“And I’m smart enough to pick my battles,” Hadley said as their wine arrived.
Lainie raised her glass. “To Gabe and Hadley and happily ever after.”
“Assuming we get that far,” Hadley muttered, and clinked her glass.
“So what’s going on?”
“With my mother? Everything. I’ve managed to keep her out of it all so far, but now she and my sisters are having fits about the wedding party.”
“What are they having fits about? Your sisters are in it, aren’t they? They ought to be happy.” They ought, in Lainie’s opinion, to consider themselves lucky to have a sister like Hadley.
“There are two of them, and Gabe’s got three groomsmen.”
“So? Small weddings are the new black.”
“They’re worried about the exit processional. My mother insists that the numbers should be even.”
“But you guys are going low-key. Give one of them two guys to lead out, it’s no big deal.”
“It is to them,” Hadley said grimly. “No one throws better fits over nothing than they do.”
“But it’s your wedding.” Hadley’s complicated relationship with her family was a source of constant amazement to Lainie. No wonder the woman had moved three states away.
“Like I said, I pick my battles. I’ve kept her out of everything else. I figure this one’s not worth it.” She let out a breath. “So I have a favor to ask you. I really hope you won’t be offended at the late invite but, pretty please with sugar on top, will you be in our wedding?”
Lainie blinked. “Be in your wedding? But don’t you have a childhood friend or someone that you’d like to ask?”
“This is me, remember? The compulsive overachiever who didn’t have time for friends? Anyway, people have a tendency to get offended at being asked five weeks before the wedding.”
“People can be idiots,” Lainie pronounced, slinging an arm over Hadley’s shoulders.
Hadley grinned. “That’s part of why we get along so well. Anyway, I’m sorry about the short notice. Just please say you’ll do this for me. It’ll save me a world of grief.”
“Hadley, sweetie, whatever I can do to make your life easier, let me know.”
“You just did. My mother will be thrilled. It’ll be so symmetrical, my sisters with Gabe’s brothers. You’ll be maid of honor. That’ll put you with J.J.”
That’ll put you with J.J.
Lainie glanced across the bar to where he stood with his arms around two women who looked about eighteen. He whispered something to one of them, and she burst out giggling and pressed a kiss on him.
Lainie scowled. “Great. J.J. and me. Just what I’ve always wanted.”
J.J. leaned against the lodge wall, beer in hand, listening as Tom Phillips, a guy he and Gabe had known in junior high school, hit the punch line in a joke. So it wasn’t an après ski party in Gstaad. It was still good to be entertained, especially now, when he was sitting around at loose ends. It made him feel itchy in his own skin. He was accustomed to having a focus. He was accustomed to having a goal. He should be finishing up with speed camp in Chile right now, ready to head to Innsbruck in a couple of weeks to prep for the first World Cup race of the year at Sölden. Instead he was here, trying with admittedly little grace to be patient with physical therapy and the healing process of his shoulder while he waited for clearance to start training in earnest. He wasn’t used to being forced to sit back and let other people get a head start on him.
He wasn’t used to feeling like he was falling behind.
Of course he wasn’t, he reminded himself. Maybe he’d be starting the season at a slight disadvantage, but he’d catch up quickly. Dry-land training would help, and once he got on the slopes, it would all come back.
And he wasn’t going to think about what the future held, the all-too-near prospect of the day he’d miss speed camp not because he was rehabbing, but because he was retired.
J.J. made an impatient noise. Only a putz worried about things he couldn’t change, and the future wasn’t now. Right now he was just biding his time until he got going again. So if he was stuck waiting, he’d make the most of it. There were beautiful women in New England. He could hang out with friends, see his family.
And maybe harass Lainie some more.
Lainie.
Something about her today seemed uncommonly delectable.
He looked across to see her standing and talking to a guy whose eyebrows seemed to blend in with his hairline. As he watched, she threw her head back and laughed, not a giggle but the full-fledged belly laugh of a woman who wasn’t afraid to have a good time.
J.J. took a drink of his beer, letting the conversation flow over him. He wasn’t sure if he enjoyed needling her so much because it was so easy to get a rise out of her or because she generally managed to give as good as she got. Or maybe he just liked watching those brown eyes dance with devilry when she hit him with a really good zinger. If Lainie Trask were an animal, she’d be one of those seals that balanced balls on its nose, with her sleek dark hair and her quicksilver sense of fun. There was something irresistible about her, something happy and feckless and free.
Even when she was glowering at him.
Their sparring was so long-standing, he hardly remembered when it had started. One minute she’d been the skinny little drink of water who’d hung around him and Gabe when the two of them were in junior high. The next, he’d come back from his first modest experience in the Winter Olympics to find her all grown up into a leggy high-schooler with the eyes of a woman—a woman who seemed completely immune to his charm.
At first the acerbic retorts had annoyed and then they had begun to amuse. Sure she was hot but she was also the next best thing to Gabe’s kid sister. Dating her was out of the question—even if she had had more than two civil words to say to him.
It was better this way, he thought, studying the long legs and smooth, golden skin left exposed by her stretchy white top and little blue skirt. If they’d dated, it wouldn’t have lasted, and it all fell too close to home. When things went south, he’d not only lose a girlfriend, he’d maybe lose two people who were the next best thing to family. This way it just kept being fun.
Except when he had to watch her being monopolized by some guy. Not that it was jealousy or anything.
“…let’s ask J.J.,” a loud voice said beside him.
J.J. tuned back into the conversation. “Ask me what?”
“Whether Eastern European women are more beautiful than Swedish women.” The speaker was another old school friend named Dennis, currently glowering at Tom.
“Everybody knows that Swedish women are the babes of Europe,” Tom argued. “Except Dennis, here.”
“Didn’t you look at your last swimsuit issue? It’s the ones coming from Russia and Eastern Europe who are the beauties. Anyway, J.J., what do you think? You’re probably hooked up with one of each right now, right?”
J.J. grinned. “Ah, gentlemen, I’m flattered by your faith in me but I’ve given up my evil, worthless ways. No more gorgeous blondes with mile-long legs and big, uh,” he glanced at a nearby mother with kids, “personalities. I’m dating only schoolteachers and librarians, now.”
The remark earned him snorts and jeers.
“Give us a break, Cooper. Who’s the babe of the month? C’mon, fill us in,” Tom demanded.
J.J. grinned and finished his beer. “Not on your life. I’m going after another drink,” he announced, and ambled across the room toward the bar—and Lainie.
She never glanced in his direction as he walked over. “The bar’s to your left,” she said pleasantly as he came to a stop beside her.
The guy with her looked at J.J., goggle-eyed. “Hey, J. J. Cooper, wow, I saw you in the Olympics. Remember me, Bart Ziffer? You dated my sister.”
“Now there’s a surprise,” Lainie said under her breath.
“I’ll have to tell her I saw you. She lives in Worcester, now. Got three kids. Hey, I bet they’d like
an autograph. Can I get one?”
Lainie gave J.J. a derisive look. “Sure, Speed, give him an autograph. It might be worth a buck or two on eBay if you ever do anything impressive.”
J.J. picked up a cocktail napkin. “Got a pen?”
Bart gave a blank look and patted his pockets. “I don’t think so. Lainie?”
She held up her empty hands. There was something to be said for a woman who didn’t bother with a purse, J.J. thought. It showed a certain independence of spirit. He grinned at Ziffer. “Catch up with me when you’ve got a pen and I’m all over it,” he said, “but right now I need to talk to Lainie for a minute.” He caught her arm, ignoring her suitor’s crestfallen look, and began leading her away.
“That happened to be someone I’ve known since junior high.” She pulled loose from him.
“You’ve known me since way before junior high.”
“I know, and I never have figured out what I did to deserve it. So what, exactly, did you need to talk with me about?”
“Something important,” he told her, trying to figure out just why he’d been compelled to get her to himself.
She crossed her arms. “Oh, really?”
“They did a nice job with the lodge, huh?”
She raised an eyebrow. “I’m waiting.”
“So, uh, what are you doing with yourself these days? Still working at the witch museum?”
“Yeah. So?” She tapped her fingers, but he noticed she was in no hurry to go back.
“Just wondering. Still living in Salem?”
“It’s as good as anywhere else.”
“What ever happened to New York and Europe and all that? Or do you just like small towns?”
Her chin came up at that. “Salem’s not a small town,” she retorted, ignoring his snort. “And I’ll move on when I’m ready.”
“I guess that means you never did take that trip to Vienna and Prague you were talking about.”
“I will at some point. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Look, Gabe and Hadley are starting to open their gifts,” J.J. said hastily, stepping back to lean against a nearby wall.
With a glower, Lainie subsided to lean next to him.
J.J. watched Hadley exclaim over a set of dish towels. “Now there’s an exciting gift.”
“It is if you’ve got dishes to dry,” she said.
“I suppose orange and yellow stripes will be easy to find in the dark.”
Lainie shook her head as Hadley tore open another package. “Okay, a magenta and gold lava lamp. Now that one’s worse.”
“Not necessarily. I think it’s got style.”
She looked at him as though he’d sprouted another head. “Style? You want look at those two people out there and tell me that’s their definition of style?”
J.J. glanced over at Gabe and Hadley and pursed his lips. “Maybe.”
“Oh, wait, don’t tell me. That was your gift.”
“Nope, but it’s not a bad choice.”
She just snorted.
“Well, what did you get them, anyway? Since you’ve got such great taste,” he added.
She opened her mouth and stopped. “None of your business.”
“It’s not a state secret. Yours is in the on-deck circle anyway, unless I miss my guess. Come on, Lainie, spill it.” When she only stared at him mutinously, he tilted his head. “Okay, then I’ll guess. I’m thinking you didn’t get them anything they registered for. ‘That’s for people with no imagination,’” he mimicked, doing his best imitation of her.
Lainie looked at him, startled.
“Nope, I’m thinking you didn’t even go to a store for house stuff. I’m guessing you either went for the Trump factor and got them a statue of Venus or something at an art gallery or got something off-the-wall like a set of wrenches or an extension cord. Am I right?”
She set her mouth and glared.
“Let’s make a little bet. If I’m wrong—”
“You leave me alone the rest of the night.”
“I leave you alone the rest of the night.” His eyes gleamed in enjoyment. “If I’m right, you dance with me later.”
“Does the phrase ‘a cold day in hell’ mean anything to you?”
He just crossed his arms and leaned against the wall with an easy smile. “This is the north country. Gets cold early around here. Look.” He pointed. “You’re up.”
Gabe set the red-and-silver-striped box on the table in front of Hadley. She peered at the tag. “Oh, this one’s from Lainie.”
Lainie gave her a halfhearted wave from across the room as Hadley began tearing off the paper eagerly. She opened the box inside…
And pulled out an extension cord.
“Yes!” J.J. crowed and pumped his fist. “Now who’s got who down?”
“It’s not an extension cord,” Lainie protested.
“What’s that orange snaky thing she’s holding there, witch lady? That would be an extension cord. Score one to the gentleman in blue.”
“The present isn’t an extension cord,” Lainie repeated as Hadley dug into the box. “It’s a—”
“Mosquito zapper?” J.J. fell against the wall laughing. “Oh, Lainie, Lainie, Lainie, you are priceless.”
Her cheeks tinted. “What? They have a lot of mosquitoes here.”
“I’m sure they do,” he said, wiping his eyes.
“It’s practical,” she muttered. “Stop laughing.” She thumped him in the stomach. “Anyway, what did you get them? Something goofy that you picked up on your travels, I’m betting.”
He looked down his nose at her. “Something refined and stylish. Something that didn’t come from a hardware store, and don’t tell me yours didn’t because I recognize that orange sticker on the side.”
In the center of the room, Hadley read a tag. “The next present comes from J.J., our host.”
“Let’s go get a drink,” J.J. said quickly.
Lainie gave him a look. “Not a chance, Speed. I want to see this.”
Hadley tore away the paper to reveal a large carton.
“A cardboard box,” Lainie said. “How clever. Just what everyone needs.”
Gabe tore open the flaps of the box and dug into the pool of packing peanuts inside to pull out—
“A cuckoo clock?” Lainie snorted. “Refined and stylish, my ass.”
“Hey, it’s practical,” he defended as Gabe turned the ornately carved dark walnut clock to and fro. “Besides, it’s handmade. I got it in Bavaria. Anyway, don’t change the subject. You owe me a dance.”
“I do not.”
“Did she, or did she not pull out an extension cord?”
“Well, yes but—”
“No buts.”
“It’s a technicality,” Lainie protested. “It was an accessory, not the gift.”
He shook his head. “Did she or did she not pull out an extension cord?”
“You can be truly annoying sometimes,” she muttered.
J.J. grinned broadly. “And I’m not even trying.”
“Do you live to harass me?”
“No, I live to ski. But harassing you makes the time off the mountain go faster.”
The pile of gifts had long since been opened and the toasts were over. Champagne fizzed pleasantly in Lainie’s bloodstream as she nodded to the sound of the band. Good thing she was staying with Gabe and Hadley, who lived directly behind the Hotel Mount Jefferson, across the highway. She could hitch a ride with the happy couple, or walk, if need be. The night air would probably do her good.
She finished dancing with Ziffer, shaking her moneymaker to a Dave Matthews cover. It was impossible to be heard over the music or to move much on the crowded dance floor, but she did her best to come up with sign language for “thanks,” and “I’m going to take a break.”
A glass of water, maybe, and a few minutes of sitting would be just fine with her. She stood at the bar nodding to the beat, swaying a little, and then a hand stole around her shoulders
. “You owe me a dance, remember?” she heard J.J. say, his breath warm on her ear. Something fluttered inside her.
Fluttering?
It was the champagne, that was all, Lainie told herself. Everybody felt a little giddy when they had champagne. It didn’t have a thing to do with J.J.
Almost certainly not. Still, it made her want to do nothing so much as get away from him, pronto. She knew that look on his face, though, the look that said he was enjoying himself hugely. She could dig in her heels and refuse, and only wind up amusing him even more, or she could just get it over with. After all, it was a dance, three minutes. How bad could it be?
Then the band swung into the Romantics’ “What I Like about You” and she was immediately energized. “I love this song,” she crowed and dove into the crowd on the dance floor without even bothering to see if J.J. followed.
It seemed everybody else had had the same reaction. In seconds, the area before the bandstand had transformed into a mass of surging bodies, driven by the beat. Lainie stopped in a small patch of open floor and the irresistible chorus of the song took her over. With giddy joy, she raised her arms, head whipping back and forth, and stepped and spun in time to the music.
She wasn’t dancing with J.J. really, just in his vicinity. She might just as well be dancing with every person on the floor, just a part of the motion and flow and sound of the crowd surrounding them. Then the music shifted to another dance staple with an irresistible bass hook, and it just became about the beat, nothing else. Jostled by the crowd, they bounced and shook, hot and sweaty and laughing, drawn on by the song, and the song after that. The band played the crowd, knowing that when you have the floor filled you never relent, just keep pushing them with one more irresistible song, and one more.
Finally, when people began filtering off the dance floor in self-defense, the band gave in. “Okay, we’re going to slow it down a little,” the lead singer said.
Breathing hard, Lainie looked at J.J. as the band swung into a slow ballad. “Okay, you got your dance.”
“And then some.” He grinned. “You’re more talented than I realized.”
“I’m so glad you approve,” she said dryly.
Under His Spell (Holiday Hearts #4) Page 3