by Susan Stoker
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A Note From The Author
Need more Randy & Stormy?
Kailee’s full-length book—Chasing Storms—will release spring 2021.
FOLLOW KAILEE:
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Thank you for reading! ~ k xx
Bad Case of Loving You
Kait Nolan
1
“I hate weddings.”
Paisley Parish glanced over as a bridesmaid flopped down at the other end of the settee in a cloud of celadon skirts. The blonde slipped off painful-looking heels and began to massage her arches.
Paisley offered her a moue of sympathy. “I might hate the shoes, but I love weddings themselves. Is there anything more romantic and hopeful than two people vowing to love, honor, and cherish each other forever?” With a sigh, she glanced back at the dance floor, where Ivy and Harrison circled in their own little world.
Her companion grimaced. “I’m kind of soured on the idea after my divorce. My ex seemed to think those vows were more like suggestions than actual promises.”
Paisley lifted her glass. “Then he was a douchecanoe, and you are well rid of him.”
“He was indeed. But he effectively proved that men are more trouble than they’re worth.”
“Oh, I don’t know. After my second divorce, I figured out that men are glorious, as long as you don’t keep them past their expiration date.” She sipped her champagne and winked. “The trick is knowing when that is.”
But even as she said it, it didn’t feel as true as it used to. She was between boyfriends at the moment. In truth, it had been more than a minute since she’d sought one out. Ivy and Harrison were the second perfect pairing to challenge that particular belief.
Two months earlier, Paisley had helped her best friend, Emerson, orchestrate the perfect grand gesture for the love of her life, the world’s most perfect unicorn of a guy. Now that they were married and expecting their first child, Paisley was feeling a bit of a pinch in the region of her heart that might have been yearning. If she squinted at it from the side. Emerson and Caleb were the poster couple for It’s never too late!
It wasn’t like she hadn’t been looking for forever. She loved love. Hell, after her first one had walked away to pursue duty and honor for Uncle Sam, she’d made a career writing about it. Paisley considered it a point of pride that she hadn’t let that broken heart dim her natural optimism. But real men weren’t like the larger-than-life heroes of her novels, and she refused to settle for anything less. If that meant she had to kiss a lot of frogs…well, so be it.
She looked back at dance floor, smiling at the sight of Ivy’s head nestled against Harrison’s broad shoulder. The usually stern lines of the former Army Ranger’s face were relaxed in an expression so tender, it made Paisley’s throat ache. They gave her hope that somewhere out there was a guy who’d meet her exacting standards. If there was a tiny, tired voice whispering that she’d found and lost him years ago, she ignored it. She’d had more than half a lifetime of practice.
The blonde followed her gaze, her expression softening. “I have to admit, he and Ivy are pretty damned perfect for each other.”
“Down to the ground. I couldn’t have written them better myself.”
Brown eyes brightened with interest. “Are you one of Ivy’s writer friends?”
“Guilty.” She offered her hand. “I’m Paisley Parish.”
“Deanna James. And oh my God, I love your books! They’ve helped make up for the loss of the douchecanoe. If I could pull Max straight out of the pages of She Shed Casanova, I absolutely would.”
Paisley laughed. “He was pretty delightful in that toolbelt.”
Deanna fanned herself. “And that whole scene with The Door.” She said it with the capital letters that particular interlude deserved. “I’m pretty sure there’s nothing hotter than a guy in a toolbelt who knows how to use everything on it.”
“Oh, girl, if that’s your catnip, then you need to get yourself over to YouTube post haste to check out DIWyatt.”
“DI what?”
“DIWyatt. He’s this contractor who has his own YouTube channel where he talks about how to do different home improvement projects yourself. Can’t say that I’ve ever paid that much attention to what he’s teaching, but he is delicious in a toolbelt. Plenty of fantasy fodder.”
“I will definitely check that out.”
“Fantasies aside, you should get back out there. Back in the saddle and all that. Unless the ink on your divorce papers is still wet.”
“No, it’s been over and done for a while. I’ve been working on me, you know? Figuring out what I want and who I am. I kind of lost that in my marriage.”
“Sensible. Figure that out and don’t settle.” Paisley’s lips curved. “But there’s no rule that says you can’t have a little fun along the way.”
Deanna waved at someone across the reception hall. “Sadly, fun will have to wait. Bridesmaid duties call.” She slipped her shoes back on. “It was lovely to meet you.”
“And you.”
“Good luck with the hunt. There are some real hotties among the groomsmen. A few are taken, but not all of them.”
Paisley lifted her champagne in another toast of acknowledgement. As Deanna walked away, Paisley scanned the room looking for those groomsmen. Arriving a bit late, she’d been at the back of the church for the ceremony, so she hadn’t seen any of them up-close-and-personal, but even from a distance she could see they filled out their tuxes well. But it wasn’t one of them she spotted heading her way.
The guy crossing toward her like a heat-seeking missile had a bright white smile that made her think of toothpaste commercials. Paisley smiled in reflex, wondering if he had potential. She hadn’t come here tonight specifically on the prowl, but she wouldn’t forego an opportunity if it presented itself. Maybe she’d get lucky.
“Girl, don’t you feel bad for looking prettier than the bride?”
Cheesy as far as pickup lines went, but she’d fielded worse. “Ivy is certainly the belle of her own ball tonight. But thank you for the compliment.”
Mr. Toothpaste scanned her from head to toe, lingering on her legs. She abruptly uncrossed them so the ruffled hem of her little black dress didn’t rise up any higher. Over the years, she’d been hit on by a sufficient number of guys to have a pretty decent radar of the potentials versus the hell nos. She didn’t have a good feeling about this one.
“I would looove to take your garter off.”
Paisley stiffened. Yeah, no, this wasn’t even a frog. This guy was a full-on toad, and she wanted nothing to do with him. Even without the slurred words, she recognized he was more than half drunk.
Pushing up from the settee, she made to move past him, but he countered.
“Where you going, sweet cheeks?”
He stopped just shy of touching her, but he was very definitely blocking her exit. She’d retreated to this little corner because it gave her a view of all the action and opportunity to eavesdrop on conversations. As a writer, she soaked up snippets of dialogue like a sponge. But just now she was wishing she’d opted to be more social. There was a certain safety in crowds.
“Excuse me. I need to use the re
stroom.”
“Oh now, don’t hurry off. We should get to know each other.”
For a moment, being cornered by a creep brought up old memories. It wasn’t the first time, not by a long shot. And there was no hero waiting in the wings to sweep in and save her this time. She’d stopped looking for one of those years ago. But as she faced down the asshat, she wished the Universe would do her a solid and send someone because she really didn’t want to cause a scene.
“Fifty bucks says there’s a bun in the oven by the end of the year.”
Ty Brooks pulled his attention away from scanning the busy reception hall and arched a brow at his friend. “Are you seriously betting on Harrison’s love life?”
Sebastian Donnelly shrugged. “I mean, we’ve bet on stranger things than this.”
That was true enough. In the field, when they’d worked missions involving endless waiting and recon, they’d bet on all kinds of stuff to pass the time. Including which cockroach would make it across their bunker faster. Sometimes that had been the only levity during days or weeks of grueling conditions. None of them were Rangers anymore, but old habits died hard.
Porter Ingram, always the voice of reason, tipped back his beer. “They look happy. That’s the important thing.”
Ty’s gaze skated back to Harrison and Ivy, now executing some kind of complicated twirling dance. Was that The Shag?
His former captain had been through hell. Ivy was his reward for surviving and a big part of why he had. She’d brought him all the way back to himself. Ty never would have imagined the man could be this contented if he hadn’t seen it himself.
“Exactly why I proposed the bet,” Sebastian argued. “Those two are full steam ahead on their happily ever after. All that stuff we talked about on missions that we’d do when we got out. They’ve got the marriage thing down. Babies are next.”
“You’re not wrong,” Porter conceded. He would. His own daughter was only a few months old. This trip to Nashville was the first time he and his wife, Maggie, had been away from Faith since she was born.
As the resident single guy, Ty couldn’t resist a little ribbing. “You’re all opinionated about the way of things. When exactly are you gonna get there with Laurel?”
“Dude, she said yes when I asked her to marry me. Now it’s my job to nod and say ‘Yes, ma’am’ to anything wedding related.”
Porter grinned. “Nice to know your Army training in following orders isn’t going to waste.”
Ty felt his own lips curve as he went back to scanning the room. His friends were happy. Blissfully so. They absolutely deserved to be, and he was grateful the Universe had smiled down on the lot of them. But that kind of happy wasn’t for him.
He wanted to get back to Eden’s Ridge, to his cabin in the woods, where he could avoid all this revelry. Where the sight of it didn’t punch him in the chest like an armor-piercing round, reminding him of exactly how undeserving he was—as weddings likely would for the rest of his life.
Years ago, right before Ty had shipped off to basic training, he’d been best man when his brother from another mother, Garrett, had married his childhood sweetheart. Garrett and Bethany hadn’t been the only ones to take vows that day. Ty had sworn to do everything in his power to protect the friend he’d known and loved from the cradle. To make sure Garrett came home to his wife for the life they’d been planning for years.
He’d failed.
So no. He didn’t get to have a happily ever after. He didn’t get connection or comfort or love. Those things were for better men.
Even if he’d believed he had a right to them, he didn’t have the bandwidth to form new connections. He didn’t have it in him to care about anybody new. He had his friends, and they were enough. Them and the job as a deputy in Stone County that had saved his sanity, if not his soul. He protected and served. It was what he knew, who he was.
Because he could no more turn off his inner cop than he could the soldier, Ty continued to scan the room, watching for trouble. He automatically cataloged the guests who were headed toward too much to drink from the open bar. Somebody was gonna have to steal Harrison’s uncle’s keys, if he didn’t end up snoring in on one of the sofas strategically placed around the edges of the room. And if he wasn’t mistaken, that cousin of Ivy’s was making a bid for some wedding karaoke—an activity the bride had vetoed in advance in no uncertain terms. A cluster of kids, maybe eight or ten, crept their way past the gift table with an eye toward scoring more cake.
But it was the guy in the pin-striped suit who snagged Ty’s attention. There was just enough lack of control in his gait to tell Ty he’d had more than his fair share of alcohol. He moved from woman to woman, flashing a too-practiced grin that turned sharp around the edges as he got shot down one after another. An opportunistic predator. Every social function seemed to have one.
“Okay, you have hidden long enough.” Laurel Maxwell, Sebastian’s fiancée, appeared from the edges of the parquet dance floor. Somewhere during the course of the evening, she’d ditched her shoes. But the lack of extra inches didn’t diminish the force of her personality one bit as she grabbed his hands. “I demand a dance!”
Maggie was right behind to claim Porter. “Come on, honey. We’re taking advantage and shaking our groove thing before the clock strikes twelve and we turn into pumpkins.”
Porter ditched his beer. “Yes, ma’am.”
Ty barely noticed as they all headed for the dance floor. He was too busy watching the shark close in on a woman alone in the far corner. Caramel hair spilled down her shoulders in waves. She was seated on some little sofa thing, people watching or maybe resting her feet in those high, high heels. The furniture around her had probably been arranged for cozy conversation. Instead, it acted as a bottleneck, effectively trapping her when the shark approached.
Ty had already begun to edge in that direction as he saw her go stiff, shoving up from her seat. The shark didn’t budge, though her body language shouted she wanted nothing to do with him. It was an old, familiar scenario. One that tickled the back of his brain at memories he’d long ago locked away. He hadn’t been able to stand by then, and he certainly couldn’t now. Intervening with assholes was simply the gentlemanly thing to do.
As he didn’t think Harrison would appreciate a brawl being added to the evening’s entertainment, Ty snagged a couple of glasses of champagne from a passing server and strode across the room.
“Excuse me, man.”
When the shark startled, Ty took the opportunity to slip by him. “Sorry I took so long. The line at the bar was killer.” He offered one of the glasses and nearly dropped it as he looked into familiar brown eyes that had stepped straight out of his past.
Paisley believed in the power of optimism. She even believed in the power of manifesting. But when she’d wished for a rescue, as she’d done so long ago, she hadn’t imagined she’d get one from him. And yet there he stood, champagne flutes in hand, as if she’d summoned him by will—or longing—alone. Tyson Brooks. The boy she’d loved and lost so many years ago.
He was no boy now. The years and the Army had honed that once lanky body into a weapon of strength and grace. She could see it in the way he moved, in how he held himself. So still, yet so clearly ready for action. And the muscles. Dear God in heaven, the muscles. Just the sight of those shoulders made her mouth water.
Had he known it was her when he came over here?
She searched his face, seeing the lines of the boy in the shape of it, despite the close-cropped beard and squarer jaw.
No. No, that stunned look of surprise in his hazel eyes made it absolutely clear that he hadn’t.
He hadn’t known her at all the first time he’d done exactly this, when some younger version of the current asshole had cornered her at the homecoming dance her sophomore year. It had been some kind of fruity punch in his hands then and a button-down shirt with khakis. The tux he wore now marked him as one of the groomsmen, though he’d left the jacket and bowtie some
where. The collar of his shirt was loosened, the sleeves of his shirt rolled to reveal muscular forearms that were arm porn all by themselves.
Paisley hadn’t hesitated at sixteen, and she didn’t now. Driven as much by memory as a desire to evict the asshat in no uncertain terms, she moved in, sliding her arms around Ty and pressing against the firm bulk of him as she rose to her toes to brush a kiss over his lips.
She’d only meant to prove her point. To claim him in a way the asshat couldn’t misunderstand. But after only a beat of hesitation, Ty’s mouth opened against hers. The taste of him, at once familiar and foreign, opened up memories she’d kept carefully locked away. The boy he’d been had stood stock still that night, his teenaged brain taking time to catch up to the charade. The man wrapped an arm around her, branding her with a kiss that made her the one claimed. Every cell of her body woke up to shout Yes!
He dragged her into a riptide of emotion, as then and now fused into a heady cocktail that had her fisting her hands in his shirt, wondering how fast she could strip it off.
She was kissing Ty. Ty, who’d been her first love. Her first lover. The guy who, she could admit in a deep, dark part of her heart, had likely ruined her for all others. The one who’d walked away to pursue a duty she hadn’t understood because, for her, nothing could ever be bigger or more important than love. The guy she hadn’t seen in eighteen years.
Remembering that she’d started this to prove a point, she managed to ease back, not getting far in his hold. Her lips still tingled from his as she shifted to look up at him. His pupils had blown wide as he stared down at her with undisguised hunger.
“Well, better late than never,” she murmured. “I think he’s gone.”