It's Complicated, page 5
We say our goodbyes, and the moment Aiden and Kirsten have turned the corner, I get away from Jace and the arm he still has wrapped around my waist. That leaves us awkwardly standing on the curb a foot apart. For the first time in my life, I feel self-conscious around him. We stand in silence for a few seconds, looking at each other.
Jace’s eyes dance with that mischievous, boyish twinkle as he asks, “Do you think I’ve sold them on being helplessly in love with you?”
My stomach bottoms out. I don’t know about them, but I’m sold on the Jace Barlow experience.
Unsure how to answer that question, I choose to be flippant. “I don’t really get the helpless part, but tonight, you were the perfect, attentive boyfriend every woman dreams of.”
The lopsided grin that cracks his lips is disarming. Again, I’ve seen it a million times. Even weaponized against innocent, unsuspecting women. And I’ve always rolled my eyes at it. But tonight I’m suddenly not immune anymore.
Jace makes a mock bow and whispers, “I live to please.”
And is it just me who’s reading double meanings in everything he says? To be cautious, I bring the conversation back to safe ground.
“Did you see Kirsten tonight? What was up with all the hugging? I thought she hated me.”
Jace gently taps the tip of my nose. “You’re so clueless it’s cute.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Please explain the way of life to me, oh sage one?”
Jace scoffs, fake-annoyed. “Until a few hours ago, in Kirsten’s mind, you’ve been Aiden’s hot, single friend. A potential threat. But now you’ve suddenly become my girlfriend, aka the most untouchable woman on the planet for her fiancé.”
Did he say hot, single friend? I think he did.
I roll my eyes. “Please, you seriously expect me to believe perfect, posh Kirsten saw me as a threat? In what universe?”
“I’d pick you over her a million times.”
The statement puts an incredibly silly smile on my lips. And I feel an almost imperceptible shift in my gut. But I refuse to acknowledge the fact that his words have affected me more than I’d like to admit. “You’re saying that just to stay in character.”
“That of your besotted boyfriend?”
“Yep.”
“What can I say? Maybe the performing arts were my real calling. As soon as I’ve repaid all my student loans, I’ll leave medicine behind and become a street artist.”
“You’re forgetting the mortgage on the office.”
“Gosh, Archibald, you’re such a buzzkill.” He inches his chin toward the garage in front of the practice where we have reserved parking spaces, both for us and our patients. “Walk you to your car?”
“Sure,” I say.
Our parking spots are in the same order as our offices. Jace’s sleek Mercedes on the left, Aiden’s now-missing, luxury SUV in the middle, and my Tesla on the right.
Jace walks me all the way to the driver’s door.
“Guess I’ll see you tomorrow at dinner. Have fun trying on dresses and send me pictures.”
He jokingly waggles his eyebrows.
Still, a tingle of excitement zaps down my spine at the idea of posing in front of a mirror for him.
“You want to tag along? I’m sure we could find a cute dress for you to try on.”
“I wouldn’t want to upstage the bride—or the bridesmaids.”
Barely able to suppress a smile, I roll my eyes and open my door. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow night, then.”
I get in the car.
“Sweet dreams, Lola,” Jace says, closing the door for me.
His last words are kind of prophetic. At home, I curl into bed, slithering under the covers in a position that won’t disturb any of the three cats currently occupying the bed—Chewie opted to sleep on the couch alone.
As I settle in, I’m still a little over-excited from the night’s happenings but also bone-tired. I crave an undisturbed sleep, but as soon as I close my eyes, the sexy dreams start. And for the first time in fifteen years, they’re not about Aiden.
8
LORI
The Perfect Day. Even the name of the bridal shop is cheesy. I lock my car and sigh, preparing myself to enter enemy territory. I don’t have many female friends, the few I made in college and that I still keep in touch with, have scattered all over the country after graduation. And with Aiden and Jace both here in Chicago with me, I got lazy and never saw the point of branching out.
Plus, men are simpler. Less easily offended, more straightforward, less complicated. And I’m not a tomboy, but I’m not that girly either. On a scale of one to ten, my femininity is at a solid six, seven when I make an effort. Kirsten is an eleven. Kirsten and her bridal party combined are six figures.
I push the door of the shop open and my entrance is announced by the tah-dah-da-dah notes of the wedding march, immediately followed by a high-pitched screech that quickly reaches dog-hearing-only frequencies.
“Lori,” Kirsten greets me. “You made it.”
As if I had a choice.
The bride-to-be loops an arm with mine and leans in conspiratorially. “Everyone’s so jealous of you.”
“Me?”
“Yah-ah girl, all my friends had their eyes set on the best man, my sister, too.”
I don’t even have to fake the cringe reaction.
“And now he’s taken!” I reply, unable to keep a little venom from spilling into my words.
I’ve never considered myself possessive, but apparently, I was wrong.
Kirsten chuckles. “Yeah, don’t worry, hon, I told all my friends Jace is off-limits. A few hearts broke, but that’s life. Come, we have a private room”—she pulls me along—“I want to introduce you to the others.”
She must mean the lovely women who are after my boyfriend. Fake boyfriend. Whatever.
We turn a corner and enter a small suite equipped with a rose-velvet couch, an armchair in the same material, a pedestal, and, behind it, a human-sized trifold mirror. Two other women are already inside, sipping champagne out of crystal glasses.
Kirsten lets go of my arm and heads toward them to make the introductions.
“Ladies, this is Lori, one of Aiden’s best friends.” The women in the room smile at me tentatively. “Lori, this is Britney, my maid of honor.”
A slender blonde waves at me. I wave back.
Gosh, this is excruciating.
“And this is Erin,” Kirsten continues, probably oblivious to my deep discomfort. “One of my bridesmaids.”
“Kirsten and I have been in the same class since kindergarten,” the woman says. “Nice to meet you.”
I’m about to say nice to meet you, too, when a tall brunette enters from the other side of the room, carrying another bottle of champagne.
“Score,” she announces.
I take in the newcomer’s features, and I’m taken aback by her resemblance to Kirsten. Same bright green eyes, same pouty lips, same flawless skin. Kirsten and the newcomer are identical except for a few minor details: the unknown woman’s hair is a dark shade of brown and has longer layers, tumbling down in soft waves, and she is significantly taller than Kirsten. And most of all, her face is too smug. She must be the lovely sister of the bride.
Kirsten rolls her eyes. “And this is my sister, Kendall.”
Yep. And they’ve all got K names like the Kardashians.
I wave. “Hi.”
Kendall pours a glass of champagne and hands it to me. “You’re late, dear.” As I take the flute from her, she studies me. Like a cheetah would study a gazelle she can’t wait to eat alive. “So you’re Jace’s girlfriend?” Her eyes narrow still—apparently she really had her sights set on him.
“Yeah, we’re dating,” I say. I raise my glass in a mock toast and take a sip of champagne. Heaven knows I’ll need the booze to survive this.
Kirsten hops onto the pedestal. “Girls, now that we’re all here… you want to try your dresses first, or should I show you mine?”
I do my best not to roll my eyes at the fakeness of the question and join the enthusiastic choirs of, “You go first.”
Yay.
“All right, girls, you take a seat and drink a little more bubbly while I go change,” Kirsten suggests.
Like good troopers, the bridesmaids all sit down. Kendall claims the small armchair while Britney and Erin sit on the couch next to each other. I instinctively perch on the armrest as far away from them as possible.
“We can squeeze,” Britney offers.
“No, thanks,” I say. “I’m fine. This is the coziest armrest ever.”
To shut me up before I blab some more nonsense, I take another sip of champagne.
“Kirsten has told us you have a lot of pets,” Erin says.
“Yeah, four cats and six hens.”
“Eww,” Kendall comments from her solo seat. “Aren’t chickens gross?”
I try to keep my smile in place. “Not to me.”
“But why would you keep chickens in a city?”
“I saw a documentary on chicken farming and it broke my heart, so I decided to save as many of the poor birds as I could.”
“That’s very sweet of you,” Erin says.
Kendall’s pouty lips become poutier. “But don’t those factories process, like, thousands of chickens? What difference do six make?”
All the difference in the world, I want to say, but I’m spared having to further argue by Kirsten’s voice calling from the distance, “I’m coming, ladies… close your eyes.”
The other bridesmaids all oblige, so, feeling none the less silly, I close my eyes, too.
I can hear the soft clack of Kirsten’s heels as she enters the room and the rustling of her skirt on the carpet, followed by another set of steps—she must be with a shop assistant. A pause. Then she announces, “Okay, you can open your eyes now.”
The bride-to-be is standing on the pedestal, looking positively radiant while a shop assistant fans out her train.
Kirsten is facing us, but the trifold mirror behind her doesn’t spare me any details of her utter perfection. The dress is a mermaid cut that would turn me into a bad-shaped pear, but on her, the effect is stunning. The strapless top flows into the mermaid-cut skirt, which is emphasized by a long train the shop assistant is showcasing to all its impressiveness.
My gaze travels away from the train to the sheer fabric of the bustier that hints at what’s underneath, hugging the bride’s curves in all the right places. A sweetheart neckline accentuates her prosperous cleavage. Her back is almost completely bare while the bodice makes her waist look tinier than ever. The whole dress is covered in an intricate lace pattern.
The woman herself is a vision. Her skin is flawless and her eyes shine with happiness. The absolute picture of the perfect bride.
Kirsten beams at her bridesmaids. “What do you think?”
The bridesmaids all ooh and aah and gush over how beautiful she looks, but I can’t form a single word. Staring at Kirsten, imagining her walking down the aisle while looking so beautiful to marry Aiden, my Aiden, makes my mouth go dry.
I don’t care how it looks, I throw my head back and chug the rest of my champagne in one long sip. As I straighten my neck again, I make the mistake of looking around and meeting Kendall’s eyes. The bride’s sister raises an eyebrow at me. I try to smile, but it must come off as a grimace.
The shop assistant that’s been fussing over Kirsten, says, “And now the final touch.” She brings out a long veil and places it on top of Kirsten’s blonde locks.
“Isn’t she the most gorgeous bride?” the woman asks.
I want to die.
Another woman enters the suite, a seamstress judging from the needle pincushion wrapped on her wrist, making the small room suddenly very crowded. To distract myself while the seamstress prods and pinches Kirsten with needles to make sure the dress fits her even more perfectly, I take out my phone and shoot a quick text to Jace. I need the distraction.
To Jace:
So sorry I ruined all your chances at action for the wedding
From Jace:
Oh?
To Jace:
Apparently the bridesmaids were ready to wrestle in the mud to win your favors
From Jace:
*fearful face emoji*
Glad we’re fake dating then
To Jace:
Although, if we fake break up, they still might brush up their shiny leotards and fight valiantly to comfort the handsome, brokenhearted best man
From Jace:
We might have to extend the terms of our agreement, Lola
To Jace:
I knew I should’ve never started fake dating you, you’re so clingy it’s embarrassing
From Jace:
*eye-rolling emoji*
I forgot you’re an insufferable sassy texter
To Jace:
Gosh, you really have it bad for me, Barlow
I get a double eye roll this time, followed by a change of subject.
From Jace:
How’s it going?
Still lost in Bridaland?
To Jace:
Yes, and it looks like it’s going to take a while still
On the bright side, we have a brilliant, Kirsten-full night to look forward to afterward
From Jace:
Don’t worry, I’ll be there to hold your hair up should you feel sick at any point
To Jace:
At the pace I’m downing bubbly that might actually be a necessity
From Jace:
You have booze? Why are you complaining then?
To Jace:
Kirsten has a sister named Kendall, who’s the snottier, meaner version of the bride
She’s single, by the way
*smiling devil emoji*
From Jace:
You deserve all the ruffles coming your way
I chuckle out loud.
“Texting Jace?”
I look up from my phone and find Kirsten hovering nearby.
“Yeah, how did you know?”
Aiden’s fiancée smirks. “Because of the loved-up smile on your face, and it’s the third time I’ve called your name, but you were completely lost in your world.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry about that.”
“Don’t apologize. Those first months are the most precious. Even if I’m not sure how that translates for you guys, since you’ve known each other for so long.”
If the butterflies in my belly last night were any indication… “Oh, it’s the same, but better,” I add. “No chances of nasty surprises.”
Kirsten smiles. “That’s so true. Would you like to join the others and try on your dress?”
I take in the small room and notice for the first time that I’m alone with Kirsten and a different shop assistant.
“The others already went to change,” Kirsten explains.
I drop my flute on a small glass table and follow the sales assistant to the fitting rooms.
Just as I’m about to put my phone away, another text arrives:
From Jace:
Remember to send me a pic
9
JACE
I send that last text—I probably shouldn’t have—and put my phone away in my gym bag. I definitely shouldn’t have sent it. Shaking my head, I enter the indoor basketball court, ready for my weekly one-on-one game with Aiden.
Should be interesting today.
My friend is already warming up with dribbles.
When he spots me, he stops the ball. “You made it, man.” Aiden throws me the ball in a fast pass. “I thought you were too busy knocking boots morning, day, and night.”
I toss the ball back to him. “Don’t give me that, dude! You know Lori becomes such a goofball when she’s under pressure.”
The ball flies back to me and, raising his hands, Aiden says, “Hey, I just hope you have enough stamina left to play.”
I study his teasing smile. It seems genuine—no hints of scorn. “I take it you’re good with me and Lori dating?”
We stare at each other and a million unspoken words pass between us, until Aiden says, “Took me a minute to digest the news. But after a couple of nights to sleep on it, I’m happy for you guys.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, you’re my two best friends. I couldn’t wish for a better partner for either of you. Just don’t screw it up.”
“I won’t, man.” Even I should be able to not screw up a fake relationship.
“Ready to roll?”
Aiden tips off the ball, and the game is under way.
We play hard, driving to the basket over and over.
Aiden scores the first three points.
“Hey, man, did you forget to bring your game?”
I have the ball. “Got it,” I reply, not breaking stride. I drive to the basket for a layup when Aiden falls for a left fake. And dunk.
We alternate scoring until our hour is almost up. Aiden is up by one point. I’ve got the ball again, and shoot from outside the paint to sink a gorgeous, deep three-pointer.
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