I haven’t been toying with him. I honestly thought that me moving and him staying there meant there was no hope for us as a couple, but if he’s feeling half of what I’m still feeling toward him—I don’t know, it’s got to be worth the risk.
I fall asleep and have some of the strangest dreams I’ve ever had. When I wake up, my head is spinning.
It’s still dark and my phone is ringing.
I reach over to the nightstand and answer.
“Hello?”
“Shit, did I wake you?”
I sit straight up in bed. “Dane?”
“Leila,” he says. “I got your message.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” I tell him. “I know it was late, and I was kind of drunk.”
The line is quiet for a few seconds.
“Oh.”
“What’s up?”
“Oh,” he says. “I just got your message and wanted to call and see how you’re doing.”
“I’m doing okay,” I tell him.
It’s funny, I’ve spent so much time pretending that I wasn’t hoping for a moment like this and now that it’s here, I have no clue what to say.
“How are you?” I ask.
“I’m all right,” he says. “I’m just hanging out with Wrigley.”
Suddenly I’m beginning to understand why he actually called. He doesn’t want to talk about getting back together or anything like that at all. He just wants to make me feel like shit for leaving him the way I did.
Maybe I deserve it, maybe not, but I’m in no mood for it.
“Well, that sounds great,” I tell him and hang up the phone.
I walk out to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water. With a sigh, I open the cupboard and pull out the little bottle of ibuprofen and take a couple.
Now, I’m walking back toward my bedroom, and I can hear the phone ringing, only this time, I’m not so thrilled about the idea of answering it.
The ringing stops and I lie back down, setting the water on the nightstand.
A moment later, the phone rings again, startling me into sitting up again. I silence the ringer and just lie back down.
I don’t want to hear about how he and Wrigley “rediscovered” each other or about how much fun they’re having together. If he doesn’t want to be with me, that’s fine, but I’m not going to sit here and listen while he rubs it in my face.
You know what? I’m going to give him a piece of my mind. I pick up the phone.
He’s calling again.
That’s as good an opportunity as I’m going to get, so I answer.
“Listen, I get that you’re pissed at me, but I don’t know what kind of nerve you have, calling me up to tell me that you’re back with her. I still care about you, Dane, and I know I hurt you. I know that what I did was wrong, but that doesn’t give you carte blanche to throw your relationship in my face. I mean, who do you think you—”
“I don’t care that you live in another state, I want to be with you.”
“—are, seriously. What kind of asshole…” I trail off. “What did you just say?”
“I said that I don’t care if you live in New Jersey and I live in New York. I love you, and I want us to be together. I can’t move right now. I have to finish getting Wilks ready to take l’Iris, but I’ll buy a car, I’ll take the bus. I don’t care. I want to have you in my life, and I don’t ever want to go another day without seeing you. Ever.”
“What about Wrigley?” I ask. “I thought you said you were back with her.”
“No,” he says. “I’m hanging out with her. I was stupid not telling you that I’d do anything, even go long distance for a while, just as long as it meant that we could be together. Wrigley helped me get past all my bullshit and realize that. I know we have a lot more to learn about each other, but if you’re willing, I’d love to give us another shot. I really think we have something unique and I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”
Wrigley as couple’s therapist: that’s an unexpected development.
“Leila?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m here.”
“What do you think?”
Hmm… What do I think?
Epilogue
Two Years Later
Leila
The groom is anxious as he waits for the rest of the procession to come forward so his bride can enter. This is the biggest moment of his life, and that feeling isn’t lost on him.
After what feels like hours of waiting, the best man and I make it to the front. The best man gives the groom a hug and then smiles at me. Throughout these years, I’ve enjoyed helping the groom get to this place more than almost anyone else. Anyone except the woman he’s going to marry.
The music changes and everyone stands.
The groom is starting to sweat.
His wife-to-be is stunning in her dress. It’s classy, but just revealing enough to get a couple of the parents in attendance to cover their children’s eyes.
The groom smiles when he sees this.
Today isn’t one of those things that just happened over night. It took a lot of hard work and a lot of luck, but it’s clear enough that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be in the world.
The bride gets to the front and stands across from her fiancé.
She can see the nervousness in his body language, but she doesn’t seem worried. He smiles at her sweetly and she smiles back.
The judge starts the ceremony.
“Love is a powerful thing,” the judge says. “It can lift us up and it can make us feel and do things we didn’t know were possible. When two people love each other, as you do, every one of us finds ourselves uplifted.”
The judge is a bit long-winded, but the bride and the groom are too busy staring into their futures to mind.
“…we are here to celebrate the love of these two people, who have brought all of us together…”
After a solid ten minutes of monologue by the judge, the best man nudges the groom, whispering, “Are you ready for this?”
The groom whispers back, “I’ve never been more ready for anything.”
“…now, take the ring and put it on her finger, repeating after me, I, Michael Jason Nielson…”
“I, Michael Jason Nielson,” the groom repeats.
The judge continues, “Do take you, Wrigley Samantha Moirea—Moire—Moireas—”
“Do take you, Wrigley Samantha Moireasdanach,” Mike jumps in.
“I’ve been practicing that all morning,” the judge says. “My apologies.”
The stumble is good for a laugh.
“To be my lawfully wedded wife,” the judge concludes.
“To be my lawfully wedded wife,” Mike says, slipping the finger onto Wrigley’s hand.
“And would you repeat after me, I, Wrigley Samantha, please state your last name.”
Wrigley’s smile is wide and beautiful and she giggles as she repeats, “I, Wrigley Samantha Moireasdanach.”
“Do take you, Michael Jason Nielson.”
“Do take you, Michael Jason Nielson.”
“To be my lawfully wedded husband.”
“To be my lawfully wedded husband.”
She puts the ring onto Mike’s finger and the two hold hands.
“Now, by the power vested in me by the state of New York, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
The two kiss and make their way back down the aisle, now as husband and wife. There may have been an order to the procession coming in, but on the way out, everyone just clamors to follow the newlyweds.
At the reception, an hour later, the best man sees me sitting at the bar, nursing a drink.
“That was a beautiful service,” he says.
“Yeah, it was really nice,” I answer.
“So, have you known the bride and groom for very long?” he asks.
“I’ve known the bride for a few years,” I answer. “The groom and I actually go way back.”
“Ah,” he says. “So t
oday’s kind of bitter-sweet for you, then.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Well,” he says, “it sounds like the two of you have some history.”
“Oh, no,” she scoffs. “It’s nothing like that. We’re just old friends.”
“What are you drinking?” he asks.
“A tequila sunrise,” I answer. “I don’t drink that much anymore, but when I do, I don’t know if it’s the taste or the colors, but I just love these.”
“Mind if I sit with you a while?”
“Not at all,” I say.
“You know what I think is funny about weddings?” he asks.
“What’s that?”
“It’s so much buildup and the ceremony is always over so quickly.”
“I don’t know: that judge went on for quite a while. I’m pretty sure that at one point he compared love to a tollbooth.”
“Yeah,” he snickers. “I think I remember that part.”
“So, you’re saying you’d never want to get married?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t say that,” he answers. “I mean, I can understand the draw. I guess I just haven’t found the woman of my dreams yet.”
“Really?” I ask, smiling. “You look like the kind of guy who’s found dozens of women of his dreams.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he scoffs.
“It’s the tattoos,” I tell him. “They kind of paint you as a degenerate.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know that I’ve caught your name. Both the bride and groom told me, but I’m just terrible when it comes to people I haven’t had a conversation with.”
“Leila,” I answer. “Leila Tyler.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” he says. “I’m Dane Paulson. You know, I used to know a woman named Leila. She was into some pretty weird shit.”
I smack him on the arm and say, “I bet she was not.”
“No,” he says, chuckling. “She totally was. She used to have this weird ass fantasy about being picked up in a bar by her significant other.”
“I think that sounds very romantic,” I say.
“Yeah, if you’re weird,” Dane answers.
“You’re pushing it,” I warn, but my smile breaks through. “What are you drinking?”
“I don’t know,” Dane answers. “To be honest, I’m not very thirsty right now.”
“Oh? I would imagine a guy like you would be going insane over an open bar.”
“Not really,” he says. “I find people who drink to be rather boring. You know they only drink to put on the illusion that they’re interesting.”
“Oh, ha ha,” I mock.
“That’s not why I came over here, anyway.”
“Yeah?” I ask. “Why’d you come over here, then?”
“Because I think you’re absolutely gorgeous, and I know this may sound a little forward, but would you like to find a closet somewhere and fuck like bunnies?”
“A little forward?” I snort. “Does that line ever work?”
“At least once,” Dane answers, “I’m hoping.”
I down my drink.
“You know what?” I ask, “why not. Maybe I can teach you a few things. You come off a little inexperienced with women.”
“I am,” Dane says and takes my hand.
I walk in front of him for fairly obvious reasons, but we’re delayed a minute when the bride and groom rush over, arms outstretched.
“Help me,” Dane whispers. “Wriggles,” he says, turning just enough to hug Wrigley with his upper body while I generously ease my butt against his front while I hug Mike.
“Dane!” Wrigley squeals. “I’m married!”
“I know! Congratulations! You two are going to have such a wonderful life together.”
“Thank you,” she says and leans into his ear. “Real smooth with the positioning there, chief. I’m sure nobody’s figured it out.”
She gives him a kiss on the cheek and a moment later, she’s putting her arms around me, ever so gently, but ever so effectively moving me just far enough away from Dane to expose his rather embarrassing situation.
With gritted teeth and a smile, he casually rests his hands over the offending bulge in his pants and says, “Thanks, Wrigley. I’m so glad you guys came over.”
“Hey Dane, thanks for standing with me today,” Mike says.
“It was an honor,” Dane answers.
Fortunately for Dane, Mike is happy enough with a handshake.
“Well,” I say, “I’ve got to head out to the, uh—”
“The car,” Dane interrupts. “She forgot something, and I’m going to help her look for it.”
“Don’t forget to lift the hood,” Wrigley says, beaming.
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Dane says. “Congratulations, you two.”
We make their way through the reception hall and find the nearest unlocked door without anyone inside the room.
It’s a small room, full of flowers.
“Do you think Wrigley’s going to mind if we do it in the bridal suite?”
“I don’t mind,” Dane tells me and we’re locked in a passionate kiss.
“Help me get my dress off,” I say.
“Leave it on,” Dane answers.
“Pantyhose?” I ask.
“Dealer’s choice,” he answers, kissing my neck and chest.
It’s a little tricky with Dane all over me, but I manage to slip off my panty hose, and a moment later, I’ve got the front of Dane’s slacks open and he’s sliding my dress up my thighs.
I lean back against the wall and put one leg around Dane’s body, guiding him toward me.
He runs his tip against my opening and I’m already so wet.
Dane puts himself inside and we let out a pleasured sigh together.
“You know,” Dane says, kissing my lips and neck, “we won’t be able to do it like this too much longer.”
“Shh,” I tell him. “You’re not supposed to know I’m pregnant. I’m not showing that much in this dress, and I haven’t told you that yet. I’ll probably wait until after you’ve got me to come a few times, so if you bail on me, at least I’ll have gotten something out of it.”
“You’re so fucking weird,” he says. “But I like that, whatever you said your name was.”
“Yeah,” I scoff between sharp inhales. “That’s attractive.”
I open the front of Dane’s shirt and kiss his smooth, firm chest.
“What does this tattoo mean?” I ask, pulling him tighter with my leg.
“It means ‘virile warrior,’” he answers.
I smack him on the chest, saying, “Oh, it does not.”
“Got it when I was eighteen,” he says.
“Gotta move,” I tell him. “Baby’s kicking.”
“Oh my god,” Dane gasps. “You’re pregnant?”
“Oh, shut up,” I say.
“Hold on, I wanna feel it,” Dane tells me.
He bends down and puts a hand on my stomach. Our daughter moves under his gentle touch.
“I really don’t think I’m ever going to get over that,” he says. “That is so amazing.”
The door to the bridal suite opens and Dane is quick to stand up. He’s facing the wall, but he’s still hanging out the front of his pants.
“Hey you guys!”
Of course it’s Wrigley.
Dane mutters, “You wanna distract her a minute?”
I smirk. “We were looking for the bathroom. Would you mind showing me where it is?”
“It’s down the hall on your left,” Wrigley says. “So Dane, what are ya doin’ over there looking at the wall?”
“Oh, can we not do this?” he asks.
“It’s not like it’s anything I haven’t seen,” Wrigley quips. “I’m just kidding. I just wanted to let you two know that we’re going to be cutting the cake in about five minutes.”
“All right,” I tell her, “thank you.”
We hug.
I never thought I’d be so c
lose with Wrigley of all people, but after hearing everything she did to help guide Dane and I together, all my enmity toward her dissolved.
“Thank you for everything,” I tell her.
“You’re welcome,” Wrigley says. “Thank you for introducing me to Mike.”
There’s the sound of a zipper going up and Dane finally turns around.
“Five minutes, huh?” he asks. “Any chance I could talk you into making it fifteen?”
Wrigley and I both roll our eyes.
After the cake is cut and all remaining rice is thrown and the bride and groom are off for a weekend of marital debauchery, Dane and I get in the car for the drive home.
“You know,” he says, “I’m kind of glad you almost hooked up with that fireman?”
“Yeah?” I ask. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”
“Why? What?”
“Will,” I say. “You know, I see him in the store every once in a while, and I was thinking: I know we’re married and all, but maybe we could stand to spice things up a bit?”
“Darling,” he starts, “we just had sex in my ex’s bridal suite. I think things are pretty spicy as it is.”
“I guess,” I yawn. “Still, though, you’ve made all of my other fantasies come true. Even ones I didn’t know I had until you brought them to life.”
“Yeah, I’d say I’ve gone above and beyond,” he says.
“Meh,” I say. “You’ve done all right, I guess.”
“Oh, come on,” Dane protests. “I gave up my job in the city so that we could be closer together.”
“Tell the whole story,” I answer.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You know, the part about how l’Iris started doing so well after Wilks took over that Jim hooked you up with the seed money to start your own restaurant right down the street from where we live.”
“I hardly see how that’s relevant,” he answers.
He turns on the radio.
“Seriously? You’re still on the death metal?” he asks. “Isn’t that going to make our baby come out with hooves or craving blood or something?”
“Metal is closest in relation to classical music, and everyone knows that classical music makes babies smarter.”
“Oh, it does not. That was just a misquote, saying…” he trails off into laughter.
Escort (A Standalone Romance Novel) (New York City Bad Boy Romance) Page 76