by Lila Monroe
We’re quiet for a moment, just the faint tinkling sound of Selena and Ryder’s laughter from upstairs and the near-silent hum of the industrial fridge cycling on and off. It feels awkward between us all of a sudden, like even though we were about to rip each other’s clothes off not two hours ago, now neither one of us knows what to say. It’s like the utter insanity of Selena and Ryder’s announcement punctured some bubble I hadn’t realized I was walking around in, made me realize just what a bad idea it would be to start something back up with Wes now.
It didn’t work out between us for a reason, I remind myself. There’s no point in revisiting the past. However hot and hunky that past is.
“I should get to bed,” I manage, showing more self-control than I’ve ever felt in my life before.
“Oh.” Wes looks surprised. “Are you sure?”
No.
“Yes.”
He doesn’t argue, and I feel a tiny bit disappointed. “It’s been a big day,” Wes adds. “Rest easy.”
So, OK, then.
It wasn’t meant to be.
I say goodnight and head back to my casita, where I change into my PJ’s, brush my teeth, and climb into bed—
And proceed to stare at the ceiling for the better part of an hour, wondering if I just made a massive mistake all over again.
What am I thinking?
Yes, Wes hurt me, and yes, I’ve never believed in second chances before, but something about him makes me want to. After all, aren’t I always telling people to listen to their own needs?
And what I need—what I want—
Is Wes.
Finally, I throw back the covers, knot a robe around my waist, and pad down the path that leads to Wes’s bungalow. It’s the middle of the night by now, quiet except for the warm breeze rustling the fronds of the palm trees overhead. I take a deep breath, knocking on the door before I can talk myself out of it; for a moment there’s no answer, but then the door swings open, and there’s Wes in a pair of dark-gray boxer briefs and nothing else. He looks at me for a moment without saying anything.
Then he grabs me around the waist and pulls me into him, claiming my mouth in a hot, sexy kiss.
It’s fast and frenzied and frantic, the two of us bumping into the dresser and tripping over the rug in our mad dash to make it to the bedroom. My robe gets flung over the sofa. His boxer briefs land on a chair. He picks me up like I barely weigh a thing and strides the last few yards to the bed, tossing me onto the mattress and making me gasp with anticipation.
He peels off my PJs in three seconds flat, and before I even know what’s happening, he’s spreading my bare thighs apart, and settling between them. He pauses, looking to me for something—encouragement? Permission? Either way, I can’t give it to him fast enough.
“Yes,” I gasp. “Yes, please!”
“With pleasure,” he murmurs, licking over me, fingers and mouth working in perfect tandem until my hips are arching up off the bed. He reaches up to cup my breast with his free hand, squeezing gently, rolling my nipple between his finger and thumb until I’m whimpering, begging . . .
Screaming for more.
The orgasm crashes over me, leaving me shaking even as I’m yanking at his muscled shoulders, pulling him up so I can kiss and tease and close my hand around him, working him until his breath is ragged in my ear. Wes groans, briefly tearing himself away to fumble for his wallet and grab a condom. Then he’s back, pressing me into the mattress with a delicious weight. He positions himself, and I moan in pleasure as he sinks deep inside me, the hot delicious stretch of it familiar and new all at once.
Oh . . . my . . . God.
Wes starts up a slow, heavy rhythm, leaning in to kiss me as he plunges deeper, making me arch and moan. I lock my legs around his waist to draw him even closer, sinking my hands into his silky hair and holding on for dear life as I feel a second orgasm start to build. A second?! Yup, I can’t believe it, but there’s no mistaking the rush of pleasure coming over me again. I feel Wes groan against me, and then we’re both cresting, gasping, shuddering into one another.
I fall back on the pillows, breathless. Has Wes taken advance classes in the Kama Sutra since we did this last? Because holy shit, it was never this good before!
15
Katie
It’s just after dawn when I blink awake, the sun spilling in through the gauzy drapes. For a moment, I don’t remember what happened last night . . . and then I roll over and find Wes in bed beside me.
Oh. Right. That.
I blush from head to toe, reveling in the full-body, morning-after glow. Wes is breathing evenly beside me, one bare arm slung up over his head. I watch him sleep for a moment, my emotions in a whirl. Last night was incredible, the best I’ve ever had. Not just with Wes but with anyone. But as I lie here and take stock of the situation, there’s still a part of me that’s afraid we made a huge mistake.
What happens now? What do I even want to happen now? Is Wes going to be totally awkward when he wakes, and give me one of those speeches about not putting a label on things and keeping it casual? Do I want casual? Not casual? Semi-formal?
Luckily, Wes chooses that minute to wake, saving me from my spiral of confusion. He rolls over and yawns, his sleepy expression breaking open into a slow, smoldering grin when he sees me. “Morning, beautiful,” he says, reaching up and brushing my hair back from my eyes.
“Hi,” I blurt, a little bashful, though there’s no trace of awkwardness in the way he’s looking at me. “How did you sleep?”
“Oh, you know . . .” His fingers trail over my face and down my neck, skating over my collarbone and across the curve of my breast. “Can’t complain.” He tugs me into his arms and kisses me: a slow, sexy, “good morning” kiss that wakes me all the way up.
And him too, if you know what I mean.
I’m just wriggling against him, praying he had more than one condom stashed away in his wallet, when there’s a knock at his door.
We freeze: one of his hands on my breast, my fingers stroking him through his boxers.
“Uh,” Wes says, his voice sounding strangled. “Just a second!”
“Oh, no, that’s OK,” Brooke calls, the door staying resolutely closed. “It’s just . . . is Katie there?”
We both look at each other.
“Selena was looking for her,” Brooke continues, sounding amused. “I said she was out on a run. So, if by any chance you do happen to see her, you can just tell her to, ah . . . enjoy the exercise?”
We both try not to laugh. “I’ll be sure to pass along the message if I see her,” Wes calls. “Thanks!”
The moment her footsteps recede, we burst out laughing. “Exercise, huh?” Wes teases, pinning me down on the mattress again.
“It’s very important,” I agree, arching up.
“Well then,” he grins, moving down my body. “You heard her. We better work up a sweat.”
Clearly, I must be in training for the marathon, because it’s an hour later when I finally sneak back to my room for a shower, before pulling on some clean clothes and scooting up to the main house.
“No, not the winter white. With her complexion? Show me the sweet cream!”
I find Selena in the middle of what looks like a Kleinfeld’s sample sale. There are two dozen people crowded into the room, all of them talking at once about flowers, makeup, and branded promotional tie-in opportunities. Bouquets are on every surface, as well as shoes, jewelry, gowns . . . A spread of mimosas and muffins sits untouched on a massive tray on the coffee table, and the dog is having a whale of a time yapping and scampering around.
I stand there for a moment in the doorway, taking it all in. “Have you considered a circus theme?” a woman in a pink satin pantsuit inquires, while a man with more hair product than a Supercuts urges her to think about Midnight in Paris. “I know, Woody is a no-no, but you’d look divine in a flapper gown!”
“Katie!” Selena spots me. “I’m so glad you’re here!” She gestures ar
ound at the chaos, her eyes widening. “I don’t know how I’m going to get all of this done in time. There are so many choices! I’ve got total decision paralysis. Like, do I want a sit-down dinner or designer taco truck? And should Jimmy Chew wear pink or gold when he brings the rings to the altar? And what song do I pick?”
She’s looking totally overwhelmed, and meanwhile, the army of consultants keeps chattering, their voices fighting to be heard.
I take a deep breath, then put two fingers to my mouth and let out a piercing whistle.
Silence.
Everyone turns to look at me. “Everyone, pick a number, get in line. She can’t hear you if you’re all shouting each other down. Now,” I turn back to Selena. “Theme. I agree with this guy, Woody is not the inspiration you want to take into your marriage. And I’m guessing you don’t want a lion tamer or fire eaters, either?”
“Probably not,” Selena admits. “But acrobats could be cool.”
“OK.” I nod, grabbing a notebook and pen to start listing. “I . . . will put that in the maybe column, for sure. But in the meantime, why don’t you talk to me about how you want to feel on your wedding day, and we’ll go from there?”
The next few hours pass in a blur of wedding plans. Luckily, I’ve been in a couple of bridal parties for my friends, so I know the drill. Yes, this is going to be a spectacular Hollywood shindig, but at the end of the day, the basics are the same: dress, flowers, strategies to keep your annoying family from killing each other. Soon, we’ve narrowed it down to an outdoor ceremony on the bluffs in Malibu; a poolside cocktail hour and a simple California-inspired dinner menu supervised by Brooke. Flowers and greenery that grow here on the property . . .
And, yes, a troupe of acrobats on loan from Cirque du Soleil.
Finally, we send the wedding brigade on their way, assignments clutched in their sweaty hands. Selena collapses backwards onto the massive sofa. “See?” She beams at me. “I told you I couldn’t do this without you. I’m so glad you said you’d be my maid of honor.”
“You do have like, all of Hollywood at your disposal,” I point out.
“Yes, but they all just want to help themselves,” she says with a sigh. “Nobody ever really listens to me.”
“Then make them listen,” I tell her encouragingly. “This is your day, after all. As long as you don’t turn into a total bridezilla, though,” I add with a smile.
Selena gasps. “I would never! Not unless someone showed up wearing white,” she adds, looking fierce. “Then all bets are off.”
I laugh just as my cellphone starts to ring. “It’s my editor,” I say, checking the screen. “OK to take a break?”
“Sure,” Selena beams. “I’ll get started on this list of potential TikTok videographers!”
I leave her happily clicking away, and I head outside for some air—and privacy.
“Eliza,” I say, answering. “What’s up? I’ve, umm, been meaning to call you.”
And putting it off all morning. Because having your Breakup Artist turn around and get the couple married instead doesn’t exactly make me seem at the top of my game.
“I can understand why you didn’t,” she says. “According to the tabloids, there’s a lot going on over there!”
I cringe. “I know.” As happy as I am for Selena, I had one job, and it wasn’t to see the couple down the aisle accompanied by the score to Legally Blonde. “I’m so sorry to let you down.”
“What? Are you kidding?” Eliza asks, sounding surprised. “This is amazing, Katie. Everyone out here is talking about how the Breakup Artist is a Makeup Artist to boot—a celebrity relationship guru for all occasions. We could even make that your next book . . . What do you think?”
“Wait, seriously?” Relief floods through me. “Selena and Ryder getting married is a good thing for us?”
“It’s a great thing,” Eliza says happily. “Trust me. My bosses here are all about that tabloid buzz. They’re going to bump the print run back up and get you on all the talk shows—which reminds me, were you serious about wanting your face on a city bus?”
We talk a while longer about the new promo plans, then I follow the sound of orgasmic “mmmm”s to the kitchen, where Selena and Brooke are having a cake tasting. Huge slices of chocolate and coconut and red velvet cakes are lined up like deliciously fluffy soldiers on the counter, and I for one can’t wait to volunteer for duty. “Perfect timing!” Brooke says as I enter. “Pull up a fork.”
“Umm, yes, please!” I hop up onto a stool next to Selena and snag a big bite of plush, moist carrot cake. “Now this is the kind of wedding planning I can really get on board with.”
My phone buzzes again in my pocket, and I pull it out, thinking Eliza forgot something, but it’s actually a text from Wes. How’s it going up there? he wants to know, and I send him a quick picture of the cake buffet.
Looks tasty, he tells me. Why don’t you bring some of it back to bed?
I smile. Sudden craving for baked goods?
Something like that.
When I look up again, Selena is smiling knowingly in my direction. “You look happy,” she says. “Something you want to tell us about?”
I shake my head. “I’m just excited for you.”
It’s only a little bit of a lie—I really am glad to see her sparkling like this. “You’re following your heart, and I really admire that,” I add. “I think it’s going to be a really beautiful wedding.”
I snag another bite of cake, glancing outside the kitchen windows. Through the glass, I can see Wes and Ryder down by the stables, the two of them chatting while Ryder saddles up one of the horses for a mid-morning ride.
“I know I must be crazy thinking it’ll be different this time,” Selena says, following my gaze outside. “Ryder and I have had our ups and downs—I mean, that’s an understatement. But people can change, right? If you give them a second chance?”
I think about that for a moment, watching Wes. The sun catches the gold in his thick brown hair, and I can’t deny the way my stomach flips over just looking at him.
Damn, I’ve got it bad.
“Maybe you’re right,” I say, as much to myself as to Selena. “Here’s hoping.”
We work our way through the rest of the cake, eventually deciding on a brown butter vanilla option with salted caramel filling. Brooke is explaining the merits of buttercream versus swiss meringue when my phone buzzes one more time. Any chance you can sneak away later? Wes wants to know. I owe you dinner after last night.
After three orgasms? I type, plus a winking emoji. I don’t actually think you owe me anything.
He’s still visible through the window, and I watch the slow smile spread across his face as he reads my message. Want to go for four? he texts back a moment later.
Pretty ambitious of you.
I’m an ambitious guy. Nine o’clock at the gazebo?
People can change, I remind myself. After all, I have. I’m not the girl I was last time around.
I’m not necessarily heading for heartbreak again.
See you then.
16
Katie
The rest of the day feels like it goes on forever, full of serious debate regarding place cards and stemware; the stress of deciding on a signature cocktail drives Ryder to actual tears. Brooke bustles in and out with trays of snacks and iced tea to keep us fortified, and I shoot her a look of deep and abiding gratitude when I take a sip of mine and realize she’s added a generous splash of whiskey.
In the late afternoon, I sneak into town on the pretense of sourcing some local wedding favors, and I head straight for the tiny jewel box of a lingerie shop and treat myself to some new underwear. Let’s just say I packed my panties for comfort, not seduction. “Big night coming up?” the salesgirl asks with a smile as she tucks the silky black set into a nest of lavender-scented tissue paper.
I grin. “Just thought I’d do something nice for myself,” I say. “And if the guy I’m seeing happens to appreciate it . . . we
ll then, that’s just a bonus.”
Back at my guesthouse, I take my time getting ready, blowing my hair out and slipping into a cute halter-neck sundress that ties at my neck with a bow. I add a pair of T-strap wedges, slick some lip gloss over my mouth, and pack my purse with my other big purchase from town:
Condoms. Lots of condoms.
Call me optimistic or just a regular Girl Scout, but I want to be prepared for whatever delicious possibilities await. All set for tonight, I sneak through the gardens to go meet Wes. The sun is sinking, and the night air is cool and delicious on my skin.
“Yo, wait up?”
An unfamiliar gravelly voice startles me. I whirl around as visions of serial murderers—that managed to make it past Selena’s platoon of security guards? Whatever! Serial murderers!—ricochet through my brain. I squint in the darkness, fully prepared to defend myself with a sandal to the head if necessary, but in the end, it’s only Ryder approaching, dressed in a pair of skinny jeans that ride so low and tight I’m concerned for a moment about any dreams Selena might have of one day starting a family.
“JFC, dude.” I take a moment to collect myself. “You scared the crap out of me.”
Ryder seems unconcerned. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he says. “Can we talk?”
“Right now?” I pause, thinking of Wes waiting at the gazebo. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” he says. “Well, yes.” He clears his throat and puffs his chest up a bit, like he’s getting into character and preparing to deliver a monologue. “I know you have your doubts about me,” he begins grandly, “but I just want you to know that I’m reformed.”
I blink. “OK . . . ?”
“I’m serious,” he insists. “Selena is my person. She completes me. She makes me want to be a better man. She jumps, I jump—”
I hold a hand up before he can tell me nobody puts Selena in a corner or that he doesn’t believe in quantum physics when it comes to matters of the heart. “Look,” I tell him. “I appreciate what you’re saying, Ryder, but I’m not the one you have to convince. Selena is amazing. She could have anyone she wanted, and she’s picking you. Make sure you keep that in mind, and you’ll be golden.”