Bourbon Summer, page 16
“Cold?” I asked. I’d bundle her in one of my sweaters if need be.
“Exposed.” She scowled at me, but her lips twitched into a smile. “I’m fine, but we should try another game.” She got up, her hips swaying in matching underwear. She tugged at the hem. “I can’t believe you talked me into this, but it’ll definitely make us seem more familiar with each other next weekend.”
That goddamn wedding.
The date was bearing down on me. Did Ruby feel the same sense of impending loss?
Perhaps she wanted to return to weekends in her own home. She probably missed her friends. She might even want to get a real boyfriend.
The idea made me feral. I nearly rose to haul her to my bedroom.
She went to the door that would’ve been the pantry for someone whose mama didn’t supply him with meals. I had a few staples tucked in the corner if I ever got stranded, but the rest of the shelves were filled with games.
I had to get a hold of myself, or a flirtatious game of strip board games would derail all my honorable intentions.
“Oh my god, I haven’t played Battleship in forever.” She withdrew the box and turned. Her bottom lip was pinched between her teeth and delight danced in her eyes. “That was the thing about being an only kid. I didn’t have enough friends to play games with.”
She sat and did a little wiggle when she opened the box. Her smile never left her face as she took out the game units. She was really enjoying this. Pleased, I placed my ships.
When I’d dated in my early twenties, I’d felt like I had to do backflips to entertain the women I went out with, and Bobby’s taunts had rung through my head the entire time. Didn’t help that he’d been proved right. No one but my family would like me. I was too sloppy, too big, too clumsy, too slow, too whatever.
“Losers go first.” She grinned wickedly. “B-seven.”
Grateful to get yanked out of the past, I shoved my hair off my forehead and put a red peg in my destroyer. “Hit.”
She clapped and giggled, her delight a show just for me. We continued to play.
Ruby Casteel was amazing. As she took down my destroyer, my admiration grew. I was into her. That sweet smile. Her body. The way she blushed.
I flipped my unit around. “You sank my battleship. Shirt or pants?”
“Hmm . . .” She rubbed her chin and eyed me. “I’ll never pass up you without your shirt.”
I used to hate taking my shirt off in public. Still did. Until that growth spurt, I had avoided it. My tennis teammates had wanted to practice on weekends. All of them would go shirtless but me. Girls I’d dated had made me self-conscious with the comparison to my brothers. Katrina had sent me information on gym memberships, claiming my morning runs weren’t enough and we could work out together.
I stripped off my shirt. I didn’t run anymore. Nor had I ever enjoyed the gym. Without a partner’s opinion to worry about, I hadn’t questioned my decision. But the look in Ruby’s eyes was nothing but appreciation.
She did that little wiggle in her chair that almost had me surging over the table to drag her onto it for my own personal dessert. “Do I try my luck at more Battleship or . . .” She rose and went to the game closet. “Exploding Kittens? What’s that?”
“It’s a card game. Chance loves it, but it’s better with more players.”
She continued to stand in the opening. I continued to eye her ass. “I feel like you’d decimate me at Scrabble.”
“Especially when you can’t use the slang you young’uns are used to.”
She laughed, tossing her hair back. “No wonder Lane calls you old man.”
A dark cloud passed over my good mood. “It’s exactly why. This whole night is why.” She turned and I waved my hand over the table. “I don’t go out unless it’s with my family, and I love game nights. I’m not exciting. It’s not because of my age.”
“You’re my kind of excitement. What does that make me?”
“Special.” Her eyes took on a shimmer, and I dropped my gaze. “Don’t ever doubt that.”
She abandoned the board games and took the chair next to me. “You know why I love my job?”
“Because you’re good at it.”
Her expression remained solemn. “It’s because I never fit in. I can follow the trends, but they just don’t look right on me. I can speak the lingo, but it’s always just a little off. Online, though? It’s like when people claim they can’t read tone. I can do the trends, I can talk the talk, but I’m not the product. My posts land like they should. My content resonates with people, whereas I never did.” She folded her hands on her bare legs. “And when something doesn’t hit like it should or people leave mean comments, I don’t take it personally. Not like when Brock broke up with me because I was boring and predictable.”
I twisted toward her and took her hands in mine. Our skin was touching. Her legs were under my grip. “If he was bored with you, then I think he fell into the uneventful mind category.”
Some of the sadness left her face. “Bet he never played strip board games.”
“Bet he’d lose. Just like you’re going to.”
Her eyes went wide. “I will not lose.” She squeezed my hands and winced. “How far down are we stripping?”
I raked my gaze over her half-nude body. “I have to win two more games.”
She laughed and pushed at my hands. “I’m done. I can’t. You’re too lucky, and I’ll be naked. I don’t think I can keep pretending to be nonchalant. I have no shirt and no pants on around you. I’m very much chalant.”
I tucked a wild curl behind her ear. “Go to bed, Ruby, before I decide to quit being a good guy.”
“You could never be the bad guy.” She didn’t move for a beat, then turned and left.
I didn’t have to be a prick to let her down. If there was ever a woman I didn’t want to disappoint, it was her. Good thing the wedding was next weekend, or I’d keep figuring out ways to get her naked. The lines were blurring and I’d learned that on the other side was failure and heartbreak. I didn’t want that for either of us.
So next weekend, once we put on a good show at the reception, I’d make sure Ruby got in her car and drove off. And it wouldn’t be in the direction of my home.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ruby
People milled on the lawn of the Bourbon Canyon nine-hole golf course. Women in colorful dresses dotted the crowd, along with men in slacks and sport coats, all acceptable attire for the garden wedding.
I tugged on the bodice of my pale-blue dress. The bottom of the skirt brushed my ankles, and large white lilies decorated the fabric. I would’ve gone with a solid color, but with my luck, I would’ve shown up in a dress too similar to the bridesmaids’. Cara was likely the type of bride to kick me out for the grievance. As much as I didn’t care for her, I wasn’t interested in ruining her wedding. I hadn’t needed to worry.
The four bridesmaids, two of them from high school who continued to act like I was invisible, wore tasteful, soft-yellow gowns, and the groomsmen, most of whom I had met while dating Brock, were in trendy blue suits. As far as classiness went, the wedding hit all the right notes. The ceremony had been short and sweet. Cara had grinned at Brock, and she’d had to wipe her mouth after their first kiss as man and wife.
I took a sip of my blackberry bourbon. Jenna, the girl working the wet bar, was fairly new at Bourbon Canyon. She took a few shifts at the bar each week. Tenor and I had stopped to chat with her as soon as we’d arrived. I’d taken several pictures of the setup and her preparing drinks. Then I’d done a ton of snapshots of my cocktail.
The only subject I really wanted to photograph was Tenor. He was checking on Jenna again. Teller was running stock in the background, and he’d been so stealthy I’d almost missed him. I took at least ten photos of each of them.
Tenor nodded and started for me. I inhaled a shaky breath. The nerves in my stomach took flight. The real him was much more potent without a camera lens between us. He wore a pair of black cowboy boots with his charcoal-gray slacks. Once again, he wore a shirt a size too big, but it worked for him. The top button was undone to keep the look casual enough for a golf course wedding and his gray sport coat kept his shirt from gathering around his waist. He’d gotten his hair trimmed and he kept it combed off his head.
He adjusted his glasses as he reached me. He wasn’t fading into the background today, not like he ever could. He cut a path toward me and heads turned. Most—but not all—the guests were from out of town. I recognized a few other classmates and they chose to pretend I didn’t exist, but they couldn’t miss the tall, handsome man who was fine in a casual suit.
“I got you another drink,” he said, handing me a highball glass. “But there’s a kicker.”
“Oh?”
“I want to get a picture of you with it.”
I almost laughed him off, but he was holding his phone like he was ready to shoot. “The contract said wet bar and employees only.”
“Exactly.” He took a few pics.
“Wait!” Had my mouth been hanging open? Did I look like Snow White had gotten into the evil queen’s liquor stash?
“Payback. I saw you taking your opening.” He pocketed the phone.
“I promise I won’t post anything with you two.” But on the off chance he and Teller would change their mind, I was ready. “How’s Jenna?”
He tipped his head down. “Hanging in there. Apparently to keep from being a bridezilla, Cara assigned the job to her mom. Jenna got interrogated before the reception started about why there were no other options than bourbon.”
The wet bar was a hit and Cara’s mom could suck a lemon wedge. Teller had stocked plenty. “Good thing we told Jenna where to find a copy of the contract the new son-in-law signed. In person.”
A satisfied glint entered his eye. “Came in handy. Mom of the bride turned beet red, but Jenna made sure to gush about how thoughtful it was Teller and I had included different signature mocktails to be served too. Then she said she couldn’t wait to serve the drink Cara named.”
“Jenna’s a good one.”
His gaze stroked over my face. “We hire amazing people.”
“I have to admit, I like the name Cara came up with for the blackberry fizz.” Instead of simple syrup, Wynter had used maple syrup. It was like a pancake in a glass, which was what Cara had named it.
“That was a good idea.” Tenor put his hand on the small of my back, a move that never failed to anchor me and make me feel treasured. “Letting brides name a mocktail.”
“And those brides feel like they got a backstage pass.” I nudged him. “I promised you I’d keep you out of it.”
“So then what are the pictures for?”
“My spank bank.”
He sputtered and coughed. I handed him my glass for a drink. His expression promised retribution when he took a sip, but he was smiling when he set the glass down on the closest table.
A guitar plucking came over the speakers as the band got everyone’s attention. With his hand still on me, Tenor and I faced the stage set up on the patio behind the clubhouse.
Fairy lights and yellow tulle decorated the pergola. Cara’s laugh rang over the crowd. Brock was standing with his groomsmen, his gaze on me and Tenor. I grinned and lifted my drink in congratulations. His returning smile was tight.
I took my attention off him, feeling nothing but relief that I wasn’t the one in the wedding dress saying yes to him.
Cara marched up to him, hooked her arm through his, and dragged him to the three-tier cake.
Tenor slipped his hand in mine and we gathered to watch the happy couple cut their slice of cake. As Cara adjusted Brock’s hold on the knife, her “silly goose” rose over the notes from the band queuing up. Lines of tension ran along his jaw as his new wife corrected him in front of the crowd.
I almost—almost—felt sorry for him. He hadn’t shown me what a good boyfriend was like, but I had been a good girlfriend. Was I the most exciting? No. The sexiest? Well, Tenor made me feel that way, but to Brock, I hadn’t been. Yet I’d been a considerate, caring partner. I had asked about his day. I had brought him meals when he was sick, and I had never demeaned him in front of his friends or family. I had cared for him.
Have your cake and eat it too, Brock.
He’d wanted more, and he’d made me feel like less when it hadn’t been my fault.
My time with Tenor had shown me that. Tenor had said he’d show me I wasn’t the problem in my relationships. He had, and we weren’t even dating for real.
Brock and Cara each balanced a small square of white cake with raspberry swirls in their hands. Cara lifted her piece to his mouth—but he smashed his chunk into hers. I wasn’t the only one to gasp. Tenor gave his head a small shake and squeezed my hand.
A scandalized squeal shot from the bride and she smudged her cake across the groom’s face. The couple might be laughing now, but their eyes shot fire.
“I’ve never been so glad to have been dumped,” I murmured.
“I was thinking the same,” Tenor replied quietly. “She reminds me of my ex.”
“You wouldn’t have rammed your piece of cake into your new wife’s face.”
“Not even if I was begged to.” He leaned down to whisper in my ear. “I would, however, feed her each bite so slowly, so carefully, so sensually the crowd would have to look away.”
My breath caught and intense jealousy fired in my stomach. Who was the lucky bride and what lake could I throw her in? “I’m not sure I’d want to see Crock do that either.”
His chuckle was low, and I grinned. I leaned into him, letting the warmth of the bourbon fill me as the evening cooled off a few degrees.
After the sweet mess was cleaned up and the couple returned to mingle, the band started. Cara, with a freshly washed face and damp stains on her dress, dragged Brock to the middle of the dance floor.
I had to give it to her. Other than the cake fiasco, she could put on a good party. Too bad she and Brock would be permanent residents of Bourbon Canyon once their honeymoon was over. The bones of their new house overlooked the ninth hole. How often would I have to see them? I wasn’t pining over my ex, and I was no longer intimidated by her, but I’d rather have this little town be my sanctuary.
When the bride and groom’s first dance was over, all the guests were welcome to join them on the dance floor. Tenor twined his fingers through mine and lifted the glass from my other hand. He set it on a nearby table, then led me toward the dancing couples.
“I—I don’t dance.” My wedge shoes made it easier to navigate the grass until we hit the hard platform of the dance floor, but they wouldn’t help me find some rhythm. I had two left feet. In wedge heels.
“You don’t have to.” He twirled me into him. “Just follow me.”
I draped an arm around his big shoulder and hung on while he coaxed me through some steps. Eventually, I caught the pattern and hugged closer to him. “You’re good at everything.”
“Don’t ask me to line dance. I’ll be on my ass in seconds.”
I giggled just as a couple bumped into us.
Cara’s crystal blue eyes pinned me. “Ohmigod, you made it.” She peeled away from Brock and yanked me away from Tenor. A cloud of perfume smothered me as she tossed her arms around my neck. “So glad you could join us. But then you had to since you’re also working, right?” The insecurity was a surprise. She was the bride. This was her day. Why worry about my reasons for attending? She’d made it clear I wasn’t important in her life.
“Uh, congrats again.” I pried myself away from her.
She caught my wrist. “You and I should catch up after Brockie and I get back from Jamaica. I don’t know anyone in town.”
“Sure.” She most likely wanted to use me to get clients. We had nothing else in common and no other reason to hang out. “I’ll be around Wednesday and Friday nights at Copper Summit.”
Tenor curled an arm around me and pulled me back toward him. “Then I tend to dominate her weekends.”
Oh. Yes. I had a boyfriend I was in Bourbon Canyon for. That was, until people figured out Tenor and I were no longer dating.
How would that go?
Did we make an announcement? Tell people one by one? Or did we just do our own thing and let others wonder?
I preferred the latter option. Others could privately wonder what I’d done to scare Tenor Bailey away.
“We’d better let you keep dancing,” Tenor said. “Don’t want to take away from your first night as a husband and wife. Congratulations. Beautiful wedding.” He spun me away.
I didn’t bother to look at Cara or Brock. I rested my head on his chest as he swayed me to a slow song. “That was the smoothest exit I’ve ever witnessed.”
“You don’t owe her a second of your time.”
“She hasn’t been bad.”
“But she doesn’t make you feel good.”
True. Cara wanted to rekindle a friendship that she’d killed off. She would no doubt agree with Brock about my work and my romance novels. I was dull. Except with Tenor, when that was okay.
I smiled and soaked up his heat as he led me around the dance floor. Over the next two hours, we danced, checked in with Jenna, tracked down Teller, and laughed when some single women from town spotted Teller and tried to drag him onto the dance floor. Tenor didn’t leave my side.
Once the crowd started thinning, my happiness dimmed. This was it. The end of my month with Tenor Bailey. It was over. I was back to being fully single. For real.
He led me along the sidewalk around the clubhouse to the parking lot.
“I can’t believe that’s over,” I said to distract myself. No more weekends with Tenor. No more hanging out casually with his wonderful family. No more quiet nights in his cabin in the middle of nowhere.
When Cara had first invited me and I’d roped Tenor into my lie, I’d thought I’d wither away from embarrassment each day until the reception, which would be the final nail in the sarcophagus of my personal life. Instead, I’d had a wonderful time with my fake boyfriend.
The stars overhead twinkled brightly behind wisps of clouds. I tipped my head back to admire them and sighed. Tenor would be gone in the morning when I woke up and drove out of his personal life. He’d return to being one of my bosses. Only I’d know how firm his lips were when he kissed me. How coaxing his tongue could be. What he looked like in nothing but boxer briefs.
