The Sure Thing

by Claire Matthews

  The Sure Thing

  by

  Claire Matthews

  Copyright 2012 by Dana Morales

  CHAPTER ONE

  "I was thinking we could have bouquets of heart-shaped cookies on each table, and maybe some of those little Valentine's candies…you know, the ones with the messages?" Becca nodded, and Katie continued. "It'd be so cute if we had little bowls of those at each seat, right?"

  Becca's fake smile was painful to maintain. To be honest, it sounded horrible, but Katie was the client, and if she wanted teddy bears dressed in dominatrix leather for her wedding, Becca would make it happen. If she didn't make her car payment by the end of the month, she was going to have to start parking behind the trees in the vacant lot next to her apartment complex to keep the wolf off the door.

  "Jordan said not to go overboard on the Valentine's theme, but I can't help it. It's going to be so cute. Don't you think?"

  Katie was so unsure of herself it embarrassed Becca. She'd catered weddings for timid brides before, but Katie was truly a challenge. Part of her wondered how she could have possibly made the decision to get married when she was clearly incapable of choosing a napkin ring. But it wasn't her job to question Katie's motives. Her job was to make crudités, and choose place settings, and find perfectly marinated prime rib.

  “So, has she blown through the budget already?” Both women turned to see Katie’s fiancé, Jordan Caufield, emerge from the front hallway of the apartment.

  Jordan was older than Katie, around thirty, and richer than a teenage Arab. He seemed disinterested in the particulars of the wedding, although he became quite animated when discussing the wedding party. He had four old fraternity buddies serving as groomsmen who were coming in for the weekend to be fitted for their tuxes. The happy couple had asked Becca to come to the fitting because Katie wanted the table skirts to match the men's cummerbunds. Becca didn't know which depressed her more, the thought of spending the afternoon with four rich, snobby, ex-frat boys whose only goal for the weekend was to drink their weight in beer, or the thought of matching fuchsia pink cummerbunds to the elegant table dressings she planned for the reception.

  Katie let out a nervous chuckle. “Jordan, honestly. We were just discussing table decorations. It's all included in the price quote. Right, Becca?” She looked at Becca with anxious eyes.

  “Absolutely,” Becca replied, eying Jordan with a steady gaze. She hated the way he used money to intimidate Katie. Becca knew that Katie came from somewhat humble beginnings, and it was obvious that Jordan's wealth daunted her.

  “Well, that's good. I don't want to start my marriage without a pot to piss in,” Jordan said flatly.

  Becca resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The man had enough money to furnish his house with solid gold piss pots. But she only smiled and stood to leave.

  “I've got some errands to run, but I'll meet you guys at the men’s store at four.” She was glad to be free of the tension that always simmered when Jordan was around. Poor Katie, Becca thought, then caught herself. None of her business. It was a good-paying gig. And God knew she needed the money.

  One would think that being a wedding caterer in Las Vegas, Nevada would be a profitable endeavor, but one would be wrong. The competition was fierce. Sin City was, after all, the wedding capital of the world. But even more problematic was the fact that most people who got married in Las Vegas were not looking for a formal, catered affair. A quick ceremony performed by an Elvis impersonator, followed by a drunken night in a casino, or a Cirque Du Soleil show, was more often the norm. But Becca loved her job, and if it meant cutting corners and living frugally, she was willing to make the sacrifice.

  By the time she got back to her apartment it was almost noon and she mentally ticked off her to-do list as she pulled a Diet Coke from the fridge. There was a GA meeting she was hoping to make before meeting Jordan and Katie. However, she still had several calls to make, and laundry to fold, and bills to fret over...the temptation to skip the meeting was great, but she knew she would go in the end.

  Becca moved to Las Vegas when she was barely twenty years old. She was halfway through college and in love with Kevin, the boy she'd been with since her junior year in high school. When Kevin was offered a job as a management trainee at one of the swankiest hotels on the strip, she followed him and they soon shed their Asheville, North Carolina personas in favor of the high-partying lifestyle that Kevin's new job afforded them.

  But after two years of living fast and wild, Kevin moved on to a faster job and a wilder woman, leaving Becca devastated and virtually penniless. Not wanting to move home and admit defeat, Becca began to use part of her meager earnings as a sous chef to go to the casinos at night. She thought if she could just hit one big pot, her money problems would be over. Eighteen months later, after losing thousands on slots and blackjack, the night came that Becca found herself alone in her boss's office, standing over her desk. She knew that the evening's tips were in the top drawer waiting to be split and dispersed.

  Becca told herself if she took five hundred dollars, just five hundred dollars, she could triple it by the end of the night and return the money the next day. No harm, no foul. She had the cash in her hand when she heard the door from the kitchen slam shut. Pam, her boss, was walking down the corridor to her office, her spiky heels clicking heavily in the cavernous hallway. Becca's skin was cold and clammy with sweat and she stuffed the money back in the drawer, crossing her arms over her chest and cupping her hands in her armpits. When Pam walked in, Becca told her she felt ill and had come back to the office to rest. Pam gave her two ibuprofen and sent her home. The next day Becca joined Gambler's Anonymous.

  Three years later, Becca had her own catering business, her own car, and her own apartment. She no longer went to GA meetings daily, but she tried to make one at least twice a week. And even though she lived hand to mouth, she was happy and independent, and glad to be free of both Kevin and the monkey on her back.

  But today she was feeling stressed. She grabbed a Pop-Tart from the pantry and went through her bills, deciding which ones to pay, which ones to postpone, and which ones to “forget” to put stamps on. She couldn't shrug off the dread she felt at the thought of going to the tux fitting. Not only did she hate spending time with Jordan, but now she was going to have to meet and play nice with four other Jordans, probably just as irritating and pretentious as the original.

  Such was her mood as she entered Ascot Formal Wear a few minutes before four. Jordan and Katie weren't there yet so Becca strolled through the store, eyeing the elegant tuxes and accessories that would look so much better than the screaming pink abominations Katie had selected. So it was a Valentines wedding, big deal. Did it have to look like Hello Kitty and Polly Pocket were exchanging vows?

  “Excuse me, can you tell me where your restrooms are?”

  Becca turned and saw a man with a mop of dark blond curls looking at her expectantly. What, did she look like an employee?

  “I...I don't…” she started, and a look of understanding and embarrassment crossed his face before she could even finish her sentence.

  “Oh...oh, no, sorry. I don't know why I thought...never mind.”

  “It's okay. The restrooms are through those double-doors.” He smiled and gave her a little wave, then turned in the direction she pointed.

  Cute smile, she thought. Nice ass.

  “Hey, Becca!” She turned and saw Katie looking excited and a little nervous. Behind her was Jordan and two other guys, laughing and picking up suspenders, shooting them at each other like slingshots.

  “Hi guys.” Becca gave a weak smile and prayed this would end before five o'clock. She wanted to get to the organic market before it closed at six.

  “Becca Ellison,
this is Cliff Harrison and Randy Scott.” Katie made the introductions and Becca wondered if the other two weren't coming. “It turns out that Steve can't make it, he had some emergency at work. But he can get fitted and send the measurements to the shop, right?”

  “Sure. I mean, I guess so. Where's the other one?”

  “The other what?” Katie looked confused.

  “The other groomsman. Didn't you say there were four?

  “Oh, yes. Nicholas. He's going to meet us here, he's coming straight from the airport.”

  “Okay, well, let's find the tailor and get this show on the road.” Becca worried that she might sound impatient, but decided that she really didn't care. She had better things to do.

  “Don't you think we should wait for Nick?” Jordan asked.

  “Hey, I was here before any of you guys.”

  Becca turned to see Nice Ass approaching the group, his smile wide and infectious.

  “Nick!” The chorus of greetings carried across the store, and Nick was immediately accosted by masculine hugs and overzealous back slaps. He stopped and gave Katie's shoulder a warm squeeze, and then they both turned to her.

  “Nick, this is Becca Ellison, the wedding caterer. Becca, Nick Brady.”

  “We...kinda met,” she said, shaking his hand as he gave her a sheepish grin. He held her gaze and she noticed his eyes were an intense green with a ring of brown around the edge. They were really nice eyes.

  Becca turned her attention to the wider group. “Why don't you guys visit for a minute, I'll find the tailor, and then we'll get started.” As the fittings began, Becca tried, and failed, to avert her eyes when the tailor got to Nick, drawing his tape measure around his trim hips, then up over his respectably wide shoulders. He wasn't overly tall, probably an inch shy of six feet, but he had a sturdy, wide chest and flat abs. Yum.

  Once the fittings were complete, Becca made a quick exit, still intent on getting to the market. Flopping in the front seat, she jammed the keys in the ignition, glanced quickly at her phone for messages, and backed out of her spot. But when she looked into her rear-view mirror, she saw a male figure approaching her car with a swift, determined gait.

  Nick.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Nick sat back on Becca's couch, taking the glass of red wine she offered. She gave him a wide, warm smile. God, it was a beautiful smile. It made him want to do something worthy of such happiness, like tell her she'd won the lottery, or ask her to the senior prom.

  “Sorry, I don't have anything to offer you to eat. I haven't been to the grocery store this week.”

  “That's okay. I didn't come up here to eat.”

  She studied the wine in her glass, swirled it a bit. “Why did you come up here?”

  He wished he had a cool, suave answer. But he didn't, so he told her the truth instead. “When I saw you in the store…I don't know, I just wanted to get to know you.”

  “Even when you thought I was an Ascot Formal Wear employee?”

  “Especially then.”

  “You wanted me to fit you for that tux, didn't you?” she teased. “Take your measurements? Sigh in amazement when the tape measure barely made it around your bulging chest?”

  “Yep. I have this need to be groped by strange women. I spend a few days a week getting mole checks at the dermatologist's office.”

  “Really.”

  “I'm afraid so.” The way her nose crinkled when she smiled made his head buzz. Was he feeling…happiness? Attraction? No, more than attraction. Desire? It was hard to say. She was definitely beautiful. Her eyes were wide and brown, her hair golden blonde, falling past her shoulders. She was tall, almost as tall as him, and the thought of kissing her, face to face, chest to breast, hip to hip, made his mouth go dry. But it was more than just her looks. She was edgy, and funny, and...well, there was just something there. And he wanted at it.

  Nick had dreaded coming to Vegas this weekend, dreaded seeing Jordan, dreaded being a groomsman. He'd had fun in college, but it seemed like all the guys in his fraternity never bothered to stop having fun and grow up. They were all like Jordan, perpetually juvenile, even as they went on to get jobs, get married, and start families. When they got together, they talked about getting drunk and finding women, and being...stupid. But Becca wasn't stupid. Maybe that's why he had been sitting on her couch for the last hour instead of throwing dice on the craps tables with his buddies.

  Being this close made him want to touch her, but he didn't want her to think we was a creeper, so he shifted back an inch and circled both hands around his wine glass. Down, boy.

  “So, you know I'm a caterer, but you still haven't said what you do for a living.”

  “Why don't you guess?” he hedged. God, he hated this question.

  “Hmm, okay...Well, you look pretty athletic. Do you work outside?”

  “Never.”

  “So your job doesn't require any physical exertion?”

  “Nope.”

  “Is it something creative? Something in the arts?”

  “Yes, I'm a belly dancer.”

  “Oh, hell no.”

  “Okay, a ballroom dancer.”

  “You said it wasn't physical!”

  He grinned. He could do this all night. She'd never guess.

  “But you didn't rule out the arts. Are you a musician?”

  “Yes, I'm a flutist. Flautist. Whatever.”

  “If you can't say it, you don't do it.”

  “Words to live by.” Oh man, she was pretty. She smelled like some kind of warm flower. Sweet. He was having trouble concentrating on their game.

  “Do I need to go more boring?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Okay, banker.”

  “Not that boring.”

  “Lawyer.”

  He wrinkled his nose.

  “Gimme a hint,” she demanded.

  “Okay, it's in the medical field.”

  “You're a doctor?” she asked, looking a bit shocked.

  “You had to guess doctor, didn't you? What if I'm a nurse? Are you hung up on gender roles, Becca?”

  “No, no...I just…”

  “I'm teasing you. I'm not a nurse. Or a doctor.”

  “Then what? I give up,” she sighed, clunking her wineglass on the coffee table.

  “I'm a dentist.”

  “What? A dentist?” Her face broke into a grimace. It was the universal reaction to his profession. “You don't look like a dentist.” The second universal reaction.

  “What do dentists look like? Herbie from that Rudolph cartoon?”

  “No, but I mean, dentists are cute.”

  “You think I'm cute?”

  “Handsome,” she amended. “In a non-dentist kind of way.” She studied his face for a long moment. When he didn't speak, she did. “Now I'm thinking how you'd look in plastic gloves and scrubs.” She moved her eyes a fraction, so she was looking at his shoulder.

  “No. You were thinking: This is one hell of a man on my couch. I want to kiss him.”

  She leaned back, flushing. “Nope, nope...just thinkin' about the scrubs.”

  “Oh. My bad. I got confused, you know...because I do want to kiss you.” He leaned forward, and when she didn't move away, he pressed his lips to hers.

  Her lips pressed back, then clung, then parted. Oh, yes. It was one of those kisses that went straight to his chest and stayed there. It was so good he had to have another, then another. He heard himself groan, although he hadn't meant to. She tasted delicious, and the way she fit herself against his chest allowed him to plunge his tongue deeper and rub his hips against her, and holy crap, he needed to stop.

  “Becca.”

  “Hmm?” Her breath was unsteady.

  He pulled back and leaned his forehead against hers. “Wow.”

  She grinned then pulled back. “This is kind of scary.”

  “Why?” He ran his thumb against her jaw.

  “I feel like you're judging my teeth while we kiss. Can your tongue tell
that I only remember to floss every other day?”

  “Yes, of course. But I wasn't going to say anything.”

  “A dentist and a gentleman.”

  “I'm not gonna lie, though. I'm concerned about your right mandibular second molar.”

  “My whooza-whatsits?”

  “I may need to kiss you again. Purely professional. I took an oath.”

  “Do dentists take the Hippocratic Oath?”

  “No, we do the Colgate Pledge.”

  “Ahh, right.” There was that smile again. There was no way he could leave her now. He kissed her lips lightly, then the tip of her nose.

  “Listen, I'm supposed to go meet the guys at The Venetian at seven. It's some kind of party thing for Jordan and Katie. Do you want to come?” She stiffened a bit and her hands went from his shoulders to her lap. Whoa, he'd done something wrong. “It's just a quick dinner, then a bit of gambling. My treat?” And now she was standing, backing up a bit. This was bad. “Or not?” His voice had lost its confidence.

  “I'd love to, but I've got a ton of work to do.”

  “But it's Friday night,” he argued.

  “I'm a wedding caterer, weekends are my busiest times.” But her eyes looked uncertain, like she could be persuaded, so he pushed.

  “Come on, just a few hours. We'll have a nice dinner. I promise you won't have to sit by Jordan. And then we'll hang out and hit some slots.” She concentrated on the hem of her cardigan, pulling a black thread until it popped. “I'll have you home before midnight, Cinderella.” There was a long pause.

  Finally, in a meek voice, she said, “Okay”.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Becca awoke to the sound of a dog knocking over a trash can outside her living room window. The number of “self-walking” dogs in her neighborhood was becoming more and more of a problem. She wanted to call the landlord to complain, but she was already three weeks late with the rent. So instead, she pulled on leggings and a t-shirt and went outside to clean up the mess. Elbow-deep in dirty paper towels and soggy coffee grounds, she contemplated the bigger mess she'd made last night. The one that couldn't be cleaned up with rubber gloves and plastic bags.