Falling for Mister Wrong

by Lizzie Shane

  “I think I might be sick.”

  “Milk,” Mimi suggested. “Soak up some of the sweetness.”

  They’d been binging on the leftover Valentine’s candy and now it wasn’t sitting well in her stomach. Caitlyn went to the Keurig and brewed herself a cup of coffee instead of the milk. She had a feeling she wouldn’t be sleeping tonight anyway.

  The episode kept playing behind her.

  Her mother’s joyous permission granted. The laughing. The hugging. Their return to where Caitlyn was waiting. The one-big-happy-family cheer of it all.

  “I need to tell Will about Daniel.”

  Sudden silence behind her. Mimi had hit pause.

  “What did you just say?”

  Caitlyn waited for the cup to finish brewing and wrapped her hands around it before turning and facing the music. “I haven’t told Will that Daniel proposed. And I accepted. And then broke it off.”

  Mimi’s jaw hit the floor. “I thought you told him when you told me!”

  Caitlyn shook her head miserably. “He didn’t seem to care about the show—he was my reprieve, you know? My support system. And then we started—you know—and it never seemed like the right time to tell him—it’s not like he ever asked about it or anything. But now… He called me his girlfriend last week. Or rather, he called himself my boyfriend, but my heart about stopped, Mimi. It was so freaking hot.”

  “Oh sweetie. You’ve got it bad.”

  “I have to tell him.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  She would. She took a sip of her coffee, but it did not find her stomach to be a hospitable environment. “I’m definitely going to be sick.”

  “To football!”

  A roar went up in the pub and Will added his voice even though he’d never really been that obsessed with the game. The Guys Night Out that had started when he called his brothers-in-law to meet him at the Lodge pub had snowballed until half the married men in Tuller Springs were huddled around the bar, celebrating all things testosterone with more gusto than selectivity. So far the toasts had covered a variety of sports, trucks, lawn-mowing, hunting and steel-toed boots. Laney’s husband Bryan seemed to be leading the charge on most of the toasts—which was particularly entertaining since Will happened to know Laney was the better shot in their marriage and could probably run circles around him in most of the sports he’d mentioned.

  Will and Don had retreated to one of the booths, but they still joined in whenever another toast erupted from the group at the bar.

  Don raised his beer in one massive fist as a bellow for motorcycles rang out, grinning in his mild way. He was a dead ringer for an action hero, but the man was mellow as the Buddha. He nodded toward Bryan, three sheets to the wind at the bar. “He’s gonna make a good dad.”

  Will’s head snapped around. “Do you know something I don’t know?”

  Don shook his head. “Just a hunch. I’m guessing they just found out it’s a boy.”

  Will twisted in the booth to study his other brother-in-law. Bryan’s smile was of the dopey, shell-shocked and euphoric variety that both Don and Dale had worn when their wives were expecting. “Why haven’t they said anything?”

  Don shrugged. “First trimesters are tricky. And… you know.”

  Will frowned. “I know?”

  “They probably didn’t want to rub their happiness in your face after the Tria thing.”

  Will stiffened at the suggestion that his sister might not feel like she could admit she was happy because he was so miserable. “That was months ago.”

  “Yeah,” Don agreed. “And this is the first time you’ve done anything remotely fun that wasn’t a mandated family activity.”

  He was tempted to argue. His work was fun most days. And Caitlyn was certainly fun, but he couldn’t admit he was seeing her yet. Two more weeks.

  He couldn’t wait until he could tell people.

  It was funny, when he’d been with Tria he’d never really been possessive or cared much about telling everyone that they were together, but with Caitlyn he couldn’t wait to shout it from the rooftops. Maybe because he couldn’t. Or maybe because something inside him knew this was different.

  “How did you know Claire was The One?”

  If Don was startled by the touchy-feely question, he didn’t show it. “She told me I was never going to meet another woman as amazing as she is.” He shrugged. “She’s usually right about stuff like that.”

  Will blinked. “You knew Claire was The One because she told you she was?” That sounded like his sister.

  “Yep.” Don took another pull of his beer.

  Caitlyn wasn’t going to tell him. She wasn’t arrogant like Claire. All of her confidence seemed to be reserved for her music.

  Though maybe she was trying to tell him with the Pathetique.

  Everything felt right with Caitlyn, but then everything had felt right with Tria too and he’d been wrong about her.

  “Did you guys know that Tria and I weren’t going to make it?” he asked Don—and realized he’d definitely had more to drink than he thought. He’d often wondered if his family had thought he was an idiot for proposing to her in the first place, but he’d never said the words before.

  Don studied him for a moment, taking another swig of his beer as he considered the question. “No one knew,” he admitted. “Probably would’ve been easier for your sisters if they didn’t feel guilty for not seeing she was going to hurt you.”

  Will frowned. He’d never thought of it that way. He’d always just seen his own stupidity in not seeing the truth. It had never occurred to him that his sisters would feel bad for not protecting him. They’d always been his romantic advisors and when he’d needed it the most, they’d all been wrong about Tria together. It was comforting in a way. Making him feel like less the fool.

  “I was completely blindsided,” he admitted. And that had hurt as much as the betrayal. That he’d been so wrong. That he couldn’t trust his instincts anymore where women were concerned. The fact that Caitlyn had been through her own nasty break-up was probably the only reason he felt like he could trust himself with her. They were both walking-wounded, romantically speaking.

  “We all were,” Don said. “But better to find out now than five years down the road with two kids.”

  Another cheer went up from the bar and Will turned to look at Bryan where he was attempting to crowd-surf with limited success. Will still wanted that—the house, the kids, the dopey grin, though maybe he’d skip the crowd-surfing.

  He might be rushing things with Caitlyn, but he’d always liked going fast—on the slopes and in life. For the last seven months he’d forgotten he was the guy who threw himself into things. But Caitlyn had reminded him who he was and he wasn’t going to screw things up with the girl who could do that.

  It was after midnight, but Caitlyn was still awake when she heard the heavy thud on her landing, followed by the world’s softest knock. She hadn’t been able to sleep—her mind too busy spinning in circles, trying to find the words to say what she needed to say to Will. She climbed out of bed and scrambled down the loft steps, padding across the dark apartment to the door where she could faintly hear a male voice sing-songing “Caaaaaitlyn” ever so softly on the other side.

  She knew even before she opened the door that he was drunk. She just wasn’t prepared for how adorable he was drunk.

  Will listed against the doorjamb, peering up at her through the hair that had fallen into his eyes, blinking slowly and smiling blearily. “Hey, you’re awake,” he told her, still whispering.

  “Couldn’t sleep,” she admitted—not sure why she whispered back. “Is everything okay?”

  He nodded tipsily. “My brother-in-law was sort of celebrating, but not really because they can’t tell me because I’m not as happy as them.”

  Her eyebrows went up. “Am I supposed to understand what that means?”

  He shook his head, grinning like a fool. He really was too cute when he was hammered. “I m
ade you something. It’s a romantic gesture. I’m an enlightened man.” He stumbled a bit on the word enlightened, but managed to get it out. Nodding triumphantly. “I read romance novels.”

  “You do?”

  “I do. My sisters made me start because girls know stuff, but they’re actually really good.”

  “I’m sure they are.” She had no idea why they were talking about romance novels.

  “Do you want to read one? I’ll get you one from downstairs.” He swayed suddenly away from the doorjamb and she had a terrifying vision of him taking a header down the stairs.

  She reached out, catching his arm and tugging him into her apartment. “I’m not sure you should be navigating any stairs right now, champ.”

  “You think I’m drunk,” he declared, with the careful authority of extreme inebriation.

  “I do.” She got him into the apartment and kicked the door shut.

  Will swayed, his head wobbling and eyelids seeming too heavy. He paused and she wondered if he would remember what they were talking about, then he nodded. “I might be drunk.”

  She bit back a laugh.

  “But I made you a present.”

  He waved the CD-shaped case he held in one hand and she leaned back to avoid being hit on the chin with the present. “Thank you.”

  Mix Tape had been written in uneven Sharpie across the front of the case.

  “’s a mix tape,” he slurred.

  “I gathered.”

  “Cuz you always provide the soundtrack—and don’t gemme wrong, that Pathetique gets me hard as a freaking rock—but I wanted to supply the tunes tonight.” He waved the CD again and she caught it before he could give himself a black eye.

  “You should listen,” he told her, making uneven progress toward the couch where he flopped down, long legs sprawled out in front of him.

  She went over to the stereo, popping out the current CD and sliding his into the slot. “Out of curiosity, how drunk were you when you made this?”

  “Pretty drunk,” he admitted. His head had drooped against the back of the couch and his eyes were closed. “s’my Caitlyn playlist. Just burned it to a disk. Easy.” He opened his eyes and lifted his head with effort. “C’mere.”

  She grabbed the stereo remote and crossed to curl on the couch next to him. He hummed happily and wrapped both arms around her, pulling her snug against his chest. “You smell nice,” he rumbled.

  “You smell like a brewery,” she said, trying not to laugh.

  He nodded very seriously. “I might have had a couple beers.” Then his eyes seemed to focus on hers and he grinned goofily. “Hi, Caitlyn.”

  “Hi, Will.”

  “I made you a present.”

  “You gave it to me already.”

  He nodded, eyes falling closed as he sagged deeper into the couch. For a second she thought he might have passed out, then his arms tightened around her and he rumbled. “Middle school playbook. Mix tape is guaranteed kiss, maybe even second base.”

  She smothered a laugh. “You hoping to get lucky, sport?”

  “Hell yeah, I’m bringing out my A Game tonight. Mix tape is good stuff. You should listen.”

  She lifted the remote and hit play. Knock Three Times began to play and she laughed as the singer begged his neighbor to knock on the ceiling if his feelings were reciprocated. “It’s very us.”

  “It gets better,” Will assured her.

  Caitlyn cuddled down deeper into his arms to listen. And it did get better. The second song was from Norah Jones—One Flight Down—and her internal organs liquefied in the heat of the slow, sultry song.

  Will had been silent for so long she was certain he was out cold, but when she lifted her head from his shoulder she found him watching her, with eyes steadier than his level of inebriation should have allowed.

  “You use music to express how you feel,” he said, only slurring a little. “I’m expressing myself.”

  And a yearning Jason Mraz song about wanting to be more than friends began to play.

  Oh Holy Haydn.

  She knew she should tell him the truth about Daniel, but he was drunk and so damn sexy and she just wanted it to last a little bit longer. Just one more night. Or maybe seven. She could put it off just a little longer.

  The man was using the sexiest songs on the planet to tell her how he felt about her. No pedestals in sight. Only the burning heat in his eyes and his arms strong around her.

  Go with the moment, Caitlyn. She heard the words in Miranda’s voice—and for once the reality television advice had never sounded better.

  She sank into the moment and his arms.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “I chickened out again,” Caitlyn said in lieu of hello as soon as Mimi answered the phone.

  Mimi groaned dramatically. “Cait. You’ve got to tell him. Like, yesterday.”

  “I know. But Mimi, he made a mix tape. I literally cannot hear it without wanting to pounce on him like a tigress.”

  “You know I normally support tigress pouncing, but you have to tell him. The finale is less than two weeks away. You do not want him to figure it out when it’s a headline the next morning.”

  “Right. I know. I just…” Caitlyn sank down onto the couch, staring blindly out the window with the phone pressed to her ear. “What if he hates me when he finds out?”

  “He isn’t going to hate you.”

  “What if he does? His ex jilted him. I jilted Daniel.”

  “It isn’t the same.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Caitlyn.” Mimi put on her I-am-the-boss mom voice. “You are braver and stronger and more deserving of love than you give yourself credit for. Man up, own your awesome, and tell the man. If you want, you can start by telling him you’re in love with him.”

  “Mimi! I’m not. It isn’t… we aren’t defining things. We’re taking it slow. Letting the relationship grow at a natural pace.”

  “And I’m sure all of that sounds awesome when you’re rationalizing, but if you feel the need to confess your undying love for the boy downstairs I fully support that plan. When are you telling him?”

  “He has to work tonight and he has a family thing tomorrow. Right after that. I promise.”

  “No chickening out.”

  “I won’t. I promise.” And this time she meant it. She was running out of time. If she didn’t tell him soon, the rest of the world would.

  “Will, I would like to officially apologize for almost setting you up with the Mister Perfect chick. Though I didn’t actually set you up so I don’t know why Julia gets to be all I told you so about it.”

  “You dodged a bullet,” Laney piped in.

  Will rolled his eyes in the general direction of his three sisters as they sipped their hot cocoa at the kitchen table and each cast an indulgent eye over their collective husbands and offspring cavorting outside in the snow. He gave Laney an extra look, trying to figure out if she was hiding a baby bulge with her baggy sweatshirt—but she so often wore baggy sweatshirts he couldn’t tell.

  “What are you three blathering about now?” He’d come inside to grab a carrot for the snowman Hailey was trying to will into existence through stubbornness alone, but at the mention of Mister Perfect his ears pricked up.

  In the last week, Caitlyn had been jumpy, popping Tums like they were going out of style and occasionally starting to say something and then breaking off and blushing. At first he had been concerned her awkwardness had something to do with the idiot he’d made of himself with the mix tape fiasco, but she seemed to love the CD—if the amount she was playing it and the fact that she always jumped him when the second song came on were any indication. And over the last few days it had become obvious it was something about the show’s conclusion that was upsetting her. She jumped a mile whenever anyone mentioned it.

  He’d fought back his curiosity and managed not to ask. She’d tell him when she was ready. Her past was just that—her past. He planned on being her future.


  Only one more week now. He’d more or less avoided learning the gory details of the show, but he knew that much.

  His sisters hadn’t broached the topic again since for all they knew he’d stopped seeing Caitlyn. They hadn’t been caught together in public again since the infamous TMZ photos—which he was never going to live down.

  “The girl we were going to set you up with. Caitlyn.” Claire explained. “She’s one of the final two on Marrying Mister Perfect. So it’s a good thing you steered clear.”

  Laney nodded sagely. “Everyone thought that Samantha was a lock to win it all and Elena was going to go far because all men think with their dicks, but Caitlyn was the dark horse and well, there you go. Dodged a bullet.”

  Not for the first time, he felt like his sisters were speaking in girl code and hadn’t given him the decoder ring. “I’m not following. Why do you keep saying I dodged a bullet? What does it matter if she was in the top two?”

  “The sex dates.”

  Laney shushed Claire. “The final two are always both completely hung up on the guy. For, like, ever. I mean, they legitimately expect to marry him. That is some seriously massive emotional baggage they’re carrying around.”

  “And the sex dates,” Claire insisted.

  Laney rolled her eyes. “Yes, Claire, the sex dates.”

  “What are the sex dates?” Will didn’t know much about the show, but he knew it was on primetime network television so he figured it would have to be within the bounds of FCC regulations.

  “Overnight dates,” Laney explained, taking pity on him. “In these super sexy foreign locales. The cameras fade away and everything is left to the viewer’s imagination, but it’s pretty obvious they’re getting it on.”

  “Even if they say they’re good girls,” Claire put in. “What happens in the Fantasy Suite doesn’t always stay in the Fantasy Suite, if you know what I mean.”