by Heidi Betts
Ha! She hadn’t been The One, she’d just been another one in a long string of women who had fallen for his blue-eyed, wavy-haired, crooked-grinned spiel.
And she’d been an idiot. For a smart, highly educated woman, she’d apparently been walking around with a giant dunce cap on her head for the past couple of years.
Well, no more of that. The blinders were off, and she could read Zack’s number loud and clear. It flashed across his forehead like a neon sign: 666.
In truth, though, she was still hurt and pissed, and suspected she always would be.
She should probably also be relieved. It would have been worse, she thought, if she’d discovered his faithlessness after they were already married. If he’d lied to her for years on end, run around behind her back, made a fool of her. If they’d had children together who would have been affected by his betrayal and an ugly divorce.
Yes, it was better this way. At least she’d only lost a couple years of her life, her trust in men, and for a short while, a modicum of her sanity. All things she could bounce back from.
Had bounced back from.
Well, okay, was working to bounce back from.
She’d been doing really well the past few months, too—right up until she realized she would have to see, be in the same room with, and possibly even speak to Zack at her best friend’s second wedding.
Nightmares, not sweet dreams, were made of these.
Right before the holidays, too. Merry-freaking-Christmas to her.
Gage and Jenna moved to stand before the judge, and the rest of them fell in line behind them, Grace and Ronnie at Jenna’s side, acting as bridesmaids, and Zack and Dylan at Gage’s, acting as best men.
“Wait!” Jenna cried out suddenly, making everyone jump.
Gage paled visibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “Oh, God,” he muttered, “please tell me you haven’t changed your mind.”
Jenna chuckled, shaking her head and patting his cheek with the hand not still wrapped around her bouquet of poinsettias.
“Of course not. But Aunt Charlotte isn’t here yet, and she’d never forgive me if we did this without her.”
Before the words were even out of her mouth, they heard a shuffling from the hallway and turned to find short, round, mop-headed Charlotte bustling into the room. Her cheeks were pink with cold, despite the fact that she was bundled like an Inuit from head to toe.
“I’m here, I’m here,” she called out between panting breaths.
Tossing aside her giant macramé handbag, she shrugged out of the ghastly, lime-green coat that made her look like a linebacker…or Shrek…or the Jolly Green Giant’s half-sister from the vertically challenged side of the family.
Beneath the coat, she’d dressed appropriately—if hideously—for the occasion in a long, nearly shapeless white dress covered in holly leaves and berries. It looked as though she’d run out of time and grabbed the nearest holiday tablecloth to wrap around herself.
Grace inhaled deeply and bit her tongue to keep from laughing out loud. Poor Charlotte. She loved the woman dearly, but had never met anyone with worse taste in clothes. And hair. And makeup.
One of these days, she, Jenna, and Ronnie would have to invite Charlotte out for a Girls’ Day Out makeover at the mall.
Makeover, ha! Try major fashion overhaul. They would try, ever so gently, to explain that carrot orange wasn’t necessarily an appropriate hair color. Nor was Hubba Bubba pink for lipstick. And never, ever, under any circumstances did lime green and grape purple—the color of Charlotte’s god-awful fuzzy Ugg knockoff boots—go together.
Then again, Charlotte was an entity unto herself. A funny, quirky character who kept them in stitches, both intentionally and unintentionally.
Maybe attempting to change the outside wrapping wasn’t the smartest idea if it risked changing the inside package. Because inside, Charlotte’s heart was solid platinum and bigger than all seven continents put together.
Rushing to Jenna on her short, stubby legs, Charlotte stood on tiptoe and pressed a big, pink-tinted kiss to her niece’s cheek. “Sorry I’m late, dear. You know I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”
“We wouldn’t dream of starting without you,” Jenna replied, even though that’s exactly what they’d been about to do.
Tablecloth dress, Ugg boots, foot-high Lucille Ball beehive and all, Charlotte tromped to the end of the bridesmaid line and took a place beside Ronnie.
With everyone who was supposed to be there finally in attendance, Gage and Jenna joined hands, the judge cleared his throat, and the ceremony began.
Zack knew that at a wedding, the most beautiful woman in the room was supposed to be the bride. And Jenna looked great, no doubt about that. But she wasn’t Grace.
If she were standing in a crowd of supermodels, Playboy Bunnies, and People magazine’s most beautiful women from the past ten years combined, Grace still would have put them all to shame.
Not that he should care, or even notice. Not anymore.
But while the judge went about putting a legal stamp on Gage and Jenna’s relationship in a bit of a monotone—no great surprise, considering how many times he probably said the words in a week, a month, or a year—Zack’s attention seemed compulsively fixated on Grace’s full, red-tinged lips; the wavy, perfectly styled fall of her hair; the fire-engine-red dress that hugged her curves, framed her breasts, and made her legs look incredible.
He should have been able to tell her as much. To whisper hot, seductive words in her ear, and promise to strip her bare the minute they got home.
Instead, he was forced to stand here and act like everything was fine while inside his stomach clenched and the blood curdled in his veins. He no longer had the right to touch her or even think about her in those terms. If he did and she found out, she’d probably try to scratch his eyes out.
Or maybe knee him in the groin, if the narrow, blistering glares she’d been aiming in his direction on and off were anything to go by.
Shit, he shouldn’t have come. He knew it would be a miserable afternoon. And why in God’s name did he feel compelled to walk over to her and apologize, to ask her forgiveness, to beg her to give him a second chance, when he’d done nothing wrong?
He knew now why so many guys on the team stuck to casual, short-term relationships and had personal policies against ever getting serious with a woman. Zack had always thought their blustering about bad mojo and women messing up a guy’s game was all just superstitious garbage, but now he wasn’t so sure.
As much as it pained him to admit it, he’d been crap on ice—literally—since Grace had stormed out of his life and refused to speak to him. He knew the rest of the team was talking behind his back, knew they were speculating that his best days were behind him, and that he should turn in his stick and jersey before he ruined the Rockets’ chances for getting to the playoffs and bringing home the Cup.
And maybe they had a point. If he couldn’t give the game and his fellow players one hundred percent of his attention and a hundred and ten percent of his effort, then he didn’t deserve to be out there.
The sound of clapping cut into his dismal thoughts, and he realized the judge had apparently done the whole “man and wife” thing, moving on to “you may now kiss the bride.” Gage and Jenna were locked at the lips, exchanging a fairly chaste kiss—at least considering how hot he knew the two were for each other—then broke apart, turning to their friends with wide, joyous smiles on their faces.
Zack joined in the cheers and well wishes, all the while keeping Grace in his sights as she hugged her friend, then retreated to a far corner of the room to collect their things.
Knowing he was asking for trouble, but somehow unable to stop himself, he followed.
“Grace.”
He said her name softly, not wanting to startle her or draw the others’ attention, but still she stiffened and her fingers turned white where they curled around the strap of her purse.
Movements as rega
l as a queen, she straightened, then looked him square in the eyes, her lips pulled into a tight, flat line.
“I have nothing to say to you, Zack.”
“Good,” he replied, shoving his shoulders back and stuffing his hands into the pockets of his black wool pants. “Then maybe you can listen for a change.”
Her brow rose in both annoyance and warning. During their time together, he’d learned her body language and facial expressions well, and the raised brow typically served as a flashing yellow caution light, like the rattle of a snake’s tail.
He hadn’t meant to snap or lace his words with accusation, but he was damn tired of feeling like the bad guy in this situation. And though there were moments—especially late at night, when he was alone in his apartment and regret swamped him—that he’d have gladly fallen on his knees and begged her to come back, now wasn’t one of those times.
He finally had her cornered, able to speak with her face to face instead of trying to reach her through electronic voice-mail boxes, ignored e-mails, or messages via friends that got no response, and he intended to take advantage of it.
“I know what you think,” he told her in a low voice, taking a quick step to the left to block her from leaving, even as he was careful not to crowd her too much. “I know why you’re angry. But you’re also wrong. I didn’t invite that woman into my hotel room. I have no idea who she was, I never touched her, and I kicked her out as soon as you left. I didn’t cheat on you, Grace, and it would have been nice if you’d trusted me enough to at least give me the benefit of the doubt before kicking me to the curb.”
He straightened and stepped back. Grace’s face remained stoically impassive, but he didn’t care. The lead weight of resentment and unspoken clarifications that had been spoiling inside of him for months suddenly lifted and he felt a thousand times better.
He didn’t have her back. He hadn’t cleared his name with her, or her friends, or the press, or anyone else in the free world who thought he was a scum-sucking dog. But he’d said his piece, he’d gotten to look Grace in the eyes and tell her in no uncertain terms that he had not slept with another woman, dammit.
And now it was over. What was that term shrinks liked to use? Oh, yeah—closure. He had closure, which hopefully meant those freaking nightmares would go away, and he’d be able to pull his head out of his ass long enough to help the Rockets actually win a game for a change.
Raising her other brow, Grace crossed her arms over her chest, pushing her breasts together to create even more impressive cleavage.
Zack’s blood heated and started a slow trek toward the South Pole, but only, he thought, because he’d have had to be dead and in the ground a good two months not to feel at least a modicum of arousal at something like that. When it came to a nice set of tits swelling out of a dress like that, his dick wasn’t particular about who they were attached to.
“Are you finished?” she asked in a tone cold enough to freeze mercury.
If the question was meant to intimidate him or lure him into starting a fight, it missed its mark.
“Yeah, I think I am,” he responded. Then he turned on his heel and walked across the room to rejoin the rest of the wedding party, feeling better than he had in a very long time.
Row 3
“This is very weird,” Ronnie said, crossing her legs tailor-style and dropping onto the pillow she was using to cushion a spot on the floor. Moonstruck played on the television screen along the far wall as Grace finished pouring two glasses of rich, red wine before following suit.
“What is?”
“Having Girls’ Night Out without all the girls.”
“What?” Grace asked. “Did you want Jenna to cut her honeymoon short just to join us for take-out Italian and rented movies?”
Ronnie’s mouth twisted, and she reached for her glass. “Yeah, I think I did,” she replied before taking a small sip.
For a second, they merely looked at each other, then they both threw their heads back and laughed.
“All right, so maybe not,” Ronnie admitted. “I’m sure she’s having a better time getting all sexed up in St. Thomas—”
“For a second time, no less, when I’ve never even been there once,” Grace interjected, an unspoken hmph lacing her tone.
“—but it’s still weird.”
“And what am I, chopped liver?”
“Definitely not chopped liver,” Ronnie assured her. “You are the filet mignon of girlfriends.”
Grace rolled her eyes. “Thanks. I think.”
Grabbing her half of the takeout from the pile in the center of the table, she flipped the plastic lid off the aluminum container of spaghetti and meatballs—and was immediately accosted by a big, wet nose snuffling under her arm in an attempt to nudge its way closer and closer to her supper.
“Stop it, you big pig,” she chastised, pushing back against the giant, scruffy Saint Bernard at the same time she tried to use her body to protect her food.
Not that she didn’t love the overgrown mutt. He’d helped to save her sanity and mend her broken heart after her breakup with Zack in ways she never could have expected. Considering the noxious breath and mutant salivary glands that came as part and parcel of the furry monster, it was a minor miracle she hadn’t dropped him at the nearest animal shelter within minutes of leading him out of Zack’s apartment.
She’d hated the mangy beast for years while she and Zack dated. Deemed him nothing more than a stinky, overgrown nuisance, and had often hinted that Zack should get rid of him so they could get a smaller pet—like an elephant or a humpback whale. Or at the very least, one that could be considered “theirs” instead of “his.” She’d sort of had her heart set on a cute little shih tzu or Pomeranian.
But what had started out as an act of revenge—stealing Zack’s dog, just like she’d stolen his favorite hockey stick—had ended up being one of the best decisions she’d ever made.
The newly named Muffin might outweigh her by a good fifty pounds and cause her to send her sofa cushions out to be steam-cleaned on a weekly basis, but she loved the stupid canine and couldn’t imagine not having him around.
Even if it meant having a snotty dog snout poking at her dinner.
“You’ll get some,” she promised the still-searching pest, “just wait your turn.”
Grabbing the extra plate she’d brought from the kitchen for just this purpose, she scooped a good share of spaghetti—and one of the two meatballs—out of her own dish, and set it on the coffee table in front of the dog.
Well aware of the routine that had to be followed before anyone else could enjoy their meal, Ronnie waited until Muffin’s face was buried contentedly in his Italian cuisine before lifting the lid from her own four-cheese lasagna. Before the night was through, there was a good chance she’d end up sharing, too, and she knew it.
“What happened to weaning him off of human food?” she asked without a hint of censure in her voice.
“I thought about it,” Grace replied blandly. “It didn’t work out.”
“What happened?”
Grace shrugged. “He only needs a couple bites to get it out of his system, and it’s easier to let him have a taste than to listen to him whine.”
For a second, Ronnie didn’t respond. Then she said, “He kicked your butt, didn’t he?”
“You have no idea,” Grace admitted, rolling her eyes. “It was like trying to tame a rabid wolverine. I spent three days scraping food off the ceiling.”
Ronnie laughed, reaching for a slice of garlic bread.
Carbs might be the enemy, but South Beach, Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, and every other diet promising amazing results went the way of the wind on Girls’ Night. Girls’ Night Out was the perfect excuse to fulfill their fat, carbohydrate, sugar, and alcohol cravings without guilt. After all, the number-one rule of Girls’ Night was No Guilt Allowed. No Guilt, No Diets, and What Happens on Girls’ Night, Stays on Girls’ Night.
“So you want to tell me what you an
d Zack talked about at the wedding?”
The question came out of left field, making her suck in a breath, which caused her to choke slightly on a bite of pasta. She’d been hoping no one noticed that little incident—or at the very least wouldn’t ask her about it. Mainly because seeing Zack again had disturbed her more than she wanted to let on.
Except for an awkward confrontation soon after she’d walked out of that hotel room and not looked back, she hadn’t seen him in person since. And even though she’d braced herself for running into him at the wedding, it hadn’t gone at all as she’d anticipated.
Being near him again had hurt just as much as she’d expected. A mix of longing for the way things had once been and anger at his betrayal had caused her stomach to roil and her palms to go damp.
Given the number of times he’d called, e-mailed, and attempted to visit her both at her apartment and the television studio over the past six months, she’d expected him to accost her much sooner and with much more irritation. What she hadn’t expected was his quiet approach, his calm declaration of innocence. It had caught her off guard and struck her nearly speechless.
“We didn’t talk so much as he spoke and I listened.”
“What did he say?” Ronnie wanted to know.
Grace twirled her fork in her spaghetti, watching the strands of pasta go around and around while she thought about Zack’s words and the sincerity in his eyes while he said them.
“The same thing he’s been saying all along—that I mistook the situation, and he didn’t cheat on me with that woman.”
She kept her attention on her meal and her voice light, as though it didn’t matter to her one way or the other.
“You know,” Ronnie said, slowly and carefully, as though she were afraid of saying the wrong thing, “Dylan believes him. Apparently, when Zack couldn’t catch up with you before you left the hotel, the two of them met up and searched the parking lot. Dylan didn’t see a woman with him, or any signs of one, and I guess Zack was pretty upset.”