by Ella Miles
I walk slowly past Sloane, knowing full well that the only reason she didn’t take Wes up on his offer to go out surfing with him is because she wanted to stay back and have it out with me. I raise an eyebrow as I walk, daring her to talk to me.
“You can’t be Wes’s best man,” she hisses.
“And why not?”
“Because you are a horrible person who is just doing this to try and sleep with me.”
I grin. “That’s exactly why I’m doing this. But it’s also exactly why you can’t do a damn thing about it. You love Wes, and Wes chose me as his best man. And, if you really think you can resist me, there is no harm in giving Wes what he wants.”
Her mouth drops open, but no words come out. I take off toward the ocean, knowing that her eyes are on me. She can’t help but watch. And, when she sees how awesome I am at surfing, how I glide over the water like it’s in my control, she will want me to control her in the same way.
I step foot inside the building that Wes texted me in order to get fitted for my tux or whatever he, his cousins, and I are wearing at the wedding. It’s a small building jam-packed with tuxes and men’s formal attire.
I spot Wes in the back, standing alone, talking to one of the salespeople.
I grin. “Thank God it’s just us. I wasn’t sure if I could deal with your cousins today,” I say, bumping fists with Wes.
“If you want to avoid them, then you’d better try on your tux quickly. They’ll be here any minute.”
I frown. “Let’s get this started then.”
“This is my best man, Asher,” Wes says to the salesperson.
“I’m Luther. I just need to take a few measurements, and I’ll have you try on a couple of jackets and pants. Then, I’ll get you out of here,” Luther says.
“Excellent,” I say.
Luther begins measuring every inch of me. Well, every inch, except for the one part of my body where size really matters—at least, I think so. When he’s done, he thinks for a moment and then grabs a couple of jackets and pants.
He carries them into a dressing room. “Try them on. I might have to make some adjustments with the jacket. You will have to go up a size or two to fit your biceps, but then we will need to take it in at the waist to fit everywhere else.”
I head into the dressing room and begin trying on the first pair of pants. It feels strange to wear anything this formal. I haven’t worn anything this formal since—
I stop thinking. I will not let my mind go there. Not today.
I try the jacket on over my T-shirt. It’s a bit snug, so I try the larger size and then step out of the dressing room.
“Just as I suspected. To fit you in the arms and chest, you need the bigger jacket, but we are going to have to take it in to make it fit your waist.”
Luther starts messing with the jacket, trying to ensure it will fit, while I stand there, sweating in the thick material.
“Did you say where you are getting married, Wes?” I ask.
“The beach,” he answers.
It’s like I suspected.
“Are you sure you are going to want to wear tuxes on the beach in summertime in Hawaii? You do know it gets hot here, right?”
Wes frowns. “I didn’t really think about it, but now that you mention it—”
“I already told you that the tuxes were stupid. You should just wear khakis and a dress shirt,” Sloane says, seemingly appearing from nowhere.
I smile when I see her. I didn’t realize that she would be here, but it makes my day so much better.
“Khakis and a dress shirt, I could get behind as well,” I say.
I wink at Sloane. She just rolls her eyes and focuses her attention on Wes.
“I need to think about it. I’m not sure khakis are formal enough.”
Sloane throws her hands up in defeat. “You don’t have time to decide. You have to decide today.”
“Then, tuxes. This is going to be in every newspaper in the country. It will be going in countless magazines. I want to look like I’m getting married, not like I’m a bum hanging out at the beach one day.”
“We are going to be sweating like pigs in these, man. Just think about that,” I say.
“I don’t care. It’s just for a couple of hours. It won’t be that bad,” Wes says.
“Don’t say I didn’t tell you so,” Sloane says.
“What do you think of the fit, Ms. Hart?” Luther asks.
Sloane walks over to me and pretends to care about how my jacket and pants are fitting. “Seems to fit fine, but I’m guessing he’ll want it a bit looser with all the sweating he will be doing.”
I laugh.
Wes frowns.
“Oh, come on. I’m only kidding,” Sloane says.
Wes takes Sloane in his arms. “I just want everything to be perfect for you, baby. I don’t care about a little sweat.”
I can’t help but laugh to myself when Wes calls Sloane baby. She seems like anything but a baby to me.
Wes’s phone rings, and he steps away to answer it.
“We need to talk,” Sloane says, hissing through her teeth in a similar way that she did two days ago when she spoke to me on the beach.
“Then, talk,” I say, adjusting the jacket, and looking at myself in the mirror. I look strange in a tux and not just because I’m wearing a T-shirt under the jacket, but also because it is the complete opposite of who I am. I hate fancy things.
I see Sloane staring at me in the mirror, and then her eyes dart to Luther and back to me. I smile. She wants to talk to me alone.
“I don’t have lunch plans. Would you and Wes like to join me for lunch?” I ask.
Wes walks back over. “What is this about lunch?”
“I thought we should all go have lunch together, so I can get to know your fiancée a little better.”
“I wish I could join you, but that was Elijah. His car broke down. He needs me to pick him and Cody up and bring them to the tux fitting. But you two should go. It would make things easier if you two got along,” Wes says.
“I’ll just get changed, and then we can go. I’ll let you pick the place,” I say before heading into the dressing room to change.
I put my swim trunks, T-shirt, and sandals back on while I listen to Wes and Sloane whisper to each other. I can’t make out what they are saying, but it doesn’t sound like happy whispering.
When I open the curtain separating me from them, they stop and both put fake smiles on their faces.
“Ready to go?” I ask Sloane.
She nods.
* * *
I sit down at the booth across from Sloane in the swanky restaurant she chose to have lunch at. I don’t have to open the menu to know that the prices are outrageous. Most places on the island are expensive. This is just over the top.
I’m not opposed to having a good meal or even going to a swanky place on occasion but not for lunch, especially when I doubt we are even going to be able to make it through this meal.
Sloane is wearing a pale yellow dress and heels today. She looks hot as hell, and it makes me want to take her into the restroom and rip the dress off of her. I won’t. That’s not my game. But I can still imagine it.
“What are you grinning about?” she asks.
“You don’t want to know.”
“I do. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have asked.”
“You, naked.”
She rolls her eyes. “You really are a one-track-mind kind of man, aren’t you?”
I shrug. “So, what did you want to say?”
“I want you to leave me alone.”
I smile and lean back in the booth, extending my arm on the back of the cushion. A nicely dressed woman at the table over gives me a disgusted stare.
“Now, who has a one-track mind?”
“Can I get you anything to drink?”
“White wine,” Sloane says, clearly needing a drink to get through this meal.
“Water,” I say.
“That’s all you
want? I’m buying,” she says.
I laugh. “You think I can’t afford to buy myself a drink? Really?” I shake my head. If I hadn’t already decided to go after her, this would have been a major turn-off—her thinking she was better than me because she dressed better. “I’ll have water,” I say again to the waiter. “I have a training session after I leave here.”
Sloane doesn’t blush in embarrassment, like I expected. She just sits there, unfazed by me calling her out. She just went up a few notches in my opinion.
“Are you ready to order lunch?” the waiter asks.
I raise my eyebrows at Sloane. “Do you think you can make it through a whole meal with me?”
“I’ll have the grilled chicken salad,” she says.
Of course she orders a salad, like any other thin girl on the planet would when eating with a man she secretly wanted to bang. If she truly wasn’t interested in me, she would have ordered the burger or pizza or anything that had carbs.
“Pepperoni pizza,” I say.
The waiter leaves, and then it’s just Sloane and me.
Another woman passing by the table stares at me, and at first, she seems disgusted that they would let someone wearing swim trunks into the restaurant. But then, when she looks up further and sees my body and my crooked grin that I know turns her on, she doesn’t seem to mind so much.
“Do you always wear swim trunks everywhere you go?”
“Yes. Why wouldn’t I? I live in Hawaii, and I’m a surfer.”
Her eyes study me, and I know she’s wishing that I wasn’t wearing anything either. That she would love to see what was beneath the swim trunks.
“You can’t be in the wedding. You can’t be Wes’s best man.”
“Sure I can. I have the date cleared and everything. I don’t have any competitions or any events I have to attend for my sponsors, and I don’t have any women to pick up that day. So, I will definitely be making your wedding.”
The waiter brings our drinks. I expect Sloane to slug down her wine, needing liquid courage or strength to deal with me. She doesn’t. She sips it coolly, like she deals with propositions from men every day and she just has to come to the right terms to get me to say I’m not coming to her wedding. If that’s the way she wants to play, then fine, I’ll play along.
“What do you want? Really? You can’t think that I’m going to sleep with you. It’s just a fun game for you to try. You could probably have dozens of women in the amount of time it would take you to chase me. Is that what you like? The chase. Chasing women you can’t have? Is that what turns you on?”
I cock my head to the side. “Something like that.”
“What do I need to do to get you to go away? How much money?”
I laugh. “I don’t want money. I have too much as it is.”
“Then, what do you want?”
“Go out with me.”
“What?” she asks, her eyes growing wide.
“Go. Out. On. A. Date. With. Me.”
She slowly shakes her head. “I’m married, remember?”
I cock my head and smile. “I thought you were just engaged. Did you two secretly get married, or do you already feel like an old married couple?”
She frowns. “You know what I meant. I’m about to be married. Almost-married women don’t go out on dates.”
“But you aren’t most married women. One date, and I’ll leave you alone. One date, and if after the date you still want me to leave, I will. I’ll tell Wes that I can’t be in the wedding. Something came up, like a surf competition or event that I couldn’t get out of. Just one date.”
“No.”
“Think about it before you say no.”
“No.”
I laugh. “If you don’t go out with me, I’m going to drive you crazy. I’ll be at every wedding event that you have. The rehearsal, the wedding, the reception. I’ll be there, haunting you. And don’t think you’ll get rid of me after the wedding. I’ll still be there. I’m Wes’s best friend after all. I’ll be at every family event. I’ll start a double-date night with you and Wes. I’ll be there every week. I’ll be there after the birth of your first child and every birthday afterward. I’ll hit on you every time.”
“No.” She narrows her eyes in defiance this time before taking a sip of her wine, like she thinks she is going to be the one to win this.
She won’t. She forgets, I never lose. Ever.
“You’ll always wonder if you don’t go on a date with me. I’ll haunt your dreams. You’ll always wonder, What if? What if you were wrong about Wes and I was the guy for you?”
“No.”
“If you go out with me, you can confirm to yourself that I’m the asshole you think I am. You’ll never have to wonder.”
“I don’t wonder.”
“Yes, you do. If you didn’t have the tiniest hint of wonder about me, you wouldn’t even be bothering with me. You wouldn’t be here.”
“No.”
“My body will haunt you. You’ll always wonder about my body, my abs, and other things,” I say winking.
“No. Wes has great abs,” she says. But there is a hint of seduction in her voice. A hint that she knows what I’m saying is true. That she wants me.
“Not like mine. He’s nothing like me.”
“No, because you are the devil.”
I nod. “True. But, if you truly loved Wes, you’d have nothing to lose by going out with me. In fact, you would be saving Wes from a monster like me.”
Sloane takes another sip of wine and clears her throat. “Okay.”
I smile smugly. “That didn’t sound like a yes to me. Will you go out on a date with me?”
“Let’s get one thing straight. I’m going out with you to get rid of you. And the second the date is over and I tell you I’m done is the second you leave my life forever. Got it? I don’t play games.”
“So, is that a yes?”
She crosses her arms.
“I need to hear you say it, or the deal is void. I need to hear you say that you will go out on a date with me. A real date.”
She rolls her arms. “Yes, I will go out on a date with you.”
I grin. “Good.”
The waiter brings us our lunch, which is good because I am starving and really do need to go to training after we get finished here. I dig into the pizza that is in front of me, eating quickly. After my second slice, I look up and see Sloane staring at me.
“What?”
“You’re a pig.”
I shrug. “I’m hungry. I assume you are planning on leaving now that you got what you wanted, and I have places to be. So, what if I eat a little fast? We aren’t on a date right now, so what does it matter?”
She rolls her eyes for the millionth time it seems since we sat down at this table.
“You should eat, too. You’ll need your strength for our date this weekend.”
She huffs. “I’ll have days to gather my strength to deal with you on our date.”
“You should eat anyway.”
She starts eating her salad while I finish off my pizza. And then I chuckle to myself.
“Now what?”
I shake my head. “I just can’t believe you said yes.”
I enter the lobby of the fancy condo building that Sloane lives in. I stare up at the large ceiling that goes up in the center to what must be the top floor with all the other entrances to the rooms surrounding the center. The whole building seems extravagant. Everything is wrapped in gold or silver. Flowers decorate the main floor lobby, but there isn’t a dead flower in sight, making it clear that the flowers are pruned and replaced on a regular basis. There is a lot of wealth in this place.
Too much wealth if you ask me.
I walk to the elevator and am stopped by a nicely dressed man in a suit.
“Who are you here to see, sir?” the man asks politely, blocking me from entering the elevator without telling him first.
I look down at my khaki shorts and button-down shirt that
is open at the collar. I thought I would dress up a bit for our date tonight, but looking at myself now and where I am, I should have dressed up more because Sloane is a princess who no doubt lives on the top floor of her castle. Despite working for a nonprofit she inherited, she makes plenty of money and expects to live with the finer things in life.
“I’m here to see Sloane Hart,” I answer.
“And your name is?”
“Asher Calder.”
I expect him to request to see my ID before he will let me up. But, to my surprise, he pushes the button for the elevator, and he steps aside to let me in as the doors open. He steps inside and presses the button for floor number ten.
“Ms. Hart’s place is the first door on your left when you exit the elevator. Have a good day, Mr. Calder,” he says before leaving the elevator.
I run my hand through my hair as the elevator makes its way up. I can’t believe people live like this. I know he is here mostly for security purposes, but it still seems ridiculous that she lives in a place where somebody stands at the elevator and pushes a button for her whenever she wants to go up. As if she is incapable of pressing a button. It’s a good thing I don’t want her forever because we don’t belong together. She wants a fancy life, full of finer things, while I want to live with as few things as possible.
I shake my head at the thought of ever imagining myself with anyone for more than a couple of months. That’s not my style. I don’t do the boyfriend or girlfriend thing, and I don’t imagine ever getting married.
The doors open, and I step off and knock on her door. I wait longer than I expected. She doesn’t answer right away even though, if anything, I’m a few minutes late. I pull out my phone, ready to text her with the number that Wes gave me, to see if she is still coming or if she changed her mind, when she opens the door.
She’s wearing a beautiful pale blue sundress that, to my surprise, has more cleavage than I would have thought she would wear for a date that isn’t really a date. Her blonde hair is curled, but it’s her eyes that have my complete attention.
It’s clear that she has been crying. Despite trying to dry her eyes, her eyeliner and mascara are smudged, and her eyes are still a bit swollen and red.
“So, where are we going?” Sloane asks, plastering a fake smile on her face.