This Changes Everything: McLaughlin Brothers, Book 1

by Ashley Jennifer

  This Changes Everything

  McLaughlin Brothers, Book 1

  Jennifer Ashley

  JA / AG Publishing

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Also by Jennifer Ashley

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Zach

  “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

  About effing time. My oldest brother kisses his true love, and the crowd in the church goes wild.

  I’m the best man, at Ryan’s side to make sure he can stand up, say his vows, and put the ring on the bride’s finger. Then he’s Calandra’s problem, her job to get him back down the aisle and stand still for pictures. I dust off my hands to show Calandra I’m done with him.

  By the way, I’m Zach, brother number two. Behind me in the first row are Ben and Austin, both half-sauced and doing victory dances. At least Austin’s dancing, punching the air and whooping. Ben’s a little quieter, but damn, he’s still gyrating around like a big goof.

  Why are we partying so hard already? Because we never in our lives thought Ryan McLaughlin and Calandra Stevenson would get to the altar. It took some doing …

  But hold on a sec. This story isn’t about them.

  It’s about me. And that gorgeous, long-legged sweetheart behind the bride, who can make anything, even a bright yellow butt-ugly maid-of-honor dress, look amazing.

  She’s got black hair, brown eyes, and curves that can stop traffic. She isn’t aware of it—doesn’t have her face in the mirror all the time, like women who can’t get enough of themselves.

  Abby was my first kiss.

  Yep. When we were thirteen, she and I mashed lips. I thought I’d die right there. My body was like a river of fire, her lips the softest thing I’d ever felt.

  After the seriously wet face smash, we did some staring, our faces red, and started yelling at each other. Ended that relationship real quick.

  Hard to believe that was almost twenty years ago. I stayed friends with Abby, more or less, but we never mashed lips again. I didn’t care at first because, you know, attention span. Then football ate all my time. It was really, really important, right? More important than watching Abby Warren transform from cute girl to sensuously beautiful woman.

  I realized that when she showed up to stay with Calandra, her best friend, to get her to the church on time. She’s maid of honor to my best man, and we’ve been thrown together all week.

  Yeah, I notice now. Not that it’s going to do me any good. I think Abby’s with someone or sort of with someone or wants to be with someone, over in Chandler, where she’d moved during high school with her mom when her folks split up. Chandler’s like the other side of the planet when you live in north Phoenix.

  The music begins to send us back down the aisle. I step away and grin at Ryan, who is so happy it’s glowing off him. I swear some of his happiness touches me, like a warm splash in the face. He walks Calandra toward the church’s exit, a married man.

  Now it’s my turn. I hold out my arm and Abby takes it, just like in rehearsal.

  Damn, she smells good. The bright yellow dress rustles into my tux as our hips bump.

  Her fingers are strong on my arm, warm through the tux jacket. She smiles at me, her lips an orange-red color from whatever lipstick she’s wearing.

  “They did it,” she says to me over the organ music as we skim after my brother and his new wife. “I don’t know what I’m going to do now that I don’t have to talk Calandra into marrying your brother. A big hole just opened up in my calendar.”

  “You’ll fill it with something. Every time they have a fight …”

  Abby throws me an exasperated glance. “Don’t say that. Besides, it’s your turn. I had the bachelorette party breakdown. You get their first fight.”

  I’d heard that Calandra was freaking out a little last night. I got the same from Ryan’s end. Ben, Austin, and me had been ready to tie him up and drag him here today.

  “I think they’ll be fine,” I say with confidence. “They just needed to get over the hump.”

  We study Ryan and Calandra walking out of the church into the sunlight on this April afternoon, leaning into each other. Yep, those two are in love. Humping definitely on their minds.

  It starts to be on my mind too. With Abby against my hip, her dark hair dusted with glitter, the faint perfume designed to drive me crazy, how can I help it? She’s beautiful. Always has been.

  Somehow we get out of the church into the late afternoon sunshine, then it’s the endless round of photos, the McLaughlin brothers doing prank poses until Calandra threatens to bean us with her bouquet.

  Abby remains poised through it all, far above the rest of us. I get to stand next to her in some pics, and the two of us flank Calandra and Ryan in others. Then the group, with my parents, two people still very much in love.

  Calandra and Ryan chose a hiking trip in in northern Arizona for their honeymoon. Whatever floats their boat. I’m betting it isn’t so much hiking they have in mind as being alone, far from brothers, parents, and friends.

  After photos we zoom off to the resort hotel in north Phoenix we’ll all spend the night in. The reception dinner is held in a huge tent outside with a band, food, and plenty of booze. The only flaw is that I have to make a speech.

  Abby sits next to me at a long table across the back of the tent, the bride, groom, and wedding party on display. Abby’s arms and shoulders are bare, her dress showing a bit of cleavage. Not that I’m looking.

  Okay, I’m looking, but I’m keeping my eyes polite. No gaping, gawping, or drooling. I’m a gentleman.

  Abby notices my nervousness and puts it down to speech jitters. “Here.” She pours her untouched drink into my empty glass. “Courage.”

  I take a gulp, and cough, my eyes watering. “What is this?”

  “Single malt Scotch, no mixer.”

  “Nice.” I venture another sip, savoring this time. “You into whisky?”

  Abby shrugs. She has light brown eyes that go well with her dark hair, her irises ringed with gray. I’ve never seen that in eyes before, and I study them with interest.

  “I’m not into tastings and writing stuff in a notebook,” she says. “I just like it.”

  I make a mental note to casually mention Dad’s collection of Glenfiddich at some point.

  “It’s not bad,” I say, hefting the glass.

  “It’s what the bar is serving. Drink it,” Abby advises. “Get you over the jitters.”

  “Or make me so drunk I forget the speech.”

  She’s laughing at me now. “Not if you wrote it down.”

  “Why would I do that?” I nod at the waiter who’s circulating and order Abby another Scotch. “I’m going to wing it.”

  The corners of Abby’s eyes go all crinkly. “Oh, great idea.”

  “I know. I’m screwed. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to say.”

  The waiter brings the Scotch, which Abby sips. “Don’t worry about it. Just say what’s in your heart.”

  “You mean—I wish I was doing anything but standing up in front of you all making a speech?”

  “You could go with that.” Abby nods gravely. “Why don’t you? I’d love to see that.”

  “Heart of gold, that’s you.”

  She laughs. “Well, you suck at kissing, so I wa
nt to see if you suck at speeches.”

  My whole body gets hot, and my face must be red as a brick. “I didn’t suck. I was thirteen. What did I know?”

  Abby leans closer, and I start getting lightheaded. I shouldn’t drink single malt so fast. “Are you saying I was your first kiss?” she asks.

  “Yep.” I clear my throat. “One I hoped you’d forgotten.”

  “How could I? It was my first kiss too.”

  I hadn’t known that. I’d gone through puberty thinking I’d made a huge fool of myself with a sophisticated woman. Now I find out, twenty years later, that I worried for nothing.

  I raise my glass in salute, and Abby clicks hers against mine. “In that case,” I say, “I think we both sucked.”

  “There might have been sucking. I’m not really sure.”

  I lapse into laughter. It had been a stupid moment of my life, and I’m glad she can make fun of it without malice. We’ll joke—we’ll move on.

  Except I suddenly don’t want to move on. What has Abby been doing all this time, and what kind of woman has she turned out to be?

  A beautiful one with a smattering of freckles on her lightly tanned skin, fascinating eyes, and full-lipped mouth. Plus a hot body, which I am definitely not checking out.

  My father, Alan McLaughlin, starts tinking his spoon against his glass. The waiters hurriedly finish pouring champagne into flutes and set them down on the tables.

  Ryan leans around Calandra to eye me. “You’re on, dude.”

  Shit. I take a gulp of the Scotch and stand up.

  “Here’s goes nothing,” I whisper to Abby, and raise my waiting glass of champagne.

  Chapter Two

  Abby

  All attention turns to Zach, who can command a room with his blue eyes alone. Dark blue, lined with sexy black lashes that go with his dark hair. The entire family has dark brown hair, ranging from the almost black of Austin’s to the red highlights in Ben’s. Zach’s is in the middle—rich, chocolate, enticing me to run fingers through it.

  I haven’t seen Zach McLaughlin in years, and I realize I’ve missed out.

  I notice Zach’s hand shaking a little—he is not happy to speak in public.

  Yes, he kissed me when we were middle schoolers, and I went home half-fainting with joy. I figured he’d think me some nerdy girl chasing him if I talked to him again, so I ignored him. The logic of a thirteen-year-old.

  We could joke about the kiss now, like old-timers reflecting on days gone by.

  Except, I keep wondering what it would be like to kiss him now …

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here—” Zach breaks off amid chuckles and his brother Austin’s boo. “Oh, wait, we already did that. We’re celebrating Ryan and Calandra hooking up. Finally.” More laughter.

  Zach waits until his audience is quiet, then he opens his mouth again. And nothing comes out. Maybe a little squeak of air.

  He’s freezing, with his whole family, their closest friends, and a hundred friends of friends and acquaintances waiting for him to be Mr. Eloquent. I know enough about the McLaughlins, mostly from Calandra talking about them nonstop, to realize they’ll never let him hear the end of it if he can’t finish his speech.

  “Say what’s in your heart,” I remind him in a hurried whisper.

  Zach switches his panicked gaze to me. He is so seriously good-looking I almost lose the thread.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Say what’s in your heart. Go on.” I make motions for him to get back to it.

  “Sorry.” Zach straightens up. “Taking cues from my prompter. The beautiful maid of honor, Abby Warren.” He indicates me, and there are awws and applause. My face goes hot.

  “She’s telling me to go with my heart,” Zach continues. “So here it is. Ryan, you’re a pain in the ass. Now you’re Calandra’s pain in the ass.” A ripple of laughter. “But you know what? It’s obvious you two are so much in love. You make each other whole. So be happy Ryan, be happy, Calandra. You know we always have your back, bro. And sis.”

  More awws, even Austin wiping off his grin to applaud. Zach lifts his champagne flute, and the rest of us follow.

  “To Ryan and Calandra,” he says.

  “Ryan and Calandra!” we all shout. Zach sits down, flushed and out of breath.

  “How was that?” he says to me under cover of the clapping and cheering.

  I take a demure sip of champagne. “Your fly was open.”

  The horror on his face makes me laugh, my body shaking with it. Zach checks—he has to—finds his pants closed up just fine, and shoots me a vicious glare.

  “Oh, you’ll pay for that, Abby Warren. You’ll pay.”

  I pretend to myself that his words, his eyes, his voice, don’t make my blood run hot. I drink champagne and smile, until his mom comes to hug him and he turns away, giving me a much needed chance to cool down.

  * * *

  Wedding receptions pretty much follow the same pattern unless something goes seriously wrong. I pray as the meal finishes, the sun sets, and dancing begins, that nothing goes wrong. Getting Calandra to the church had been a feat. I deserve seven shots of tequila for pouring her into her dress and driving her there before she could run.

  Ryan and Calandra do their first dance. We watch, breathless, as the two gaze into each other’s eyes, their love strong.

  I relax. They’re going to be okay.

  The bride and groom finish, and Calandra pairs off with her dad, Ryan with his mom. The rest of the guests stream to the floor to join them. I toss back the last of my champagne from the sidelines and watch, smiling, because my best friend has found happiness.

  “Dance?”

  Zach is next to me in the shadows beyond the dance floor, his hand out.

  He’s tall warmth in the dark. His body is hard and honed from whatever workouts he does or whatever sports he engages in. I suddenly want to know which ones.

  Should I play it cool? Pretend a shock hasn’t gone through me from his nearness, from the enticing way his tux hugs his trim body?

  I can try.

  “Do you ballroom dance?” I wave my empty champagne flute at the dipping, spinning crowd. “They’re waltzing.”

  “You’d be amazed at what I had to do to prep for this wedding.” Zach plucks my glass from my hand and deposits it on the nearest table. “Come on. Need to pay you back, remember?”

  “By dancing with me?” I was already swaying to the music. “Not much of a punishment.”

  His eyes sparkle, and my face scalds. Could I have sounded any more eager?

  “By me showing you up on the dance floor,” he says.

  “You showing me up?” I laugh and take his hand, letting him steer me toward the whirling couples. “Oh, honey, it’s on.”

  What I haven’t told him is I’ve been practicing. Calandra and I and our friend Brooke signed up for dance lessons in December. We spent the winter and spring learning the waltz, tango, foxtrot, samba, cha cha, and other long-forgotten ways of moving to music.

  Zach’s been practicing too, I realize as he swings me wide and then tugs me to him, hand landing on my waist in perfect waltz position.

  We catch the music, Zach gliding with the three-four time as he spins me around. No tame basic box-step waltz—he’s taking me to nineteenth-century Vienna.

  I keep up, because, yes, I learned all this. So did Calandra, but a glance shows me she’s returned to Ryan and content to cuddle up against him. Zach and I? We’re putting it out for all to see.

  Austin, the youngest McLaughlin and the show-off, grabs the microphone. “Let’s hear it for the best man and maid of honor. Look at ’em go!”

  Everyone is staring now as Zach sweeps me around the floor. We glide-step and spin, sashay back, and glide some more. If I had a train I’d be holding it in a wide arc like a blushing Victorian lady, but I’m in a tame yellow dress, no trains, no whirling skirts.

  The music changes, and everyone filters away. The DJ is playing a tango. Wh
ere he dug it up, I can’t say, but by the sly look on Austin’s face, he’s slipped the man a twenty to play it.

  Not that he’s tangoing. It’s Zach and me. Everyone else edges back to watch, like Zach and I are on a TV dance competition.

  Zach takes me along in the slow, quick-quick steps, pushing me with his strong hand on mine, fingers firm on my waist.

  The tango is a dance of passion, our instructor told us. The male students had to smolder at their partners, and we ladies had to smolder back. The women were good at it—the guys, horribly embarrassed.

  Zach isn’t. His eyes hold fire as he gazes deeply into mine. An act, I know, for the dance, but I can’t help burning all the way to my toes.

  I lift my chin, pretending I’m a sultry lady on a hot night in Buenos Aires. I dare Zach to look away, and he doesn’t. A slight flush touches his cheekbones, but other than that, he’s in perfect command, no embarrassment.

  He tosses me out, and I spin away, brought up short by his strong hand at the fullest extent of my arm. We do our swaying steps, then he twirls me back against him again as everyone applauds.

  “They’re loving this,” I whisper.

  “They should. We’re awesome.” Zach grins. “Want to give them a grand finale?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  Another spin, and this time I come against him with my back to his front. Nice. I fit well into him, his body curving deliciously over mine.

  He twirls me out once more, and we do some good footwork before spinning together again. The music winds toward its conclusion with a sashaying rhythm suggesting warm nights, breathlessness, desire.

  Finally Zach pulls me against him, and I end up fully in his arms. He holds my gaze with his, and I read passion in his eyes, which looks good on him, believe me.