by Lexi Ryan
Tink24: You have to promise not to rip my dress. It’s too pretty for that.
Riverrat69: Then you have to promise to take it off as soon as you step in the door.
“Elizabeth!” Mom calls.
Snapping out of my stupor, I toss the phone on the bed. “Just a minute!”
I need to focus on getting dressed in something sexier than my Christmas pajamas. I don’t know if Sam’s coming down for the wedding festivities tonight or tomorrow, but I want to look my best. Just in case.
I pick black thigh-high stockings, a black skirt that’s almost inappropriately short, and a red sweater that hugs me in all the right places. Perfect. Sexy, without being over the top. In five minutes, I’ve dressed, applied lip-gloss and mascara, and am heading out the door with Mom.
I wouldn’t typically carpool with my mother, but she can’t drive for shit in the winter, and I agreed to take her. Hanna and Nate are getting married in this gorgeous mansion in Brown County. The ten-bed, ten-bath home they rented has a ballroom and massive gourmet kitchen, and is nestled into the wooded hills of Brown County. They rented the whole place, as well as half the rooms at the inn down the street, for their guests. With the dusting of snow on the trees, it’s going to be a gorgeous Christmas wedding. Maybe the happiest day of my twin’s life. And the way things are shaping up, it might not be such a bad day for me either.
This is a mistake, some rational part of my brain warns. I signed up for Something Real because I wanted commitment. Sam has never offered that—as himself or as River.
In fact, my relationship with Sam can be broken down into a series of defining moments that I realize, in an isolated list, make me look like Slutty McSluttypants.
1. The night I tried to seduce him and he turned me down because I was a seventeen-year-old virgin.
2. The night I decided to “cheer him up” at a mutual friend’s wedding and ended up inviting him back to my place.
3. The night of Cally’s wedding when I slept with him again, even though I’d promised myself I wouldn’t.
4. The morning early last summer when he and Della walked in on Connor and me together.
I’m not proud of that little list. It doesn’t leave me feeling particularly warm and fuzzy about the choices I’ve made. And I can’t help but wonder if this weekend is going to leave me with nothing more than another item to tick off when I think of Sam.
I was ready to tell River I wouldn’t meet him. I was too afraid to lose him once he found out who I was. Then Sam asked me to be his date for the wedding, and that changed everything. If he wants to be my date, maybe he won’t be so disappointed when he finds out I’m the woman he’s been talking to online.
My phone buzzes with a text message, and not knowing what it says kills me. If I were alone, I’d probably pull over to read it, but since Mom’s in the car, I wait until we arrive at the cabin.
Sam: I can only assume that picture was my Christmas gift. I must have been a very good boy this year.
* * *
Sam
Liz: This is so embarrassing. I meant to send that to the other guy who uses me for sex.
Thank God I was alone when the picture came through. I’m in my office at the bank and haven’t been fit for company since. It’s bad enough that I can hardly sit at my desk without remembering the time she came here two years ago, nude under her skirt. She let me spread her legs and touch her while I whispered dirty words in her ear. It’s one of my favorite memories, though it would definitely rank higher on the list had I simply disabled the damn camera and fucked her on the desk like she wanted me to.
It seems like I have so many regrets where Liz is concerned. I look at the picture again and literally bite my knuckle. Because damn. It shows all my favorite parts—the spot at the top of her leg right under the curve of her ass, the flat of her belly, her pert tits, just waiting for my mouth. Fuck. Yes.
This is torture. I’m not going to sleep with her this weekend. That would be a terrible idea, but it’s going to be the hardest part about being her date at the wedding. Every time we hook up, she shuns me for months afterward, and if I’m going to date her to calm Della’s nerves while Liz works alongside Connor, I can’t have her shutting me out of her life. Never mind that sleeping with her when I’m using her to improve my reputation seems like a complete shit thing to do.
I consider my response carefully before sending.
Sam: Saying that I’m using you for sex implies that you’re not using me right back.
Liz: We wouldn’t want to imply any such thing.
Sam: See you tomorrow, Rowdy.
Liz: I’m looking forward to it. I feel like the whole evening might turn out to be . . . enlightening.
What does that mean?
“Hey, handsome.”
I look up from my desk at the sound of my office door clicking closed and find Sabrina Guy leaning against it. “Sabrina.” Fuck. “To what do I owe the honor?”
She sticks out her lower lip in a pretty pout. She looks so much like her mother it floors me sometimes. The same wild red hair, the same patrician nose, the same killer curves. They could pass for sisters. “Mom wants me to go to the fundraiser dinner for your father next week, and I don’t have a date. Would you let me spend the evening on your arm?”
I shift uncomfortably in my chair, grateful to have the desk hiding the effects of my conversation with Liz. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Sabrina, but I already have a date.”
“So cancel,” she says sweetly. She wrinkles her nose. “Just kidding. Kind of.”
“What brings you to town?” As much as I’d like to hustle her out of my office, I know I’m expected to play nice with the Guy family, so I’ll make polite if I have to. Anything short of faking some romantic interest in Sabrina that I just don’t have.
She sinks into the chair across from my desk and crosses her long legs, exposing a generous amount of skin between her knee-high boots and the hem of her skirt. She’s beautiful. I can’t deny that. But for reasons I can’t tell my father, there are lines I can’t cross. Sabrina is firmly on the other side of most of them.
“I’m here to campaign,” she begins, and I sit back in my chair, preparing for a long discussion of politics and family gossip.
Chapter Nine
Liz
The ceremony was perfect, and the reception is a dream. White lights and tulle are draped everywhere, adding a magical quality to the already majestic feel of a ballroom that boasts two entirely glass walls overlooking the hills of Brown County. Candles flicker from every available surface, and bouquets of deep red roses sit at each table.
Nate and Hanna are on the dance floor. Nate’s eyes seem to be constantly trained on her, as if she’s a precious gem he thought he’d lost. No one has ever looked at me like that. Probably never will. I don’t inspire that kind of tenderness.
Sam is fucking delicious in his tux. He’s tall and broad and fills the tux like a dream. But that’s nothing compared to what I know is underneath. He’s even sexier with his clothes off than on. And his package? Jesus. I call him cocky for a reason. I’ve barely talked to him since our bodies were pressed together in the storage closet together yesterday. I’ve been too busy with bridesmaid duties. But for the rest of the night, I get to be Sam’s “date,” whatever that entails, and later . . . later, I’ll be River’s.
The tangled mix of nerves, hope, and anticipation I feel at that thought is so potent that even the wine can’t seem to tame it.
From my spot at the head table, I watch Sam. He’s sitting a couple of tables away with William and Max. William has his arms full of chubby baby boy, and Max is settling his daughter into Sam’s arms.
Next to me, Cally sighs. “Is there anything more appealing than a handsome man holding a baby?”
“Nothing,” I whisper.
It’s too easy to imagine Sam holding his own child, totally enraptured with the little fingers and squeaks. Despite his claims of not wanting to do the whole marri
age-and-family thing, I think he’d be good at it. He comes from a big family, and he’s a natural with kids.
Stop it, my rational self scolds. That’s not going to happen, and I need to stop those thoughts before they go any further.
“Go on,” Cally says, nudging me. “Go dance with him.”
No use pretending I don’t know who she’s talking about when I’ve been staring at him for the last five minutes. I slip my feet back into my heels and make my way to Sam’s table.
“You have company,” Max says, taking his daughter from Sam. “You two go have fun.” He winks at me.
Sam’s face goes serious as he gives me a once-over, his eyes sliding down my body so slowly and deliberately that my face heats with embarrassment and arousal.
“It’s good of Max to be here tonight,” I say when we get to the dance floor. I place one hand in Sam’s and put the other on his shoulder, dancing in a way that keeps the most distance between our bodies.
“Between you and me, I think it killed him a little to watch her marry someone else.”
I look over Sam’s shoulder and see Max gathering his things to leave. “Then why did he come?”
Sam’s face is serious, cautious. “That’s just the kind of man Max is, Rowdy. He’ll sacrifice part of himself just to make the woman he loves happy.”
“He still loves her?”
“He’s trying not to,” he says, “but he does. Of course he does.” Taking my hips in his hands, he pulls our bodies together then brings his mouth to my ear. “I don’t really want to talk about Max and Hanna right now.” The heat of his breath against my ear—oh hell, this is gonna be good.
“What do you want to talk about?”
“I was going to give you a hard time about that guy feeling you up by the restroom the other night, but if you’d been there with me and dressed like that, I’d have done the same.”
My stomach flip-flops. “You talk a big game, Bradshaw.”
He grins. “Unlike you, I guess. Never sleep with a guy on the first date?”
“Never,” I lie.
“And so what happened after Cally’s wedding . . .?”
“We never went on a date,” I explain, and that much is true.
He raises a brow. “Ah, the loophole. So clever. I guess it’s a shame we’re on a date tonight then. Because I sure enjoyed those not-dates.”
“Me too,” I whisper, my teeth sinking into my lower lip.
“But you’re not interested in not-dating anymore, are you, Rowdy? I hear you’re an active member of Something Real.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“It’s all over the New Hope Tattler.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and taps a few times on the screen before handing it to me.
Lizzy Thompson Trying It All to Find Love
So much for anonymous. “Fuck me,” I breathe.
“I could arrange for that,” Sam says as he takes back his phone and returns it to his pocket. His voice is low, and that seductive bass line that makes me . . . want things.
From inside my very slutty panties, my girlie parts seem to be screaming, Yes, please, old friend! Stay awhile?
As if he can hear their desperate, horny-girl cries, Sam grins and brushes my cheek with his knuckles.
Is he trying to confirm my membership in Something Real because he wants to tease me about using the site or because he suspects I’m Tink24? I so badly want it to be the latter. I don’t like the idea of Sam being here with me now while planning to meet a stranger for anonymous sex in just a few hours. I feel almost jealous. Of myself. Which is ridiculous. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?” His gaze drops to my mouth, and I could melt right here in his arms if my brain weren’t going two hundred miles an hour trying to solve this puzzle I’ve gotten myself into. “Why am I dancing with you at a wedding? Isn’t that what we do? Some of my best memories are of me and you at weddings.”
“After last summer. After Connor . . . you hate me.”
He’s quiet for a minute as he studies me. “I hated seeing you in his arms. I hated thinking about him touching you. I could never hate you.”
It’s the first thing he’s said about last summer, the first time he’s acknowledged out loud that he cared for any reason other than Della’s hurt feelings. “It was a mistake. But we didn’t have sex. We weren’t lying about that.”
Connor and Della broke up, and he’d called me over. His heart was broken. He needed a friend. And I had just watched Nate propose to my sister. I was lonely and wondering why I never gave Connor the chance he probably deserved. Add vodka and a little desperation, and voila—the makings of a mistake bordering on disaster.
Sam’s hand slides from my hip to my ass as he groans against my ear. “I don’t care if you’re using the clinical definition of sex or the Clintonian definition. You were naked in his arms. I wanted to cut off his dick.”
“Liz, can you help?” Hanna calls, saving me from trying to come up with a response.
“Bridesmaid duty calls.” I pull out of his embrace and meet his hot gaze for three thundering beats of my heart. When I walk up the stairs, I feel his eyes on me every step of the way.
I follow Hanna to the master bedroom at the top of the stairs.
“You sure you don’t want to run away to Hawaii?” I ask as I help her out of her dress. “I’ll watch the girls.”
“Not even a little bit,” she says with a grin. “There’s no honeymoon I want as much as I want two weeks with Nate home with me, Collin, and the babies. He travels so much. All I really wanted was some time for our little family to be together, everyone who matters all in one place.”
My heart tugs. I want that.
“I saw you dancing with Sam,” she singsongs. “Anything happening there?”
“Probably not.” Helping Hanna out of her wedding dress reminds me why I enrolled in Something Real to begin with. That whole thing where I want someone, someday, to look at me the way Asher looks at Maggie. The way William looks at Cally. The way Nate looks at Hanna. I want forever as much as the next girl.
But would it really hurt to put forever on hold for a night?
“Will says Sam really likes you.”
I nod and hang her dress as she changes into jeans and a sweater. “So true. He likes my tits, my ass . . .”
Hanna snorts. “Good point.”
When I turn around, she’s dressed and beaming. “Do you need anything else?”
She shakes her head and straightens her dress. “I think we’re going to sneak out. We don’t get much sleep these days and we’re both tired. But you guys can stay and party as long as you like.”
That she’s trying to blame her twins for the fact that she’s leaving her own reception early so she and her husband can fuck like bunnies? So cute. “Get out of here. Send me a text when you get to your room, or I’ll worry.”
“Sure thing.” She hugs me then rushes down to meet Nate.
I collapse onto the bed and close my eyes. Sam doesn’t hate me, which means he might not hate learning that I’m Tink24. Which means agreeing to meet him tonight might be the best decision I’ve made in months.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Sam: I have to get out of here. Thanks for the date.
My stomach sinks and dances all at once. He’s ditching me. So he can meet Tink24? Oh God. It’s true. I’m seriously jealous of myself.
* * *
I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’ve done some crazy shit in my life, but this takes the cake.
I look at the message again and a shiver of anticipation races up my spine, followed by a healthy rush of what-the-fuck-am-I-getting-myself-into fear. Equal parts nerves and anticipation have my body fluttering all over, but I am nothing if not determined.
This is the address. Tonight is the night.
I’m not sure I should be here. Aren’t there rules for meeting people for the first time? I didn’t even tell anyone where I was going. Truth be told,
I was too embarrassed to tell them. “Hey, I’m going to go meet a man I’ve been talking to online. No, I don’t know his name or really anything about him. Nope, not sure when I’ll be home, but I’m pretty sure he plans to tie me up and fuck me three ways to Sunday. Good plan, huh?”
This is stupid. So stupid. Even though I’m ninety-eight percent positive Sam is River, going in there without confirmation is a risk no female in her right mind should take. It seemed reasonable when he suggested it—it already feels like he knows me so intimately—and if he is Sam, God knows I know him intimately. But suddenly, I’m seeing my decisions as if through someone else’s eyes, and I’m not feeling very good about them.
I grab my phone and stare at it. This is why Sam left the reception, isn’t it? To meet Tink24?
Part of me—the sane, rational, sensible part—needs assurance that I’m not off base here. I need to know I’m about to meet a man I can trust. Instead of using the chat client to message Riverrat69, I text Sam.
Liz: Tell me you’re the one waiting inside that cabin.
I stare at it a minute before sending, contemplating. I don’t have to do this. I could go back to my room at the inn and tell River I couldn’t go through with it. But I don’t want to. I want to go inside this cabin, look Sam in the eye, and strip away all the anonymity from the last two months. It’s time.
You make me believe there could be more. You make me want something more.
Would he have said that if he knew I was the one of the other side of the conversation?
I wait, staring at my phone, willing Sam to text me back. Nothing.
The digital clock on my dashboard clicks past one minute, then two. My stomach sinks.
Then the front door opens, and a dark silhouette shadows the porch. When the porch light comes on, I gasp, shocked to see the very thing I’ve been promising myself is true.