It was obvious things were not going according to plan when I arrived at the reception area, and it was a good thing I pressed pause on today’s showing ofOrgasm Hour with Will. The bar line stretched all the way across the tent, there were no appetizers on the tables, and the band was still setting up. ‘Tyrant’ would be a fair assessment of my behavior when I stormed into the kitchen.
The next couple of hours flew by in a blur. I missed dinner entirely and didn’t catch much of the first dance, cake cutting, or bouquet toss, but the inn staff that I deputized was finally keeping things running on schedule. For a minute there, I almost got behind the bar and handled service myself. It was days like this that convinced me I’d be able to pull off a successful jewel heist if I set my mind to it.
I shuffled toward the bar, my feet aching and my body too tightly strung with tension to register my exhaustion. With a glass of champagne in hand, I counted heads. Matt and Lauren were circling the dance floor. Sam was getting drunker. Riley was grinding on Lauren’s mother—she was getting a kick out of it, thankfully. Patrick was still moping. Erin was seated at a far table with Andy and Lauren’s brother Wes, and I couldn’t decide whether I was relieved Erin was still here or concerned that she was telling them all our ugly secrets.
Nick waved as he approached the bar, and I responded with a chin lift. Too damn tired for words.
He tapped his beer bottle against my champagne glass and slung an arm around my shoulder. “One hell of a party, Shan. When are we doing this again?”
I dropped my head to his chest and sighed. “Beats the shit outta me.”
A laugh rumbled through Nick’s chest, and he said, “Let’s run the line up.”
Everything was a sports metaphor to Nick, and if a slot opened up on the Red Sox or Patriots coaching staff, he’d leave pediatric neurosurgery behind in a heartbeat.
He pointed his beer bottle toward Riley, who was dirty dancing all by himself now that Lauren’s parents were headed back to their room. “He’s still on the farm team, and not moving up to the majors any time soon.” He pointed toward the opposite side of the tent where Sam and Patrick were standing together. “Now those two…definitely in the majors, but their stats are inconclusive. Outliers. We need to watch the season play out.”
“You don’t think it’s going to work out with Andy?”
Nick shrugged. “It probablywillwork out, but I don’t think we’re walking them down the aisle for a few years. He’s cautious. If he gets her back, he’s going to take his time. And she’s young as fuck. She’s in no rush.”
“And what about that one?” I nodded toward Erin.
“Ah, speaking of young as fuck. The free agent,” Nick said. “What’s her story?”
It was what everyone wanted to know: why didn’t I speak to my sister? But there wasn’t one reason. It started as a pebble rippling across a pond, but that ripple turned into a wave and then a tsunami, and everything that used to exist between us was gone.
“What’syourstory?” I challenged.
He chuckled and engulfed me in a warm hug. “Diversion. Good tactic.”
Nick’s was an easy comfort, and it came with no expectations. Really, there wasnothingthere.
We got drunk together last February when I held a Valentine’s Day party at my place, and after everyone left, we made an indescribably awkward (and failed) attempt at hooking up. We blamed it on the liquor and laughed it off as the worst idea ever, but we both knew the truth: we didn’t have enough chemistry to fill a shot glass.
“Sam’s hosting the after-party again,” Nick said. “Are you headed that way?”
I shook my head as I stared at the table where Erin, Andy, and Wes sat. “No,” I said. “Tired.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll make sure the kids behave themselves.”
“You do that,” I mumbled. Nick was good at riding herd. There were times when I wondered whether he was a sheep dog in a past life.
I rounded the bar to grab another bottle of champagne when Nick stepped away. Once the cork was popped, I reached for my glass only to find Will smiling at me from the other side of the counter.
Fuck, he was pretty. It was the wrong word for a man who was undeniably jacked, lethal by training and trade, and into some serious shit in the bedroom but…it was also very right. Those hazel eyes, that sun-streaked hair, the clean-cut, All-American look, the long, lean muscles that felt incredible under my fingers. Pretty was right.
Pretty fucking hot.
He was tanned to the darkest shade of gold imaginable, and seeing it peeking out from his shirtsleeves made me think of his hands on my skin last night. It was almost drool-worthy.
“What’ll it be, commando?”
He stroked his finger and thumb over the scruff on his chin.
Yes, I had beard rash all over my thighs. And some other spots. And yes, it was totally worth it.
Will lifted his brows and swiped his tongue over his upper lip, and it was like a silent directive to drop my panties and fall to my knees.
