I pout. “My modeling career is over. Guess I’ll stick to my day job. Also, speaking of how good we look, allow me to say this.” I turn and meet Derek’s dark eyes then pat his shoulder, bro-style. “I’m glad my sister is marrying you.”
Gabe places a hand on his heart. “Aww. I love it when Shaw goes all honest and mushy.”
I glare at my friend. “I’m not mushy.”
Gabe pinches his thumb and forefinger together. “A little mushy?”
I point at Derek. “He’s a good guy. He treats Perri well. Nuff said.”
“I do treat her well. She deserves nothing less.” Derek’s tone is heartfelt, full of the devotion he’s displayed to my sister, and I’m so damn glad she found a man like him. “I’m a lucky guy,” he tells me. “And I’m also glad you didn’t pull any of that don’t touch my sister shit.”
I laugh. “Perri does that enough for all of us when she pulls her don’t touch my friend shit.”
Derek chuckles. “I’ve never met a lioness more protective of her sister lions.”
I huff, wishing she wasn’t that way, but what can I do?
I sidestep the issue, glancing at the silver-haired shop owner. “Hey, Mr. Grayson, I think I could work in a tuxedo shop. Want to know why?”
“Why’s that?”
I wiggle my brows. “It suits me.”
“Ugh,” Derek groans, and Gabe joins in, followed by the proprietor. “Dude, you have the worst jokes.”
“That’s not true. I have awesome jokes. The ladies love them.”
Gabe shakes his head. “I don’t think they’re laughing at your jokes. I think they just feel sorry for you.”
I hold my arms out wide. “Who could feel sorry for me? Especially when they hear this one: what’s the difference between a man wearing pajamas on a bicycle and a guy wearing a tuxedo on a unicycle?”
“What is it?” Derek asks.
“Attire,” I say.
Gabe rolls his eyes. “You’re killing us.”
Mr. Grayson shoots me the side-eye. “If you keep this up, kid, you’re not going to have any lady to escort down the aisle at this wedding.”
“Please. They’ll be lined up. Speaking of . . .” I turn to Derek. “Which fine bridesmaid will I be walking down the aisle?”
The groom casts a glance at Gabe, almost as if they’re in on something, then answers, “Vanessa.”
I can’t even be bothered to wipe a little bit of the grin off my face. I was hoping that was what he’d say. “Excellent.”
“But don’t get too excited, because I don’t think she’s walking anywhere with you after that.” Derek unknots the bow tie.
“Why’s that?”
“It seems she’s being matched with a date at the wedding,” he says, all cool and casual as if this intel is no big deal, when it’s a gargantuan mess of a cat’s hairball.
I freeze. “Say that again.”
“You know Jamie Sullivan, right? I think you went to high school with him.” Derek shrugs out of his jacket and catches Mr. Grayson’s gaze. “The tux fits great, sir.”
“It sure does,” the man says as he fiddles with Gabe’s black jacket.
“Wait. What’s the story with Jamie Sullivan?” I ask crisply, remembering the all-American guy the girls in school fawned over.
Gabe taps his chin. “He was a few years older than you, wasn’t he? And if memory serves, wasn’t he the prom king?”
Forget ice. I’m fire now, and it’s crackling in my blood. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, no,” Derek cuts in. “He wasn’t just prom king. Perri told me he was the quarterback too. And you know he went on to law school.”
Gabe snaps his fingers. “And wasn’t it some fancy-ass law school? Yale, Harvard, something like that.”
Derek nods. “Exactly. One of those Ivy League schools, and now he’s a practicing attorney in San Francisco. Plus, he does all sorts of pro bono work to help lower-income families.”
I remove my bow tie, so hard I might have ripped it off. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Just wanted to remind you who he was,” Derek says, ever so casually.
Mr. Grayson adds, “The ladies who come in here to pick up suits for their men? They know Jamie. They talk about Jamie. From what I hear, he’s quite the catch. Yessiree.”
My eyes bulge. What the hell is going on? “Are you guys putting me on?”
Derek rests his hip against the counter. “Why the hell would we do that? Jamie’s coming to the wedding. My sister knows him. And Jamie’s stepmom is setting Vanessa up with him. Vanessa’s game for it, apparently. I guess she’s ready for a man who’s interested in stepping off the merry-go-round, if you know what I mean.”
Gabe nods to Derek. “Hey, should we invite Jamie to join our poker game? I hear he’s a wiz at cards.”
“He is not joining our poker game,” I spit out, and all three men crack up.
“Look who’s jelly now.” Gabe laughs.
“I’m not jealous,” I mutter.
I’m pissed.
I don’t want this law school dude coming to the poker game. I don’t want the former prom king hanging with my buds. And most of all, I definitely don’t want him taking Vanessa to the wedding, or out after it, or anywhere. “Why is Jamie’s stepmom setting them up?”
“Arden is all over it. So is Perri. Evidently, everyone thought it was a great idea,” Gabe offers.
After he tucks his measuring tape away, Mr. Grayson raises his hand. “Just my two cents, but I think it’s a brilliant idea.”
I seethe. It’s possible I might become a dragon. I do believe I’m breathing fire. “I don’t think he should be at the wedding, and he definitely shouldn’t be at the wedding with Vanessa.”
Derek claps my back. “I don’t know, Shaw. I think you might need to change your stance on Jamie Sullivan. Everyone seems to think they’d make a great couple, and he’s a pretty good guy. You might be seeing him more around town. Does that bother you for some reason?”
I try my damnedest to collect myself. “Why would it bother me?” I hiss in my best I’m laid-back and cool with it tone.
Gabe chuckles. “Man, you are going to have to come face-to-face with reality pretty damn soon.”
“What reality is that?”
“Your feelings for Vanessa Marquez.”
5
Shaw
The idea that she’s going to the wedding with Jamie Sullivan gnaws at me the rest of the day and into the next one as I drive north toward Lake Tahoe. I’m off for the weekend, and I have a meeting there with my financial planner and my dad.
As the highway unfolds, I try to approach my frustration the way I would any other problem, by first assessing the situation.
But it’s not the situation so much that irks me. It’s the possible outcome.
If Vanessa is planning to go out with a guy like Jamie, that means she might wind up with a guy like him.
Or, more specifically, with him.
And that possibility bothers me more than I’ve ever been bothered by any guy she’s dated.
Because Jamie is exactly the kind of guy she deserves. A good guy, a nice guy, a smart guy—a guy who would treat her really fucking well.
I hate how that winds me up.
But I don’t know how to stop it.
Or what to do.
Or how I honestly feel about all of it.
When I arrive in town, I meet my dad outside the offices of my money guru. Even though Dad and I both live in Lucky Falls, I convinced him to work with my guy out of town. I wanted my dad to have enough to enjoy his retirement, more than a pension from the district attorney’s office would allow, so I hooked him up with Harvey, and Dad’s been making more coin to enjoy in his golden years.
But as we review portfolios, I’m distracted, and I have been since the tux shop yesterday. I can’t fathom the thought of Vanessa being with Jamie. She’s certainly been with other guys. She’s dated other guys. Hell, I�
�ve known some of her boyfriends on and off over the years. But this one—it’s like an ulcer for some damn reason.
“Your investments are quite healthy. I’d say you’ve fulfilled your goal of being a fireman and having quite a decent set of assets working for you,” Harvey says. That was my dream—to do what I loved for a living and have the financial freedom to do it for my whole life. The pay isn’t great in the fire service, but I’m committed to the work, so by investing early and wisely, I found a way to do this job and have plenty of security.
“You’ve done a great job, and you’re both in good positions,” Harvey adds, but I can’t really focus on how my portfolio is performing when all I can think about is how this other guy might perform for Vanessa.
When we leave, a slap of cold wind biting my cheeks, we agree to grab a late lunch at a nearby restaurant. Once inside, we order burgers and chat about which funds Dad wants to invest in next.
Halfway into a big bite, Dad sets his burger down and stares sharply at me. “Where are you today?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re off in la-la land, son. Where is the Shaw who loves to discuss numbers and stock tips? Where’s the guy who loves to help me plan new funds to buy and sell? You okay?”
I heave a sigh. If I can’t talk about this situation with my dad, who can I discuss it with? “I have a quandary.”
He folds his hands. “I like quandaries. I spent my career solving them.”
I put down my sandwich and wipe my hands on my napkin. “It’s about Vanessa.”
Dad smiles—that knowing grin of someone who’s been around the block. “I’ve always had a feeling a conversation with you would start this way one day.”
“It’s that obvious?”
“It’s been clear for some time you’ve had it bad for her.”
“That’s the thing.” I scratch my head. “Is it a crush? Is it lust? Is it just wanting what I can’t have?”
“Those are all good questions.”
“But then there’s Perri. She’s operating at a she-wolf level of protectiveness when it comes to Vanessa. She thinks because I’ve dated here and there I’m not right for her friend.”
My dad snickers.
I tilt my head. “What are you laughing at?”
With crinkled eyes, he shoots me a knowing stare. “Here and there? Are you softening things for the jury?”
“Are you saying I’m a man ho, Dad?”
He holds up his hands in surrender. “I’d never use that word. But I am saying you milked every possible advantage out of the Keating family charm. Your position in the firemen’s calendar too. You’ve never wanted for female companionship.”
I straighten my shoulders. “I like the ladies, and they like me. Nothing wrong with that.”
“Nothing at all. But that’s part of the issue for your sister. You’ve never been terribly serious with anyone, so Perri thinks you’re wrong for her friend. To top it off, you don’t seem sure whether you’re committed about Vanessa. Seems you have a few issues to deal with.”
I scrub a hand across my jaw, glad he broke it down but still perplexed as to what to do. “Guess I do have my work cut out for me.”
“Which one are you going to tackle first?”
“You tell me.”
He takes a drink of water, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “The most important part is how you feel for Vanessa.”
That’s the big one. I answer as truthfully as I can. “All I know is I don’t want anyone else near her.”
“You need to get to the bottom of that and understand precisely why. Once you know, then you can lay out the next steps: Are you asking Perri for permission to date Vanessa? Are you asking for permission to tell Vanessa you’re in love with her? Are you wanting something else? But more than that, it comes down to this—what about Vanessa? You don’t even know if she likes you. You need to figure that out, because if she doesn’t feel the same, nothing else matters.”
He’s right. That’s what I need to uncover sooner rather than later.
Sooner as in during these last days before the wedding.
After I say goodbye to my dad and slide into my truck, my phone rings.
What do you know? It’s sooner calling.
6
Shaw
With the phone cradled between my neck and shoulder, I rub my hands together, trying to warm up as I turn on the truck’s heater. Tahoe is balls-cold this time of year. “You’re saying your grandpa was going to help you get the cabin ready?”
“Yes. He was going to do all that, you know, manly stuff,” she says with a laugh, since we both know she doesn’t like handling those tasks. “Check the fireplace. Test the stove. Do stuff to the water heater. Make sure the gutters are un-guttered. You know what I mean.”
I laugh lightly. “All the things you don’t want to do.”
“Exactly. I freely admit I detest things with knobs and wires that require tools and hammers.” She emits a shuddering sound that’s horror-flick cringeworthy. I start to make a knob joke—because she can’t really detest a knob that can hammer well—but since I’m now officially jockeying for pole position with Jamie “Mr. Perfect” Sullivan, I might need to dial down the usual banter.
Be a little more sophisticated.
“Tools can be confounding,” I say.
“Exactly. Now, if Perri was around, I’d have her do that stuff. But since I’m getting the cabin ready for her honeymoon as a wedding gift, it was going to be Gramps and me. He was going to do all the maintenance, and I was going to change the bedding and set out towels, and make sure they had plenty of pretty shampoo and body wash.”
“I’m sure Derek will love the body wash. Make sure to get him a gardenia or lavender-scented one.” I’m not turning off the humor hose completely.
“Very funny. The body wash is for Perri.”
“Like I said, I’m sure Derek will enjoy the body wash,” I say, then it’s my turn to cringe, horror movie–style. “Wait. Let’s not talk about my sister and body wash. Back to Gramps. What happened? Is he busy at the horse ranch?”
Shortly after her granddad moved his family to the States two decades ago, he began working as a ranch manager and eventually went on to buy his own spread. Now he owns one in Nevada as well as the cabin here in Tahoe. He did well for himself for sure.
“Nope. He’s just not feeling so great. He has a stomach bug, and he’s staying at their main home an hour away.”
I pride myself on my iron stomach, glad it’s made of metal. “That’s no fun.”
“I know. He was planning on coming over this afternoon, but he has a date with the porcelain god. So Arden and I were on the phone, trying to figure out if I could find a local handyman. It’s getting late though.”
“I’ll do it.” There’s no way I’ll let another man save the day for her.
“Well, that was easy. Arden said that Gabe mentioned you were up here meeting with your finance guy, so I was hoping you were still around. I don’t have a clue how those dang fireplaces work. You’re handy, right?”
I puff out my chest. “Damn straight. No fireman worth his salt is un-handy.”
“And you’re worth your salt, I presume,” she says, a little flirty. “And you’re not too far away.” Her tone is the most inviting I’ve ever heard.
I smile, loving the direction this is heading. “I’m pretty damn close. Give me the address.”
She does, and I tell her I’ll be there in forty minutes.
Yup. There’s no time like the present to figure out my feelings, to sort lust from jealousy or from something more.
I drive straight toward the cabin, following Google Map’s route as the robotic lady’s voice tells me to take this winding turn up this hilly road then that steeper curve up an even steeper street. The whole time, the sky turns a hazy shade of orange around the edges, the clouds billowing, swelling with a hint of snow.
By the time I pull into the driveway, up here in Steepville on the
corner of Steepington Avenue and Holy Shit That’s Steep Road, the ground is coated in the first flurries.
I hope they fall fast and furious.
* * *
We get foul weather in Lucky Falls now and again, but nothing that necessitates snow boots. Today, I say thank you to Old Man Winter when Vanessa greets me on the porch decked out in peel-me-off jeans, fluffy boots, a white knit cap, and a red-striped sweater that fits in an eye-popping kind of way. I know fuck all about fashion, but since Vanessa wears retro stuff pretty much all the time, I’m guessing that’s some fifties-style sweater.
And if the fifties were all about breast-hugging tops, God bless that decade. That sweater is doing things to her tits that might drive me insane with lust.
But I’m nearly already there.
“Hey, snow bunny.”
“Hey, snowman,” she says, wrapping her arms around her waist, and her remark throws me. Snow bunnies are sexy; snowmen are definitely not. Has she just friend-zoned me in favor of Jamie?
Oh, hell no.
That is one zone I won’t go into without a fight.
I point to the house. “Get inside, woman.” A flicker of something—perhaps interest—flickers across her warm brown eyes. “I don’t want you to freeze.”
“I know, but I wanted to say hi and thank you. Also, hurry on in. It’s snowing. And yes, I know I just pointed out the obvious.” Then she adds with a sexy little pout, “But that’s because I’m a helpful snow bunny.”
Laughing, and liking that she’s using her nickname, I look up at the sky as it tosses flakes at us like confetti. “It is indeed snowing. As much as I’d like to trade more snow names with you, let me tend to the gutters first since, well, I don’t imagine you want to have it on your conscience if I have to climb up on the roof later in a blinding snowstorm, during which I trip, tumble to the ground, and am left to the coyotes as night falls.”
“But I bet you’d be a tasty icicle for coyotes,” she says, and I’ll hang my hat on that one adjective—tasty—as I claw my way out of snowman zone.
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