good in boots, what can I say?"

It's better to quit while you're ahead, so I roll my eyes and down my drink just before standing up. "Have fun, Tatum," I comment before walking away.

By the time they bring out the dinner buffet, I'm already feeling the ramifications from my time at the bar.

"Whoa, you doing alright there, Boots?" Peeta asks me as I nearly trip by the silverware table. He's been following me around like a stray cat all damn night.

"What are you, my babysitter?"

"Pffttt. Please, you couldn't afford me," he says, laced with a sexual innuendo.

I cackle loudly as I scoop a giant mound of macaroni and cheese to my plate. I'm suddenly aware of how hungry I am. "I'm sure the women of Cleveland will beg to differ. And please; honey, you're not that good."

"Oh, but I am," he assures me confidently.

"Dude, you're not God. You pour drinks in a cup."

"Yep. And I look fantastic while I do it," he teases.

"But wouldn't you look fantastic in like, a business suit or something? I dunno. You dance on tables with your pants undone. Seems like you could do better for yourself." I mean it to be insulting in every possible way. Not that he cares, really. Nothing affects his confidence.

"Ah, I wouldn't be so sure about that..." he says. It doesn't go unnoticed by me that the only thing on his plate is lettuce and vegetables. As I place a buttered roll next to my mound of food, I suddenly become very self conscious. I take a few tomatoes just in case he decides to check.

"Alright, I'll bite. What do you make in a week? Enough to afford your Ramen noodles?" I'm oddly proud of myself for that one.

"Katniss, I'm telling you..." His eyes are pleading for me to drop it, but I'm on a mission to prove something. What that is I don't have the slightest clue.

"No, come on. I need to know. If you're soooo good."

"Alright, fine. I work three days a week and I've never made anything less than two grand."

My mouth drops.

"Happy now?" he asks with a smug look.

No, not really.

I keep my mouth shut for a while as I seek out a place to sit, and it's out of pure luck that we end up finding Delly and Johanna. They both silently look at me as we sit down to join them, then look at Peeta with wide eyes, then back at me. Delly especially stares at us strangely. She mouths what looks to be "what's going on?"

I mouth back: I'll tell you later.

Johanna just scoffs.

"Finn!" Peeta shouts and waves. The bronze haired man rapidly approaches us, nearly out of breath.

"Peet, I've been looking all over for you. Can you catch a cab back? I gotta go; Annie needs me."

Peeta looks up at him worriedly. "Yeah, I mean, that's fine. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. She's just cramping. She wants me to take her to the E.R. just to be safe. I'll call you in a bit and let you know what's up."

My eyebrow raises and my interest has been piqued.

They say their goodbyes and Finn hurries off. I give Peeta a questioning look.

"His wife is pregnant. She's due in a few weeks," he explains to us.

"Wait, he's married?" I inquire.

"Yeah. They've been together forever. Finn is like, head over heels. Always has been."

I honestly would have never guessed that Finn was married. Last weekend, he had played the suave bartender role so well, flirting and keeping women on the edge of their seats. Kinda makes it hard to believe it's just for monetary gain.

Delly croons. Johanna looks like she's about to gag.

"Well, isn't that just fucking precious," she says with disdain.

"Jo!" Delly exclaims.

"What about you, Magic Mike? Any babies on the way we should know about?" Johanna asks crudely. I nearly choke on my macaroni and cheese.

Peeta laughs uncomfortably. "No, no. Definitely not."

"That you know of," she says immediately after. I snort. Delly scolds her again.

Decidedly, I stop drinking. It makes it a little easier when everyone starts dancing, because I'm only a little fuzzy then, but definitely more coherent than I had been just an hour earlier. I take the time to sit and watch across the room as Gale and Madge dance (poorly, might I add) to cheesy hip hop songs. One song in particular about Apple Bottom jeans has me holding my stomach from laughter. Gale catches my eyes from across the room and makes his way over to me, pulling me up from my chair.

"Come on, Catnip," he says, gently tugging on my wrists. "Dance with me. Have some fun, eh?"

I shake my head, laughing. "No way. You're having enough fun for the both of us."

"What? Is it because you think I can't dance?"

I can't help the muffled chuckle when it escapes, despite my best efforts to hold back.

"Well, I'll have you know, I'm one of the best dancers in this room." Gale says proudly.

"Yeah, whatever you say, Hawthorne," I tease.

"Coooome on." I sigh irritatedly Gale pulls me to the floor by where Peeta is standing.

"Peet, Katniss here thinks I can't dance."

Peeta laughs a bit. "Is that so?"

"I think we should prove her wrong," Gale states.

"I dunno. Gale's got some pretty good moves on the racquetball court," Peeta warns me.

I scoff with amusement. "Please. I've known Gale half my life. His best dance was 'The Macarena' back in junior high." A memory of our 6th grade Sadie Hawkins dance comes to mind, where Gale tried to dance with Glimmer Hammel and made a fool of himself. He still isn't over it.

"Hey, it was just that one time!"

A jazzy saxophone swing starts playing through The Hob speakers.

"Uh oh," Gale says with a sly grin, moving his feet to the beat.

Peeta starts bobbing his head to the music while backing up into me. Madge glances over at me and we meet eyes momentarily. I shake my head at her, hoping that this isn't really happening.

I'm gonna pop some tags

Only got twenty dollars in my pocket

But it's not my imagination when Gale starts flailing his arms about. I cover my face with one hand as he makes a spectacle of himself. Part of me wonders if I should try to save him from further embarrassment, but who am I to take this from him? It's his damn wedding. And as much as I want to look away, I find it impossible to do so. It's all too entertaining, especially because Peeta's movements are entirely smooth and move with the beat. Gale's? ...Not so much.

I wear your granddad's clothes

I look incredible

I'm in this big ass coat

From that thrift shop down the road

As Gale continually swings his hips in attempt to prove to everyone that he can indeed dance, he does just the opposite. Madge laughs as her husband nearly trips and falls over his own two feet, twice. Luckily, Peeta's gyrations takes some of the focus away from him. I bite on my bottom lip when he spins around and his shirt lifts in the back, exposing the tiniest bit of skin. It's noteworthy as well that the right ass pocket of his black slacks has a Calvin Klein logo.

I suddenly feel the need to write the designer a letter—thank you for existing.

The wanky hip hop music ends, and with that, thankfully, so does Gale's awful dancing. But then Peeta is pulling me with both arms further into shiny floor. I smile at the mess of light curls sticking to the sweat along his forehead. His lips are forming a tight smile. And despite all the laugher, an upbeat melody accompanied by an organ fills the room. The male vocals are smooth—lovely, even.

When there's nowhere else to run

Is there room for one more son

One more son

"Let's see what you got, Katniss..." he says. I don't even get the opportunity to argue with him before we begin moving.

Another head aches, another heart breaks

I am so much older than I can take

And my affection, well

It comes and goes

I feel his large, strong hand wrap around my waist, gently digging into the small of my back. I follow along his steps immediately. It's all a blur as his arm extends and pushes me away, only to pull me back. Then I feel him lift of our conjoined hands, and I twirl. It's fast. I giggle as the beat thrums. My feet try to keep up. I nearly trip, but Peeta keeps me steady, bringing his hand back along my waist. The drums and guitars carry on.

You gotta help me, yeah

Don't you put me on the backburner

The room feels different. Even trying to think of the last time I had felt this carefree as he spins me around, is nearly impossible. My braid whips around the back of my neck as he pulls me closer, pressing his fingers into my left hip. This close, I can so clearly smell the soft mixture of skin, sweat, antiperspirant and lavender shampoo. It kind of does something that I can't quite describe.

While everyone's lost, the battle is won

With all these things that I've done

All these things that I've done

My heart beats faster as the music picks up. I'm finding more and more that his smile is contagious.

If you can hold on

If you can hold...

Then, innocently, he spins me around again just as the music comes to an end. My chest rises and falls. He watches me closely. It's then that I think that maybe, just maybe he isn't a douche after all.

"You're not half bad," he says, leaning in and nuzzling my neck. I can feel his lips ghosting over my skin, heat rising to my cheeks. I want to push him away, but I can't. His gaze is so powerful, his exudate of hotness so strong. I feel it. And he knows. He knows that I want to see him naked, and it just makes me want to wipe that look right off his face.

"Ugh. Do you have to ruin everything?"

"What?" He looks confounded.

Rattled and needing a break, I pull away and leave him behind. He yells out to me, of course, but I ignore it. My feet are already moving quickly. I just hope need him to leave me alone for a minute until I can gather my composure.

Thankfully, I find Delly sitting at a table, nursing some kind of fruity cocktail. I plop a seat next to her and let out a heavy sigh.

"So, you and the Hot Bartender hit it off, eh?" She asks.

"Dear God, no," I answer. "He just keeps following me around everywhere like a goddamn lost dog."

"And that's a bad thing?" She asks.

"It is when he can't keep his mouth shut."

"He was nice at dinner. I don't see why you think he's so bad."

"He makes everything about sex."

"Isn't everything kind of already about sex?"

"No," I answer. "It's not. He's rude. And pompous. He makes me feel...objectified."

"Oh, and like you don't objectify him."

"Oh, please. He's one step away from the male version of the Coyote Ugly. He objectifies himself."

"Oh," she says, quite dumbfoundedly.

"What?" I ask. "Spit it out."

"It's just I'm not really following your logic."

"There is no logic to follow. He's an asshole, end of discussion," I claim in irritation.

"Um, if you say so."

For once in my life, I feel like I need to talk to Johanna.

"Where's Jo?" I ask.

"She left a little bit ago," Delly replies, sipping through her straw, contently.

Glancing up at the clock, I notice it's 1:14 A.M. It dawns on me that I hadn't even looked at it all night until just now. Normally, I'm counting down the minutes.

"I'm gonna head out, too," I tell her. "If Gale asks, tell him I'll call him." Delly nods in response.

I grab my light jacket that's hanging from the rack near the front doors and swing it over my shoulders, hearing my keys jingle from the front pocket. It can still get cold at night here, even for May, and I didn't want to take any chances while being in a dress.

"Leaving so soon?"

I look up and see him standing before me, hands behind his back, rocking back and forth on his heels. His face looks willing, hopeful even. Maybe he was waiting for me to say bye? I didn't think it would've mattered either way.

"Yeah. It's late."

"Are you gonna be okay to drive?" He asks in a concerned manner.

"For sure. I stopped drinking hours ago." He nods.

"Mind if I catch a ride? Just to Market Street? I can walk from there."

I nearly had forgotten about Finn having to leave earlier. His adorable face that makes me want to punch baby unicorns in the face makes me want want to tell him no; but it's nearly two o'clock in the morning, and even I have a heart.

"Come on," I tell him, waving him towards the door with me. "Let's get this over with."

He grins sheepishly. I yawn as we make our way outside and to the car, and I notice then just how awake he seems to still be. It makes me feel old until I remember that he probably keeps ridiculous hours with his chosen profession.

"Don't give me that face. I've been up since 8," I say, hitting the unlock button on my keypad.

"Hey, I wasn't judging," he responds while opening the door and slipping into the passenger seat.

We drive mostly in silence, with the occasional flicker of the radio station. With fatigue beginning to set in on my part, it's about the only thing keeping me awake. That and the awareness of being alone and only a few short feet away from Peeta. It's certainly enough to keep my mind buzzing.

"Where do you live?" I ask.

"You can just drop me off —"

"It's two in the damn morning. Where do you live?" I demand.

Finally, he give me the directions to his apartment. It's not much farther from where he was asking me to drop him off at and I can't help think about how it was a silly notion in the first place.

He hums along to something on the radio. It's not something I'd expect him to enjoy, but the muffled sounds of his voice makes time go by a little faster.

I turn down a dark road and pull up to the curb he points at. My eyes widen as I examine my surroundings. There's broken siding, a gravel driveway, a crumbling porch; for someone who claims to make two grand a week, the apartment building kind of seems like a dump.

I choose not to comment. I think he's expecting me to, because when he says "Thanks," it hangs in the air like he's waiting for something. My eyes meet his for a brief moment. I try not to focus on his lips; instead, my gaze moves to the steering wheel.

And when he leans over, I wait for it. I thought at some point during this awkward car ride he may try to kiss me. I guess I just expected for the landing point to be my lips, not my cheek.

"Goodnight, Katniss," he says while pulling away and opening up the car door. The sounds of his footsteps hitting the pavement fill the dead of night just before he closes the door.

My fingers graze over my cheek to where his lips just were, if only to make sure I didn't imagine it.

Something happens though as I watch him unlock the door to his building. When he's finally inside and turns on the light, I let out a shaky exhale. My mind spins, and every thought is filled with the bright shade of his eyes.