The Sweetest Fling (A Stupid Cupid Book)

by Amber Scott

She’d let AJ down. For only the hundredth time. The lump in her throat plummeted to her belly, cracked open, and spread into a wash of nausea. “How can a night hanging with the brother matter?” Because it was intimate. Even she recognized as much. “Okay, so, I know. It matters. But if Claire fell for Jace instead, then it’s a match anyway. By default.” She paused, swallowing hard, hugging the leather tighter. “Right?”

  AJ looked down. He pressed his lips and released them. “It’s a match, yes. But it’s also a total miss.”

  Irritation scratched at her chest. “That makes just perfect sense. Claire found love, thanks to me. That’s a match.” Please say it’s a match.

  “Not because of you.” His jaw muscle flexed. “In spite of you.”

  In spite of her? “I took her to the wedding. It was my idea to ask Tyler to invite us.” A smidge of determination climbed out of the rubble inside her. “Unless you’re saying that she met Jace before that, I say it counts. I say we take this to the Karma board and ask them to set it straight.”

  “No. She didn’t meet Jace before the wedding. But, Millie, she’ll never see him again.”

  “Why not? They’re in love, aren’t they?”

  “Potentially. Yes. Jace will never choose Claire over his family, though. It isn’t in his core makeup.”

  Her newly born determination marched around like a stubborn general, barking orders. “Okay, alright. So we find a way for him not to have to choose. We get Tyler to not love Claire anymore.”

  AJ stood up, putting the file away and letting the suede flap drop. She’d bid on that thing for two weeks straight, watching, waiting, a penny at a time, making sure he got a gift worth far more than she paid. Because he was worth far more than she could say. He kept her sane in this sentence. Now, she hated that bag and every file inside it.

  The backs of her eyes stung. The drink. The stupid drink that she never should have made for Claire. A dash of libido, a smidge of lust. Should have added more grenadine. Jace drank some of it when Claire clearly had needed it all in order to give in to her attraction to Tyler. “I can make it right.” Millie set down the boot. “They have to let my make it right.”

  “That isn’t how it works.”

  She stood up. “Then how does it work, AJ? How?” She’d picked the wrong brother. But only at first, and yes, found the right one by accident. “How?”

  Her irritation seemed to roll right off his muscular back. His snug black T-shirt may as well have been a shield. Except instead of protecting him, it protected her. Keeping her from insulting him, a thing she would regret to the bone. His eyes searched hers. He waited.

  “Are you going to get those?” he asked after a long moment.

  “Yes. Just as soon as I prostitute myself. A lot.”

  “Let’s get out of here. We can get a corn dog. And a winter coat.”

  Millie nodded, unzipping the boot. It was going to be hard to put her Payless knock-offs back on. “Don’t tell me. It snowed in Albany.”

  She knew she had to move. To get up. To leave. Except her mind kept searching for a love loophole. And kept coming up empty. Nothing. If Tyler couldn’t be matched. If Jace wouldn’t pull a Romeo. Her latest match was over.

  Better yet, Claire’s match was over. She couldn’t think about everything Claire would be missing. About the something missing she’d carry around inside her until .... “I’m not her only chance, am I, AJ?”

  “At love?” he asked. She nodded.

  “The human heart has an amazing capacity to heal.” He reached a hand out for her. She took it and stood. “And the human mind has an amazing ability to deny, ignore, repress, and distract when the one soul who makes you whole is gone.”

  ~~

  Chapter Five

  Six Years Later ...

  Claire climbed under the percale sheets and switched on her bedside lamp, trying to ignore the running water in the master bathroom. She’d long ago stopped trying to get Oliver to save water, and hardly got irritated over it anymore. Putting her reading glasses on, she debated which book to read: the beach read gathering dust for the last six months, or the case file sitting in her lap?

  She should read the novel. Her brain could use a little entertainment. Oliver spat, toweled, and switched off the light. He strolled to the bed. His eyes focused on the television. Somehow, he was able to watch the news without the volume up.

  “So,” he said, plopping down next to her. “How does it feel?”

  “How does what feel?” She knew what he meant, but she secretly enjoyed making him ask these questions. She couldn’t have him thinking that she could read his mind, finish his sentences, or do any of those awful things that some couples did.

  “Being a free woman,” he said, gesturing grandly.

  “Free, huh?” She was anything but free. Giving notice a month ago at the Women’s Resource Center never felt freeing. “Feels the same as before.”

  Oliver rolled his eyes and propped up on his side. “It will feel different once you start at the firm. You’ll see. It’s a whole other world, Claire.” He smelled of aftershave and mouthwash.

  Claire nodded and smiled and returned her attention to her choice—the novel. Not for pleasure, but to prevent Oliver from thinking she regretted leaving the WRC. She didn’t exactly regret leaving. More accurately, she felt sad to see herself go. Five years later, her formative years in a law career post-law school, they’d agreed it was high time she started to take her career “seriously.” Oliver and his parents had “encouraged” her in turns so well timed Claire suspected they coordinated a whole scheme.

  She would miss the place. The people, the cases, and the women she helped stand up for themselves, helping them to navigate their lives and earn some self-respect. She’d still have Beverly, at least. She was the only woman from the WRC whom she could still call a friend. She didn’t act betrayed by her resignation, never judged, and only supported her. Beverly was Claire’s link back to the place, too. Just in case.

  On to greener pastures of personal lawsuits and occasional divorces. It was best. For her, for her family, and for Oliver.

  Oliver Henry Garrison III couldn’t very well have a lower middle class, wage-earning lawyer for a wife, now could he? Sure, it was fine for a fiancée, quaint even, he’d once said, but not for a wife.

  And with their wedding only a month away, she’d dragged her feet as long as humanly possible. A month. Thirty days. Or was it thirty-one in March? How did that poem go/ Thirty days has December? Her tired mind gave up. Either way, on April first, she would become Mrs. Claire Garriston.

  April Fool’s Day. Oliver thought it was cute and lucky. And he loved to joke about a free pass for forgetting any anniversary. They’d booked the church, reception hall, and caterer before anyone pointed out the silliness of the date. She hardly recalled picking the date, let alone its significance as a holiday. Was it a holiday? By then, it was too late for Claire to do more than blush and grin and bear it. Oh, well. The date didn’t matter. The marriage did. And hers would last. It would last longer than her parents’, and longer than Oliver’s parents’. They would last like the Fletchers—the Fletchers?

  Whoa. Where had that come from?

  “I’ve decided not to have a bachelor party,” Oliver said, still propped up on his side, looking at her intently.

  “Sorry?” The Fletchers. She hadn’t thought about them in so long. Jace Fletcher, sure, she thought about him often. Wondered what his life was like. Worried he might hate her. But, the Fletchers themselves hadn’t crossed her mind in what had to be years. Strange how the two didn’t really connect. Maybe because the Fletchers as a whole had overwhelmed her a bit. She’d grown up with just her mom, the odd stepdad here and there.

  “... the whole stripper, drunken revelry, tattoo thing is really overrated, I think.”

  What in the world was he talking about? “Tattooed? You’re not getting a tattoo, are you?” Claire scowled, trying to assess if he was teasing or testing. Or both.


  “Just checking,” Oliver said, winking at her.

  Both.

  “So, what do you think?” he said.

  “About what?”

  “About the two of us doing something for each other instead of for our families and friends. No bachelor party, no bachelorette party. You can still have the shower thing, of course. My mom would kill me if I canceled that. But, what if we did something wild and last hurrah-ish together?”

  “I’m not getting a tattoo.” She already had one, a small broken heart near her own heart. But it was there for a reason.

  Oliver chuckled, rolled back, and then propped up again. “No. No tattoos. Promise.” He paused, stroking her cheek. “I feel like marriage is the time when you really grow up. You put away your immature ways, say good-bye to risks and dares, and treat it with the proper sobriety. Don’t you?”

  Claire nodded slowly, vaguely sensing screeching brakes around the mental corner.

  “So many couples don’t make it. I don’t want us to be one of those. I think most people don’t treat marriage as they should. It’s more than love, and more than sex. It’s family. It’s an entity within itself. And I want to enter it without ever wondering what I might have missed out on. Don’t you?”

  Claire’s belly tightened. “Uh ... I suppose.” Her mind circled around the words “missed out.” She thought of Jace. What if she’d called him? What if she had stayed on that morning so long ago? No. She had done the right thing. For both of them. But what if Oliver knew about her regrets? Had she shown it, somehow? Hesitated too much? Held back too often?

  “I’m so lucky to have you. Do you know that?”

  Claire returned his tender kiss, trying to calm the riot in her belly. This conversation was too similar to ones they’d had before. A different angle, but generally the same insecurity that Oliver needed soothed. Once again, she regretted her policy of honesty with this man. But then, how could you have a relationship otherwise? She never should have told him about Jace and that one night of almost.

  “Oliver, I love you. I want you. No one else.” Her tummy flipped at the last words. And a familiar face flashed in her mind. Jace. The one man who would never quite compare to anyone else. Claire had long ago stopped making comparisons. She doubted the real man could even compare to her memory of him.

  “No, I know that. I didn’t mean that. What I meant was, let’s do something that we won’t be able to do once we’re married. Let’s get a little wild, but do it together. As a way to leave unmarried life and enter marital commitment.”

  Claire frowned again. What the hell was he aiming at? It had better not be what she thought he was saying. She shut up, waiting for him to spit it out.

  “You know what my number-one fantasy is, right? I know that you swear you’ve never been curious, but the fact is. …”

  Yep, it was what she thought. And it was laughable that he was trying this gimmick yet again. She should have known. Refined, educated, and classy, deep down Oliver was like every other guy out there. All but one, that is. Jace would never have shared her. Not with a woman, or a man.

  “Let’s have a threesome,” Oliver said, sitting up and using his hands in the animated way she’d seen him use in court. His black hair shone in the light.

  If not for thirty days, two families, and a hundred and seventy-five guests, Claire might have shoved her ring up his nose if not for this being a tired old tale. Oliver did this whenever he got insecure. Eventually, they’d get down to that fact. It took everything in her to remember as much.

  “We could share something wild, together, before we’re married and just can’t consider it anymore. Let’s do it. Let’s be erotic, and make a naughty memory that will pale in comparison to any bachelor party.” He steepled his hands and pointed them at her. “What do you think?”

  Claire stammered, unable to capture a single word for a good thirty seconds. What did she think? That he was an asshole? That he’d never find a woman willing to jump into their bed in a month’s time, even if Claire was game. And how did this all of a sudden become a reasonable idea?

  “What do I think?” she finally spit out through gritted teeth. She pulled the sheets up over her breasts. “Are you getting cold feet? Oliver, how many times have we had this fight how many times? Why are you doing this now?”

  “Whoa, hey. It doesn’t have to be a fight. Look, before you say no, think about it. That’s all I ask.” He ran his hand over the white sheets covering her legs. Her skin still crawled. “All I’m asking you for is to be a little daring. To at least consider it. Think about how special we could make it.”

  Claire’s mouth fell open, but no words came. Think about it? She had no need to. But she did need to think about why this urge reared up again. It had been a good two years since this fight. At least. It all centered on the what-if conversation.

  Early in their relationship, She made the mistake of broaching a stupid idea. The what if game. She’d been dreaming about Jace for a solid month. Now, she’d never live the conversation down. This wasn’t about him living out a fantasy. This was about her what-if.

  She’d told him too much about Jace.

  Suggesting a third party was his way of soothing his fears, or maybe reminding her he could want another, too. If not for the hundred plus guests and everything else about their relationship being absolutely solid—everything she grew up thinking a marriage would look like, she’d dump him.

  How mature would dumping him be, though?

  So she glared him down instead.

  Oliver kissed her hand before she could snatch it away, rolled on his back, and turned up the volume on a reality game show. For all appearances, he’d just asked about her day. For all appearances, he didn’t doubt her feelings.

  Claire let out a long breath and couldn’t help wondering how in the world she’d gotten herself to this place in life. And a small voice asked if it was where she wanted to be at all. She’d thought so. She really had. But now ...

  Jace’s face flashed in her mind. The one funny eyebrow. The bright blue of his eyes that were tiny dots of color. Like a painting. Why had she ever told Oliver about him? About that perfect night. He’d never live up to it. She’d been too honest in that what-if game.

  The images memory painted inflamed her heart. Jace. She didn’t want to spoil the memory.

  What if she’d stayed that morning? What if she’d told Tyler she’d fallen for his brother? What if she’d ruined everything? What if the whole thing was just a drunken, random, scary, absurd ... amazing night?

  Who made guys like that, anyway? Sweet and honorable. Sexy and strong.

  No one.

  She couldn’t let the what-ifs pile up too high. They hurt. They made her wish for things that would never come to be.

  ~~

  Chapter Six

  Ashley was right. The color of the dress did match Millie’s eyes exactly. Espresso, the tag said. Somehow, staring at her reflection, Millie thought this wasn’t exactly a holy color though, eyes brightening or not. But, she’d learned by now not to argue about anything with Ashley, especially when it came to the baby.

  “Why are we picking out a baptism dress at a wedding shop again?”

  Ashley turned around, her wide belly knocking off the other three dresses she’d selected for Millie. “Because, I want everything, and I mean everything, taken care of before Peanut comes. If I don’t have everything done now, it will fall apart at the seams, and I will be too occupied being a mommy to handle the mess.”

  Peanut. It was the baby’s unofficial name until the world found out what Ashley and Lawrence already knew—the name and gender of their little one. Millie bent and picked up the fallen garments, the air squeezing out of her lungs as the dress cinched her ribs.

  “All right,” she said, hoping to placate Ashley. “I just never knew that baptisms were so... formal.” She’d imagined a nice dress, yes, but not what looked like a prom dress. No, not really prom, more of a bridesmaid’s dress, s
he corrected, catching another glance at herself.

  “I have waited six years for this baby to come. Six, Millie,” Ashley said, her head bobbing in circles behind Jace’s reflection. “And if I want you to wear a wedding dress, or for everyone to wear a wedding dress, then so be it.”

  Millie nodded. “You’re right. It’s lovely. I feel like I’m about to walk down the red carpet, Ashley. I just haven’t been in many wedding dress shops, is all.” Many? Try none. Back in Kiki times, her mom had been on her third marriage, and not a one involved a wedding dress shop. Paris couture, sure. A Maui bikini Luau, most definitely.

  “Who else has to, I mean, gets to dress up with me again?” Millie asked, wondering how her waitress wages would cover the thing.

  If only she could say no to Ashley. She couldn’t. Not if Millie wanted to stay anywhere near her current target, Jace seriously Fletcher. Of all the ironic jokes Karma Court had in for her, this might be the funniest. Ha ha.

  “Everyone, silly. Friends, family. Besides, you like clothes.”

  True enough. Millie missed having four walk in closets worth of one of a kind couture. Badly. Especially right now.

  “Is it over yet?” Jace called from outside the dressing rooms.

  Wow. That man really couldn’t stand her. At first, she’d hoped he couldn’t stand all women. She even went on an all-expenses-paid guilt trip over it, blaming her mistake six years ago. Now, though, Millie was decided. Jace just hated her.

  “Don’t rush a pregnant woman, Jace,” Ashley called, taking Millie’s bust and shoving it upward. “Millie, you deserve to look amazing. AJ needs to see what he’s missing out on.”

  Millie rolled her eyes but smiled. “Why aren’t we looking for this exact dress online?”

  “Because there’d be no fittings. Trust me. I thought of it already.”

  Millie didn’t doubt it. Ashley had gone from treating Millie with ice gloves to melting with her after they accidentally bonded over owning the same animal-print Snuggies. For once, her matchmaking strategy was going according to plan. The target hated her, so find another way in. The sister. A fellow TV shopper. Who knew?