“It kinda is. Because every time I see a romance that works, I feel worse about mine failing.”
“Stop. You were the wronged party. All you were guilty of is loving someone who turned out to be a loser.”
He nodded. “How’d you get so wise?”
“Seriously?” She pointed at her baby. “Walking wounded here. Not only did I get cheated on, but I’ve got a lifelong reminder—not that I don’t already love this little guy like crazy, but you know what I mean.”
“Yeah. Guess we’ve both had our hearts put through an emotional meat grinder.”
Wincing, Paisley said, “Not the most poetic of images, yet apropos.”
“Know what occurred to me?”
“No clue?” She followed a sleepy yawn with a grin.
“At some point over the weekend at the ranch, we’re going to have to kiss. Might be less awkward if we practice.”
“I’ll bet you use that line on all the ladies.”
“That did sound awful. Sorry I said anything.”
“I’m teasing. You’re right. If we show up having zero physical connection, your parents won’t be fooled for a minute.”
Rubbing his jaw, he said, “We should keep this clinical. I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable.”
“Thank you. Good to know my future husband is as thoughtful as he is cute.”
“You think I’m cute?” He made a sour face. “Please don’t say that around Logan. I’d never live it down.”
“Promise. Mum’s the word. So how do you want to work this? Logistically, I mean. It’s not exactly like we can get close without special maneuvers.”
“Let’s see...” Grabbing her ankles, he swung her legs off his lap, then scooted closer so they sat side by side. He tried leaning in for a kiss, but couldn’t get past her cheek. “I’m going to have to try a different technique.” He slid off the sofa and onto his knees. Leaning forward, his face close enough for her to feel his warm exhalations on her upper lip, he asked, “Sure this is okay?”
“Uh-huh...” Though judging by her runaway pulse—nothing about this was remotely okay. More in the realm of sublime. In that instant, her body blurred the line between real and make-believe. What if Wayne was her baby’s real father? How much different—better—would her life now be?
He leaned closer.
Closer.
When he finally landed his lips atop hers, kissing her with leisurely perfection, a punch-drunk giddiness flowed through her.
He drew back. “Was that all right?”
Licking her lips, she nodded. “Maybe we should amp it up—you know, just to make it extra believable.”
“Got it. Good call.” This time, he increased the pressure, urging her lips apart before slipping his tongue in her mouth. On a cellular level, her entire body felt lifted by excitement and hope and the prospect of this dazzling surprise she’d never seen coming. He kissed her and kissed her until she was groaning and he’d slipped to the floor, tugging her along for the ride.
Her dress rode up, baring her thighs.
But then the baby kicked, jarring her to her senses. What was she doing?
“Whoa!” Wayne shifted, helping her off his lap and straightening her dress. “Even I felt that kick. Your little guy’s going to be a bruiser.”
“Yeah...” Paisley struggled with her hair, her dress, her runaway pulse. What happened? For a kiss that was merely for practice, it had packed an awfully supercharged punch.
“Um...” He cleared his throat. “I should probably get going. I’ve got to be back on base at a hellish hour.”
“I understand. Go.”
“You sure?”
She nodded.
“Let’s at least get you off the floor.” He stood in front of her, then straddled her legs, slipping his hands beneath her arms to heft her onto the sofa. “There you go. Anything you need?”
Some semblance of pride?
Had he not been rocked to the core by that kiss? He was her friend, so why did she feel a thousand times more turned on than she ever had by Dr. Dirtbag? Or any other man?
“Paise? Needs?”
Plenty. But none readily available at the corner store.
She shook her head. “Thanks, though.”
He nodded. “Okay, well...catch you later.” His half wave and forced smile made her cringe.
As soon as he left, she drowned her frustration in a freezer-burned pint of cookie dough ice cream.
* * *
WHAT HAVE I DONE?
Wayne tightened his grip on the truck’s wheel, still five hours out from his parents’ ranch, driving across a sea of sand with a sky so clear and blue he could see all the way to heaven. What the hell was he doing in the Navy when his soul belonged on this land?
Paisley slept hugging the pregnancy pillow he’d bought her, resting her head against the window. She’d turned her back to him.
The night they’d picnicked and practiced kissing had been hands down one of the nicest in recent memory. He hadn’t wanted it to end. He’d envisioned the two of them doing way more than kissing, sharing the warmth of Paisley’s bed, spooning the swell of her belly even after she’d fallen into a deep sleep.
He’d wanted to send flowers to her office, but his CO had been crankier than usual, meaning Wayne hadn’t had a chance to make the call. The only thing she’d ever asked of him was to keep in touch, yet he hadn’t even managed shooting her a single text.
Not cool.
The rest of the week had brought the same—erratic work hours dictated he was literally underwater while everyone else slept.
But it wasn’t everyone else he was worried about. He wondered what Paisley was thinking. Was she pissed by the way he’d left? Did she think he hadn’t cared? She was a good friend. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he was taking unfair advantage of her offer to pose as his fiancée.
In the same breath, he wished he could stop thinking about her. He wasn’t sure what he felt—if it could even be labeled. All he knew was that he cared a little too much for a woman intended to be his pretend wife.
The night before their trip, he hit a twenty-four-hour warehouse store to pick up essentials. Her favorite snacks of gummy bears and jerky, along with apple juice boxes and animal crackers and Sprite. He’d grabbed her a special pregnancy pillow and even mellow mood music the clerk had assured him would soothe his wife.
How awful was he to not correct the woman?
In that moment, he’d have given anything to have met Paisley before Chelsea. If he’d made vows to her, might everything now be different? Might her baby be his?
That morning, when he’d taken her bags, stowing them in the truck bed, she’d thanked him, but hadn’t made eye contact. Understandably, she was pissed. He didn’t blame her. But in his defense, she’d known the score.
You’re an ass.
Absolutely. But that fact couldn’t change his past. It couldn’t make him any less determined to remain single for the rest of his life.
* * *
PAISLEY WOKE WITH drool on her chin and a stiff neck.
Eyes fully open, she found herself still in Wayne’s truck, flying through a foreign landscape void of anything save for distant mountains and the occasional cactus, rocks and sand.
“How much longer?” she asked.
“Couple hours. You okay?”
“I wouldn’t turn down a bathroom, but I don’t see a 7-Eleven.”
“There’s a truck stop about thirty miles from here. Can you make it till then?”
“Do I have a choice?” She turned down the volume on the stereo. “What’s this crazy music? It sounds like whales mating with dolphins.”
“It’s supposed to be soothing for you and the baby. The salesclerk says it simulates being in the womb.”
“Hmm.” Lips
pursed, she turned back to the barren view. “Good thing the clerk knows what’s going on in there—in my womb.”
“I tried sending you flowers.”
“Why?” He’d been up-front with her from the start that their initial kiss had been for practice. About putting on a good show for his parents. She had no right to be hurt about his not so much as calling to say hello since. But she was hurt.
Deeply.
She swallowed the knot at the back of her throat.
“I wanted to send flowers,” he said, “because it would have been a nice gesture. You deserved them.”
“For being a good kisser?”
“More like being an overall great human.”
He turned off the pan flutes and gentle waves and lonely whales. “Is it my imagination, or am I sensing a boatload of hostility?”
“No.” She looked at him, but then turned away, hugging her pillow. “Maybe. Honestly? I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t crushed when you bolted from my apartment as if the place was on fire. When a week passes and you didn’t call or even stop by after work?” She sharply exhaled. “Yeah, I was pissed. But I shouldn’t have been. We’re neighbors—nothing more. Only now, we’re neighbors who’ve shared a few kisses who also happen to have a pretend engagement.”
“I get why you’re mad. But please understand my commanding officer wouldn’t care if I was making out with a Kardashian. When I’m on duty, I’m on duty. Period. He’s had us working beach insertion drills during ungodly hours. I had to buy your pillow and snacks at four in the morning.”
“One Kardashian in particular? Or all of them?” The bad joke was Paisley’s stab at deflecting. She had been devastated by his not calling or stopping by. But she shouldn’t have been. According to the parameters of their sham-engagement that she’d helped establish, the whole point was to keep it casual. Simple. No harm, no foul. All of which had been no big deal till she’d kissed him. And kissed him.
Now, she was all messed up inside.
She found herself no longer wanting to be his friend, but to take his hand. Or maybe stroke her finger up his tanned forearm, testing to see if the coarse hairs glinting in the sun really had been spun from gold.
But why do any of those things when, technically, she wasn’t into Wayne, right? Dr. Dirtbag ruined her, right? She owed it to her baby to focus on her career and motherhood. Who even had time for a guy, right?
“I know what happened the other night was wrong.” Wayne adjusted the air vent, directing it her way. “Too warm? You look flushed.”
“I’m fine.”
“Good. Don’t need you passing out on me. Do you feel properly hydrated? It gets hot out here.”
“We’re in an air-conditioned truck—not a covered wagon.”
“What’s got you so salty?”
You! Your stupid chiseled perfection. Your sexy grin. The way your eyes turn shark-fin gray when you’re talking about serious subjects, but have a silvery glow when you smile.
Taking a deep breath, she forced a serene expression. “I’m good. Sleepy, but good.”
“How are your ankles?”
“Fine. Why?”
“I bought What to Expect When You’re Expecting for the Kindle app on my phone. Turns out lots of pregnant ladies get swollen ankles when traveling. Cankles, for short. When we hit the truck stop, you should walk around a little—just to keep your blood flowing.”
“Tell you what.” She shifted the pillow, trying and failing to get comfortable. “I’ll walk if you promise not to talk.”
“Considering you’re going to see your future in-laws soon, that’s not a very nice attitude.” He winked, but she wasn’t in the mood for playing.
She was tired.
She hadn’t yet given birth, but already she feared the added stress of being a single mom. If she was brutally honest with herself, maybe the reason she was upset with Wayne had nothing to do with him, but everything with her.
For an instant, with him holding her, kissing her, making her feel cherished if only for that short while, she’d dared fantasize about them marrying for real. Now, in the too harsh light of day, she realized that was never going to happen.
But maybe I secretly want it to happen?
Not with Wayne per se, but someone. The thought of being alone the rest of her life brought on the kind of soul-crushing pain that usually left her reaching for an entire pot of holistic antacid.
Miles later, by the time Wayne pulled his truck alongside a gas pump, Paisley wasn’t sure whether her bladder or pride hurt worse.
Wayne opened her door for her, offering his hand to help soften her landing on the sun-cracked concrete, but she held up her hands. “Thanks. I can manage.”
Sure, you can. Gravity provided more than adequate assistance on the way down, but who was going to help her get back in? She glanced over her shoulder to find Wayne still staring.
With everything in her, she wanted to glare, but forced a half smile. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she just as easily force herself to get over what they’d shared? It had been a few kisses between friends. No big deal. Even his explanation for walking out made perfect sense.
The only thing that didn’t was the way she was overreacting.
The walk inside took far too long, dodging SUVs and minivans. The only civilization for miles was as hot, windy and dusty as it was crowded. It seemed every family on the road for the long holiday weekend must be using this highway.
After waiting her turn in the restroom, Paisley wandered down aisle after aisle loaded with everything, including groceries, clothing, and souvenirs when she eyed a trinket that made her smile.
On a whim, she took it to an out-of-view side register.
The zigzagging return trek across the treacherous lot was made even more hazardous when Wayne darted out from behind her, grabbing hold of her elbow as if she were ninety-year-old granny with a walker—although, at the moment, the stability of a walker might come in handy. Could those things be outfitted with a cup holder?
He said, “You can’t stay mad at me forever.”
True. But she could at least until they reached his parents’ ranch.
“You said yourself you don’t even have anything to be mad about.”
There was nothing Paisley despised more than a man who threw her own logic back in her face.
When they finally reached the truck, Wayne opened the passenger-side door, essentially forcing her to grab hold of the seat back with one hand and him with the other. Entering his truck was always an awkward affair, but this time, with her added gear in the way, she might as well have been boarding the space shuttle. She landed with enough force to drag Wayne partially down with her, landing with a soft thump of pillow and leather and masculine-smelling body parts she fought not to recognize.
“Oh—hey. Didn’t mean for that to get strange.” He backed away before further humiliating her by manhandling her into a proper seating position, brushing the backs of his hands across her full, ridiculously sensitive breasts to fasten her seat belt, then closing her door.
Once he sat back behind the wheel, he fished something from his jeans pocket. “While I was inside, I saw this—reminded me of our cornball trip to the fake wedding cake store.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“What...” He looked crestfallen. “It’s corny, but kinda cute—in a cheese-ball way.”
She reached in her pocket, pulling out the identical Christmas ornament that looked like a miniature version of Wayne’s favorite “fake cake.” The one with the miniature cacti and the cowboy hat topper.
How could she stay mad at a guy who had chosen—from all of the thousands of items in that store ranging from rattlesnake salt-and-pepper shakers to windshield wiper replacement blades—the same goofy souvenir as her?
They both burst out laughing, exchan
ging gifts and then rushed apologies.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted.
“No, I really am sorry. That night was...” He sharply exhaled. “Let’s just say that if we were married?” He met her gaze, fixing her with a stare that left her incapable of finding air. “Well, if I were your man for real... I’d be a helluva lucky guy.”
Her cheeks burned like a super volcano—not that she was complaining. Even the baby was in danger of swooning!
Ducking her gaze, she licked her lips. “I—I feel the same. Maybe once we get to the ranch, we might—”
HONK! Honk, honk, hooooooonk!
They both glanced through the rear window to find the guy driving the RV behind them red faced for an entirely different reason. “Keep it moving, buddy! I don’t have all day!”
Wayne grinned. “Hold that thought—yours, Paise. For sure, not his.”
The rest of the trip passed in a blur.
They ditched the whale song in favor of ’90s emo, which Paisley found more than a little shocking. “You do know you’re killing your cowboy rep?”
“I’ll take the hit. He clutched his chest. “Taking Back Sunday feels my pain.”
She wished she could say the closer they got to Wayne’s own slice of heaven, the better she felt, but truthfully, her stomach worked overtime with more indigestion. The thought of seeing Wayne’s dying father literally made her sick.
How would she shake his hand without falling apart?
And what would she do about Wayne’s poor mom, who would soon be a widow? To think she and Wayne had been bickering had been a ridiculous waste of precious time. It made Paisley feel ashamed to have lost sight of their primary goal—to help ease his father’s emotional pain.
“Prepare me for what to expect,” she asked. “Is your dad in a wheelchair? Does he spend most of his time in bed?”
“He can’t—at least not without my mom knowing the full score. I’ve repeatedly asked for details, but Dad’s deliberately keeping me in the dark. Says he doesn’t want to bother me.”
“Let’s just keep our expectations open,” Paisley said. “That way, if he spends most of his time in, say, a recliner or on the couch, you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”
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