The Wedding Steal

by Layla Valentine

  Rachel’s eyes widened imperceptibly, and then she reached up and slapped her hand across my face a little harder than necessary, cupping my cheek.

  “You’re so swell, honey.”

  Chapter 11

  Rachel

  The room was dated but clean, which was just about the best you could ask for from a random motel on the side of the highway.

  “We should check the mattress for bedbugs,” I said, pulling back the sheets.

  “Already did,” Colton said, turning the television onto the Spanish news channel and turning the volume up. “While you were in the bathroom.”

  I re-tucked the sheet and sat down on the corner of the bed, my hands wedged between my thighs. “What’s with the español?”

  “Thin walls.”

  “Nervous about someone hearing us?” I asked. Then, realizing how it could be interpreted, I quickly added, “Talking.”

  Colton smiled, and I wanted to hit him. Probably not for the last time, either.

  “Oh, shut up.”

  “I didn’t say anything,” he said, holding up both hands in surrender.

  “Maybe if you hadn’t said anything, Ponytail Jones at the front desk wouldn’t think I was a snobby rich girl.”

  Colton snorted. “Ponytail Jones.”

  “Seriously, what was with that scene back there? It was like we were in a telenovela or something.”

  I tried not to remember how it felt to be pressed against Colton, the hard edges of his body, the warmth of him through his T-shirt. Even when he was spinning a ridiculous yarn and play-acting as my madly-in-love fiancé, I couldn’t help but feel like the floor had gone out from under me when I looked up into his eyes. Colton was dangerous for a lot of reasons, not least of which that he was maddeningly attractive.

  “Ponytail Jones, as you’ve so kindly nicknamed him, is a bit conservative, it seems. He didn’t like the idea of the two of us shacking up in this motel room if we weren’t a committed couple.” Colton laid back on the bed and stared up at the rickety ceiling fan, his hands folded under his head.

  “I didn’t notice anything. How could you tell?”

  He shrugged. “I’m good at reading people.”

  “You couldn’t read me,” I said.

  He rolled over and looked at me, propping himself up on his elbow. “What are you talking about?”

  “At the bar. I was lying to you, and you didn’t notice,” I said.

  “That’s because you were taking a swan dive into the deep end. I was too busy trying to figure out what flavor of crazy you were.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I’d almost forgotten about everything I’d told him about Jenna. It all felt good in the moment, but now, it felt too personal. What reason would I have had for saying all of that if I wasn’t riddled with jealousy? Now that Colton knew my identity, surely, he had figured out my motivations. I was probably easier to read than Ponytail Jones.

  Quickly changing the subject so I wouldn’t melt into a puddle of shame, I asked him for my phone back. “I want to call Jenna. I need to warn her.”

  Colton had shoved my phone into his back pocket, so he stood up and began reaching for it, but then hesitated. “I don’t know if it’s safe for her to know any of this.”

  “It’s not safe for her to be left in the dark, either! What if someone goes after her?”

  He shook his head. “They won’t, because Tony thinks I have her. He thinks we’re headed back right now. She won’t be in any danger until tomorrow evening, and even then, there’s no guarantee.”

  “Oh, tomorrow evening. Yes, you’re right. I’ll call her fifteen minutes before Tony is scheduled to be on her doorstep and tell her to run. Great idea.”

  Colton sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He did that a lot, and it made my heart beat a little faster every time.

  “She deserves a warning, Colton.”

  At the sound of his name, Colton looked at me. Except, he looked at me as if for the first time. The mask he usually wore had slipped, and I could see how vulnerable he was. He pretended to have everything together, to have a plan, but he was making this up as he went along. We were the same.

  He blinked, shook his head slightly as though clearing cobwebs, and then reached into his back pocket and handed me my phone. It was warm in my hand, and I tried not to think about the shape of his butt in his jeans.

  “Don’t be very specific. Tell her to be on her guard and stay home with her fiancé if she can.”

  I nodded. “Thank you.”

  I went into the tiny bathroom, leaned against the sink, and tapped my foot on the yellow tile floor while I waited for Jenna to pick up. It rang for what felt like forever until, finally, her voicemail picked up. Her voice was perky and professional, a combination only Jenna could master. I hung up and tried again. Still no answer.

  This wasn’t information I wanted to leave in a voicemail, so I decided to wait and try again later. Or wait for her to call me. Eventually, the women would go back to the hotel I’d reserved and realize I wasn’t there.

  Colton was sitting on the edge of the bed when I came out, in the exact spot I’d been sitting just a few minutes before. He was running his fingers across a pair of metal dog tags hanging from a chain around his neck, his face wrinkled in thought. As soon as I walked into the room, however, he dropped the dog tags beneath his shirt and stood up.

  “Done already?”

  “No answer,” I said with a shrug. “I’ll try again later.”

  “I’m sure they’ll realize you’re missing soon,” he said.

  “Yeah, I know,” I said, blowing his comment off, though internally, I was wondering how he’d known I was worried about it. Maybe he really was good at reading people. “I’m mostly concerned about what I’m going to wear to bed. I’m sick of being in this dress.”

  Colton got up wordlessly and walked over to a duffel bag I hadn’t realized he’d carried in. He must have gone back to the car to get it while I was in the bathroom. As he unzipped it, I half-expected there to be a cord of rope and pair of handcuffs in the bag. Instead, he pulled out a pair of black basketball shorts and a white T-shirt.

  He tossed them on the bed. “I packed a bag just in case, so you can wear some of my stuff, if you want.”

  “What about you?” I asked, already grabbing his clothes. It felt strange, but not near as strange as sleeping in my cocktail dress would have been. He would have to pry these soft, cotton clothes out of my cold, dead hands.

  His head dipped down and he shrugged. “I usually sleep in my boxers…so…”

  “Oh, right. Yeah,” I said, shaking my head, hoping my face wasn’t as red as it felt. “Thanks a lot.”

  I practically sprinted back into the bathroom.

  I washed my makeup off as best I could using the tiny bar of soap supplied by the motel, but my face still felt sticky after three washes, so I eventually gave up. Then, I stepped out of my dress and into Colton’s clothes. I had to roll the shorts three times before the bottoms were above my knees, and the shirt could have fit two of me, but I didn’t care. The clothes felt like a hug.

  The only issue was that the shirt was white and thin, and the bra I had on under the cocktail dress was black, lacy, and strapless. Also, entirely visible through the shirt. I tried to slouch forward, creating more space between my skin and the fabric of the shirt, but it was no use: my boobs might as well have had spotlights on them. When I walked out of the bathroom, I crossed my arms over my chest.

  Colton narrowed his eyes at me. “Everything okay with the clothes?”

  “Great,” I said, climbing into the bed and pulling the covers up to my chin.

  “Are you going to bed already?”

  “Uh-huh.” I wasn’t tired at all.

  Colton gave a sigh that I couldn’t decipher and then went into the bathroom. A few minutes later, he came out in nothing but his boxer shorts.

  I died. Literally died.

  It was like I was in one of those movies where the m
ain character goes into a coma and then their spirit leaves their body. My spirit left my body. I was floating over the room, watching myself ogle Colton’s mostly naked body, and watching him as he lifted his arms above his head and stretched, as if he wasn’t aware he was the most attractive human being in existence.

  His chest was toned and proud, tapering down into narrow hips and two deep cuts across his lower stomach that disappeared into his boxers. And if anyone ever wanted to know, I would be happy to tell them that Colton Long did not skip leg day. His thighs were muscular and tan enough that I wondered whether his skin was naturally a golden color or whether he tanned regularly. I couldn’t imagine Colton in a tanning salon, so I had to assume he had been blessed with glowing skin—as if he wasn’t already blessed enough. He looked like a Greek statue personified. The pinnacle of what humanity could be, standing in front of me in boxer shorts.

  “Can I have this?”

  I blinked and realized Colton was talking to me. He was standing at the end of the bed, holding onto the corner of the scratchy maroon comforter.

  “What?”

  He smirked. “I said I’ll sleep on the floor if you let me have the comforter.”

  I nodded and let go of the blanket. He pulled it from the bed in one swipe, and then his eyes drifted from my face down to my chest. It took me a few seconds to realize what he was looking at. As fast as I could, I grabbed the sheet and pulled it over my body, hiding my black push-up bra.

  “The shirt is see-through,” I explained.

  He nodded, his mouth opening and closing but no words coming out. And was he blushing? Yes, he definitely was. Then, he spun on his heel, flopped on the floor, and covered his gorgeous body with the comforter. Finally, I could think again.

  We listened to the weather in Spanish for a few minutes, neither of us saying anything even though the lights were still on and the television was still going. If we were going to bed, we were doing a pretty bad job at it. I just couldn’t think of anything other than his body hidden beneath one measly layer of blankets. I knew that, technically, his body had only been hidden by a pair of jeans and a shirt before, but that was before I’d seen it.

  If I’d known exactly what was lurking under his clothes, I would have had a hard time focusing then, too. Ignorance really is bliss.

  “How did you start working for the mob?”

  I asked the question before I even realized I’d asked it. I was desperate to think about something else, anything else. Even if that anything else was just another facet of Colton.

  “Goodnight, Rachel.”

  I groaned. “It’s not fair that you kidnap me, completely ruin my night, and then refuse to give me the smallest piece of information about yourself.”

  “I told you I like lime tortilla chips,” he countered.

  “Yes, and you should tell me something else to redeem yourself.”

  He chuckled and then fell quiet. I sat up in bed, holding the sheet over my chest, and looked over at him, surprised to find he was already looking my direction. His eyes flicked away from me for a minute, nervously glancing down at the floor, before settling back on my face.

  “Ask me something else.”

  “Okay,” I said, trying to think. I didn’t know if I’d ever get this opportunity again, and I didn’t want to waste it. “The dog tags. Why do you still wear them if you’re no longer a SEAL?

  He looked exasperated. “They’re not mine.”

  “Then whose are they?”

  He took a few breaths. “My dad’s. He was in the service, too.”

  “That must have given you a lot to talk about,” I said.

  “Not really.”

  Parental trouble. That was a tough one to navigate. No one could mess up a kid quite like their parents. My parents had loved and adored me my entire life, and I still wondered if they were ashamed of me at every turn.

  “He wasn’t abusive or anything,” Colton said. “We just didn’t talk much.”

  That was a relief. As much as I wanted to know more about Colton, I did not sign up for a therapy session with my semi-kidnapper.

  “And your mom?”

  “Died when I was a kid. Cancer.”

  “That sucks,” I said.

  He looked up at me, surprised, I guess, because I hadn’t offered bland condolences. “It did. It does.”

  I felt like I’d pushed him enough. Colton liked his privacy, it seemed, and I didn’t want to force him into a corner. He’d told me enough to offer the vaguest picture of his childhood—motherless and lonely—and that would be enough for me to think on. It would definitely be enough to distract me from his muscled body for ten minutes, at least.

  “My dad is the reason I left the SEALs,” he said, continuing the conversation all on his own. “He told me he was sick, and I didn’t know how much time I would have left with him. I didn’t want him to die when our relationship was so fractured, so I got out as soon as I could and went home.”

  “How did it go?” I asked, thinking I already knew the outcome. If he was wearing his dad’s dog tags, I had to assume the worst.

  “He died two weeks after I got out.”

  I groaned, disappointed even though I’d expected it.

  “Yeah,” he agreed with a humorless chuckle. “Sucks.”

  I gave him a sympathetic smile. “It really does. I’m sorry.”

  After a minute, Colton sighed and then sat up. Unlike me, however, he didn’t make any move to cover his chest. It was almost like he wanted to distract me. I tried to keep my eyes on his face and kept expecting him to chastise me when I failed. My eyes are up here, Rachel.

  “What about your family?”

  “You already know a bit about my cousin,” I said, smiling and shaking my head, still embarrassed about my behavior back at the bar.

  “I sense your relationship is…complicated. But what about with your parents?” he asked.

  “I don’t want to bore you with the extraordinarily ordinary details of my childhood.”

  Colton turned his mouth up in a half-smile that could have made me tell him my social security number, the PIN number to my debit card, and all of my deepest secrets. “I don’t think there is much about you that’s ordinary.”

  So, I told him about my parents. About my dad’s love of football and deep desire to not discuss anything too personal. I told him about my mom’s beauty obsession and harsh love. “They’ve always wanted what was best for me, which makes it easier to handle when my dad doesn’t want to talk about my career and my mom wants to talk about nothing else. In the end, I’d rather them care and badger me too much than say nothing at all.”

  Pain flashed across Colton’s face, and I realized I’d touched a nerve. He’d just admitted to me that he and his dad didn’t talk much, and then I’d turned around and rubbed it in his face.

  “Oof. That’s probably why you don’t tell people about your life. Because they turn around and say something stupid to make it worse.”

  He smiled and waved me away.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “If you haven’t noticed, I have a tendency to not only put my foot in my mouth, but the entire leg.”

  “That’s a big mouth,” he teased.

  “The better to say stupid things and be judged by all.”

  Colton tipped his head back and laughed, giving me the opportunity to watch the way his abs clenched and released with the sound. It was a beautiful thing. Like a complicated piece of machinery. I’d never thought much about the human body before, but now, I found it amazing.

  “Can I ask why you pretended to be your cousin?” Colton asked, still smiling, though I could see the genuine curiosity behind it.

  “You may.”

  There was a long pause, and then he tipped his head to the side, the slightly longer hair on top of his head falling onto his forehead. “Will you answer?”

  I sighed. “Like you already guessed, our relationship is complicated. We look a lot alike, so people have always expected us t
o act a lot alike.”

  “And you don’t?” he asked.

  “No, we don’t.” Understatement of the century. “Jenna is successful. She has always done exactly what was expected of her, and always with a smile on her face. No one has ever said it, but people like her better.”

  Colton grabbed for the remote and turned off the television, plunging the room into silence right in the middle of a commercial for some kind of powdered juice drink for kids.

  “Doing what’s expected is boring.” He said it like someone who knew that fact first-hand.

  “I agree. That’s why I left Pineville. It’s why I’m living alone in Chicago, trying to become a comedian. I’d rather follow my dreams than someone else’s.”

  “Then who cares what anyone else thinks?”

  I raised my hand up and waved it. “I do. A lot. I know I should be proud of myself, but I still want everyone else to be proud, too.”

  He shrugged. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks, but that doesn’t really help me,” I laughed. “We don’t even know each other.”

  “Exactly, which means I have no reason to be proud of you. I should be the most judgmental person because we only just met, but I’m still proud of you. Doing what you want, especially when other people don’t agree, is hard. You’re braver than I am.”

  “What were you too afraid to do?” I asked.

  “What?” His forehead wrinkled in confusion.

  “You said I’m braver than you, which means there must be something you were too afraid to try. What was it?”

  He smiled and looked down at the floor. “You’re observant.”

  I shrugged. “Or I’m good at reading people, too.”

  He squinted at me, still smiling, and then sighed. “I had a lot of reasons for going into the Navy, but a big one was to try to make my dad proud of me.”

  “I’m sure he was,” I said quickly.

  Colton nodded. “I know he was. He told me so.”

  If my parents had ever told me they were proud of me, it would have dissolved years of self-doubt and low self-esteem. “So, what was the problem?”