The Something about Her: Opposites Attract book four

by Higginson, Rachel

  This was why I’d chased a culinary career—because I could see the sense of community there, because I wanted the friendships and relationships my brother had with his people.

  And it was why I’d hooked up with Vann last night. He’d felt like part of that impossible dream I just wanted to taste. I wanted to hold and immerse myself in it for only a few minutes.

  Only when I’d woken up there this morning, those romantic feelings of belonging and companionship were gone.

  It was cold in his bed where I’d been drenched with reality. It was even lonelier there than in my own bed.

  Because he didn’t want anything real or long term. He’d wanted to hook up.

  We had wanted to hook up.

  And once that was over, there was just him. And there was just me—same girl, same problems, same life.

  I squeezed out of the office—it was getting hot in there with all the people—and escaped down the hallway toward the bathroom. If anyone asked where I was going, I planned to tell them I needed to freshen up, but no one stopped me.

  Out of the corner of my eye I could see black tuxes interspersed between endless bouquets and floral decorations. The air smelled like honey and lavender and an early summer evening.

  The bathroom door couldn’t have shut fast enough. I braced myself against the sink, everything new, gleaming and still smelling like fresh paint. I wanted to cry, but I refused to mess up my perfect makeup. Besides, I tried to reason, this wasn’t worth crying about.

  Just because everyone in my orbit had found their happily ever after didn’t mean I wasn’t going to find mine. This wasn’t a competition to see who could be the happiest. This was life and it didn’t make sense—would never make sense. That didn’t mean it couldn’t be beautiful.

  Or that I couldn’t be happy without a man.

  I couldn’t control the timing of things. Life happened in its own sequence. And I would just have to wait for the right time and for the stars to align and for Mercury to get out of retrograde.

  Or was I waiting for Mercury to go into retrograde?

  “You don’t even believe in that stuff,” I told my reflection.

  “Believe in what?”

  I whirled around, bumping my hip against the thick concrete counter. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here,” I told Vann, completely shocked to see that he’d followed me in the women’s bathroom.

  He leaned over, looking cool as a cucumber checking for feet beneath the stall. He didn’t bother arguing my point. His raised eyebrows said everything. We’re alone. What does it matter? When he was upright again, he folded his forearms over his chest, wrinkling his crisp white shirt and tuxedo jacket. “What are you, like the one-night stand fairy? I didn’t hear you leave this morning.”

  Oh, so he was just going to lay it out. Like all of it. My cheeks instantly flushed, the blush so strong it spread across my chest to my shoulders like wildfire.

  This wasn’t how I did things. I came from a world that turned passive aggressiveness into an artform. We didn’t say what we thought. We said what you wanted to hear. And I would never bring up something like a one-night stand and put them on the spot.

  God, Vann. What the hell?

  I cleared my throat of the frogs that had taken up residence there and tilted my chin in the hopes that I looked as calm and collected as he did. “I, uh, have a hard time sleeping in any bed but my own.”

  Lie.

  And he knew it.

  His eyebrows scrunched together over his nose, bringing attention to the perfect proportions of his face. God, he looked amazing in that tux with his hair styled back. An image flashed—his cut biceps caging me in, his broad, bare torso slick with sweat and rippled with muscle, his hips pressed against mine. I’m going to save you from those blind dates, Dillon.

  I shivered, wondering if that was a real memory from last night or my horny imagination.

  It was at that point I tripped over nothing.

  Vann canted his head to the side and regarded me in my bridesmaid regalia. “I would have walked you out.”

  I mimicked his pose, wrapping my arms around my body. But where he looked like a testosterone tightened tiger about to spring, I was the picture of hollowed out insecurity and self-doubt.

  I struggled to swallow, contemplating how to explain my actions. “I knew we had a big day ahead of us, I didn’t want to bother you.”

  “Is that what you think you would have done? Bother me?”

  His words were wrapped in warmth and an intimacy he’d earned last night, but it was intimacy I didn’t feel since I could barely remember a damn thing. I shrugged, trying to play this cool. “You know what I mean.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  Laughing to break the tension, I said, “Listen, I realize we had a lot to drink last night and I just didn’t want you to… to feel awkward. It was a mistake and I was trying to save—”

  “Last night was a mistake? You’re telling me you regret what happened?”

  Obviously, yes. This was awkward as hell and I would have done anything to not have this conversation. So yes, I regretted sleeping with him, especially now that I realized he was going to give me the third degree about it.

  But also no. No, I didn’t.

  Another partial memory. This time he was positioned over me and I was clawing at his chest, my back arched in perfect submission as his magic rocked through me like a tidal wave.

  Sharp and real, and oh my god, I needed to hit the pause button on these unwanted memories before I orgasmed right here on the spot.

  Holy shit, I was in over my head.

  “I don’t regret what happened,” I rushed to tell him. “Not at all.” I cleared my throat again. “What I’m trying to say is that we barely know each other. And you’re Vera’s brother, which complicates things. And basically, I had a great time last night, but I didn’t want to… prolong the inevitable.”

  His chin jerked back a notch. “The inevitable?”

  “We hooked up,” I explained, my shoulder lifting in that weak shrug again. “The end.”

  His expression shuttered, a hard, impenetrable wall slamming over his eyes, tightening his jaw and locking his lips in place. After he’d stared at me so long and hard, I started to fidget, he shrugged too. “The end.”

  Relief drilled through me, opening up entire springs of hope that this conversation was also coming to a close. I loosed a small smile. “Right. You get it. The end.”

  His jaw ticked. My relief dried up with my sense of safety. He looked like a shiny new bullet, waiting in the chamber for the trigger to be pulled.

  I shivered again, that same climax-filled memory pinging through my head. I was nervous. But I was also hella turned on.

  He took a step forward, his lips twisting in a sideways smile. Only it wasn’t a pleasant smile. It was the equivalent of the safety being clicked off that gun. “Let me get this straight…” Another step forward. “We had a little too much to drink last night and hooked up.”

  I bobbed my head back and forth. “I would say we had a little more than a little too much. My judgment was definitely impaired.” I tried to laugh again, but the sound hit the atmosphere like dust being sprinkled on the ground.

  Taking another step forward, he nodded again. “What you’re saying is we made a reckless decision last night.”

  “Reckless. That’s a good word for it.” My butt bumped against the counter. I’d started to retreat, but he wasn’t picking up the stay-away-from-me vibes.

  Maybe because they were mixed up with the take-me-now ones?

  He moved forward. “And because we didn’t use our most… sober thinking, we’ve now reached The End of whatever was between us.”

  I tried laughing again, but it got me nowhere. “Isn’t that what you’re saying?”

  He was in front of me now, close and warm and smelling like freaking heaven. His hands landed on either side of my waist. The smooth silk of his tuxedo brushed over my bare arms, send
ing shivers and tingles abuzz inside me.

  “No,” he admitted openly—although that emotionless mask was still in place. “That is not at all what I’m saying.”

  I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t swallow. I was totally paralyzed by his words and what they could mean. Did he want to do it again? Sober this time? Drunk again? Did he just want a hookup? Did he want to run away together?

  What the hell did any of this mean?

  Instead of asking any of those questions, I managed a weak, strained, barely audible, “Oh.”

  He nodded as if he expected that kind of response from me. “Yeah, oh.” He stood straight, putting inches between us, making me instantly cold. He turned and when he was at the door to the bathroom, he added, “There’s something about you, Baptiste.” His gray eyes turned silvery with heat, pinning me in place and stealing whatever response I was trying to spit out. “I don’t know what it is yet, but it’s enough that I know this isn’t The End. This is just the beginning.”

  It took me a full five minutes after he’d left to collect myself. I leaned against the counter, hoping I wasn’t somehow ruining my dress, but not strong enough to care.

  When I could finally trust my shaky legs to walk back to the office, my blush had turned to a ghostly whiteness that made me look like a corpse.

  I could handle a one-night stand like a pro. He was right about me. I really was the one-night stand fairy. I took no prisoners. I left no witnesses. I got in. I got out. I got what I wanted. And I moved on with my life.

  Or at least I used to. And I was determined to do that now.

  That was what men liked anyway. At least all the men I had known. And not only the men I’d personally experienced in these situations.

  My dad was the same way. My brother, until recently had been the same way. Every man I’d ever known had preferred one-night stands to the drama of bad relationships.

  Tony, my mom’s husband, isn’t like that, my mind whispered to my battered, barely-beating heart. Killian isn’t like that. Wyatt’s not like that.

  True, I had to admit. But they were the small minority compared to the rest of the male population I’d experienced.

  And I hardly doubted—no offense Vera—that Vann was in the one percent of decent guys after last night’s shenanigans.

  We’d had a good time. We’d had too much to drink. And then we’d had each other in a number of debauched and delicious ways.

  But now it was time to go our separate directions. Besides, tonight was the last night I had open in all the foreseeable future and beyond. I was married to my restaurant after this.

  And Vann… Vann had his life to return to.

  He would always be a good, but fuzzy memory to me. And I would be the same to him. And hopefully, one day, in the future, I would settle into being okay with adding another fuzzy night with a man to my list.

  The. End.

  Fourteen

  Despite my pep talk and firm resolve, I still had to walk down the aisle with Vann. If I thought it was going to be awkward before our little bathroom chat, I had no idea what was in store for me after.

  In hindsight, I probably should have ditched the whole affair completely.

  Was there such thing as a runaway bridesmaid?

  I could be the first. I liked to blaze my own trail.

  But instead of following that instinct, I’d gotten into line next to Vann and slipped my arm through his. He hadn’t held me especially close, but he hadn’t stood cumbersomely away either. I could feel the warmth of his body and the smooth tux fabric that did silly things to my head. And my resolve.

  I caught another whiff of him—he smelled so amazing. And considering he likely didn’t use an arsenal of skin care products and army of makeup magicians to freshen his face, he managed to look the opposite of hungover.

  God, he was a good-looking man.

  Congrats to those Delane kids. They had good genes.

  We were first up, having places on the outside of the bridal train. I liked to think of myself as closer to Vera than Kaya, but it also made sense for Kaya to walk down the aisle with her boyfriend and for the only two single people in the bridal party to walk next to each other.

  Killian sat Jo in place of his mother, and I tried not to sniffle. It was easier to ignore Vann when I realized I would have to fight all my emotions to survive this wedding without sobbing uncontrollably.

  Vann leaned in while I pretended to scratch the corner of my eye and ignored the wetness my fingertip came away with. “You ready for this?”

  “We have the easy job,” I whispered back.

  He turned his head, pulling my attention toward him. His eyes drifted over my formal attire. “No, you just make it look easy.” He leaned in, his lips brushing my earlobe. “You’re too beautiful, Dillon. I’m finding it hard to look directly at you.”

  Before I could reply, the bluegrass quartet began the prelude music, and he was pulling me down the aisle. I struggled for a few seconds as his words seemed to trip up my feet and make me forget how to do simple things like walk… and breathe… and blink. But I recovered quickly.

  We walked passed packed rows of people, all watching expectantly for the blushing bride. I probably knew a lot of people here, but they were all a blur as the beauty of the moment consumed me. Starting at my feet, fizzing up my legs and through my chest, reaching my fingertips and the very top of my head.

  White and pink peonies interspersed with the prettiest greenery was draped from the ceiling and along the walls and decorated the aisle chairs in elegant wreaths. There was a wrought iron arch at the end of the aisle, backdropped by the open patio and the late afternoon sun and the hum of Durham just beyond.

  That was where Vann and I parted ways. But not before his fingers brushed mine in the sweetest goodbye.

  Or maybe his fingers brushed on accident.

  God, this whole wedding haze was clouding my judgment.

  I waited for my fellow bridesmaids to join me. And then it was the flower girls’ and ring bearer’s turn. They were adorably off course and mischievous. The pastor gestured for the room to stand, the hired band changed their music and Vera entered the room on her dad’s arm. Killian made a choked sound and I glanced over just in time to see a single tear roll down his cheek.

  That’s when the tears started flowing for everyone. I was a strong woman and all that, but even I couldn’t hold it together when Killian, a man that was basically my brother and one of the smartest, strongest, most resilient guys I had ever known, was staring so completely enamored at his bride.

  They didn’t stop either. Not when the pastor started talking about the sanctity of marriage and the sanctity of the lifelong promises the happy couple was about to speak to each other. Not when Molly’s mom read a verse about love from the Bible. Not when one of Vera’s second cousin’s sang a song by the Lumineers while they lit a unity candle. Not when they whispered choked vows and Vera sniffled her I do’s. Not when they were pronounced man and wife. And certainly not when they shared their first kiss as newlyweds.

  The wedding erupted into a true celebration after that.

  Vera and Killian danced down the aisle, freshly dubbed Mr. and Mrs. Quinn. We followed, cheering and wiping tears and loving these people more than any of us knew was possible.

  My loneliness disappeared, reminded of how happy I was for my friends—how special this day and night were for them. How completely wonderful they were for each other.

  The wedding guests were asked to mingle in the bar area, while the staff reset the restaurant to accommodate for the meal and the bridal party scurried outside to take advantage of the late sunlight.

  For an hour and a half, the photographer snapped pictures of the happy couple and their coordinating wedding party. Vann and I were continuously put next to each other, forced to touch, forced to be close. And I’d like to think we weathered it like pros.

  I mean, there was the lingering brush of his hand along my spine. And the extra close pos
turing as his chest pressed against my back or his arm wrapped around my shoulders, tugging me into him.

  But that was the point of pictures—that we all looked like we knew each other. And liked each other. And like Vann and I had totally slept together the night before.

  Oh wait, not that last one.

  I would be surprised if Vera got her pictures back and I wasn’t face-palming through half of them.

  What made it worse were the tingles and snapshots of the night before running through my thoughts whenever Vann touched me.

  By the time we reentered the reception, I needed a drink. And fast. The rest of the guests had been reseated at tables around the room and Vera and Killian were making their way through the crowd to the head table.

  I veered off course and slid onto a barstool. I’d seen the guy behind the bar a few times before, but I didn’t think he worked here. After giving me a surprised look, he walked over with a smile on his face.

  “What can I get you?”

  “Something strong,” I responded immediately. Then of course, I thought about last night and the questionable decisions I’d made and changed my mind. “Just kidding, something mild. Barely alcoholic. A virgin daiquiri if you have it.”

  He laughed at my insane answer. “Is that really what you want? A virgin daiquiri?”

  I plopped the side of my head in my hand. “No, I want an Old Fashioned.” I scanned the shelves of liquor. “With that Bulleit Rye.”

  His grin kicked up a notch, giving him the most devilish look I had ever seen on a man before. This guy was trouble. And he knew it. “Atta girl.”

  “Don’t make me regret this decision,” I told his back as he searched for the right bottle.

  “Good whiskey isn’t a drink people should regret.” He found what he was looking for and then started searching for something else. With an apologetic look over his shoulder, he said, “Sorry, this isn’t my bar.”

  “I didn’t think so. You look familiar, but I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”