Not bothering with a response, she pinched the jacket between finger and thumb and held it out for him as they met in what had been the middle of the dance floor. “You leaving a mess for someone else to clean up. Why am I not surprised?”
Taking the jacket, he paused. “Sure you’re okay? One more whiff for the road? Something to hold on to?”
“Pass,” she answered, her heels clicking against the floor as she walked out. “I can’t forget about you fast enough.”
“Hey, Emily?”
She stopped and let out a weary sigh, because really, with this wedding over, all she wanted was to put Jase Foster behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to where he was frowning after her, a disconcerted look in his eyes. “What?”
“You’re not friends with Sally Willson, are you?”
Her brow furrowed as something heavy settled in the pit of her stomach. “Sally was my roommate in college. We’re like sisters.”
She didn’t want to ask; she didn’t want to know. But by the way Jase was cursing into the palm of his hand and staring at her with those accusing eyes, she was fairly certain she already did.
Sally had been dating her boyfriend, Romeo Santos, for two years, and just this weekend, he’d taken her up to some cabin in Wisconsin.
“Oh no.”
Jase shook his head and walked past her. “See you soon, Em.”
Chapter 4
September
One more good toss and Jase had this. He could feel Max at his back, standing closer than strictly necessary, even with the press of Belfast’s perpetually healthy weeknight crowd.
Trying to intimidate him into screwing up.
Not gonna happen. Jase had his head in the game and—
“So what’s it like having your work wife knocked up?”
Too late to stop the throw already in progress, Jase knew as soon as the dart went sailing that he wasn’t looking at the bull’s-eye. Or even the board, apparently.
Jase muttered under his breath as Max and Sean bumped fists.
From the high top that had been their regular Wednesday night table since before Brody opened the doors to business four years ago, Molly Brandt groaned. “Seriously, dude, you did not just let my brother psych you out! What are we, amateurs here?”
Yeah, he was better than that, but come on. Work wife? Even in the platonic context of a work relationship that rocked—which was how it was with his assistant, Janice—the word wife made his balls retract.
Still kicked back in his seat, Brody stretched out his burly arms. “See what you get for teaming up with Jase, Moll? Shoulda picked me. We’d be taking a victory lap right now.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She laughed, but the big guy wasn’t done yet.
Brushing off his broad shoulder, Brody grinned. “Pop you right up here. Queen of Darts.”
Well, the copper-plate ceiling was tall enough for it, and while Brody definitely had the muscle to do it, Molly wasn’t really the girl-on-your-shoulders type. Jase glanced down at the black motorcycle boots she loved to wear. More like the steal-your-bike-for-a-joy-ride type.
“Sorry, Moll.” Jase shook his head and cut a look at Max. “Dare you to say that to Janice’s face.”
Max adjusted his pants. “Hell no, the jewels are just fine where they are, thank you.”
Smart. Janice had been Jase’s assistant since he started at the bank right out of grad school. A few years older than Jase, she had a disapproving mother’s tough-love way about her that Jase had come to adore, and even a badass cop like Max usually had enough sense to respect.
Truth? He was already freaking out about losing her for maternity leave. She was good.
Jase slid into his seat and ruffled the shock of chartreuse in Molly’s otherwise white-blond hair.
Swatting at his hand with a laugh, she turned to her brother. “How about your work wife?” she asked, talking about his partner on the force. “I hear CJ’s been looking at rings. Getting jealous?”
Max opened his mouth, but Sean leaned in, flashing the half-cocked smile they’d all come to recognize as a precursor to trouble, and made a crack about Max being the wife, at which point the conversation degenerated into the trash talk they’d been slinging since college. The kind Jase wasn’t in any hurry to outgrow.
These guys were his best friends. The guys he’d lay down his life for and knew without question would do the same for him.
Eventually, the conversation wound back to the coming weekend. The engagement party none of them were looking forward to.
The one Jase had already confirmed Emily would be attending.
“How the hell is it that Sean’s the one who gets out of this thing when just hearing the words black tie is enough to get him hard?”
Sean shrugged. “I’m hard right now.”
Molly snorted beer out of her nose, and Sean shot her a wink from across the table.
“Pretty sure it has something to do with him nailing the girl Romeo was following around first semester sophomore year,” Max suggested helpfully, then seemed to be thinking back. “Was she the girl from behind the Dumpster?”
A thoughtful furrow appeared between Sean’s brows.
“Nah, that was Nadia, the TA from econ. Gina was…”
“Gina was on the fire escape outside Teddy Burgdorf’s party,” Molly offered helpfully. “And Sean’s not the only one who isn’t going to be there Friday.”
Brody shook his head. “That asshole boss of yours making you work again?”
“Yeah, but he’s paying me double time for picking up the shift—so I only loogied in his beer once.”
The big guy made a sick face and looked into the black depths of his half-consumed Guinness. “Starting to wonder if maybe I need to consider a separation from my work wife.”
Molly leaned back, laughing like the imp she was. “Good luck. You’d never find another manager as good as me.”
“Don’t I know it.” Brody tipped the glass back and downed the remaining half in a single swallow that had the rest of them staring at the empty glass uneasily.
No way she’d done it.
No way.
Molly grinned. “Have fun without me on Friday.”
* * *
Engagement parties could be a hell of a lot of fun. And as a rule, Jase looked forward to them. These were his friends after all, inviting him to celebrate one of the most monumental decisions of their lives, so he’d be a dick not to. But this party—Jase shot a glance through the trees to the Willsons’ three-story, multiwinged stone mammoth, currently lit up like a Caribbean cruise liner washed ashore in the depths of the western suburbs—had been racking up strikes since before the question even got popped.
Strike One: Emily. How was he supposed to look forward to this thing when every time he thought about it, he thought about her? About those damn legs tangling up his whole night.
And was she hair-braiding besties with every marriageable female in the Chicago area between the ages of twenty-three and thirty-five? He couldn’t believe he was getting screwed with her again. He would too, thanks to their ninety-ninth percentile status on the national height charts. Fucking genetics.
Strike Two: The Willsons. Jase could live with the black-tie attire and what Romeo had guaranteed would be the stuffiest, most unpleasant sit-down dinner any of them had ever had the misfortune of attending. After five years in private banking, Jase could knock out a night like that without batting an eye. But Sally’s parents? Man. He’d only met them once the previous summer at one of the Santos’s backyard barbecues, where Romeo’s parents had invited fifty friends and two hundred family members.
Watching Mrs. Willson treat the Santos’s relatives like they were the staff, while Mr. Willson had stood in front of the house barking into his phone the entire afternoon—yeah, once had been plenty. Especially knowing how
they’d picked Romeo over when he’d asked them for Sally’s hand. Add to that, he’d bet they were looking at a seating chart, which again meant Emily. Possibly hours of her.
Strike Three: The heart attack he’d had pulling up the winding drive just minutes before. It had been an hour-plus drive out from the city. Brody had been riding shotgun—while from the back Max bitched about his bow tie strangling him—when Romeo had sprung out from behind one of the trees lining the drive, looking like a ghost. He’d banged on the hood of the car before jumping in the backseat.
“Jesus, man,” Max growled, glaring at the guy like he was ready to put a bullet in him. “You scared the ever-livin’ shit out of me.”
“Hey, Romeo,” Jase offered, cranking around in his seat to give the guy a once-over.
Definitely not looking good. “What’s going on?”
“Thank God you guys are here.”
Running a hand over his neatly gelled black hair, Romeo directed Jase to veer right at the fork and park over by the stables. Then he stumbled out of the car and, leaning back against the east wall of the structure, rubbed his hands up and down over his face.
“She’s pregnant.”
Oh man. By all rights, Jase should have already been out of there. But since this was a good friend and not baseball, the three-strikes rule didn’t apply—which meant escape wasn’t an option.
Brody was quick with his congratulations, slapping Romeo on the back a few times and laughing about how he’d been worried it was something bad. Max stood off to the side, his cop look fully engaged as he sternly told the guy it was a good thing they were already getting married then. Typical Max.
“Max, give the guy a break. When did you find out?” Jase asked.
Romeo looked back with shell-shocked eyes. “About twenty minutes ago.”
Jase whistled between his teeth.
“Yeah, timing. I know. But I guess Sally was getting ready with her sister and got sick. Again. Peg was teasing her about a baby being on the way, not thinking anything of it. But then Sally started putting a few things together, and I don’t know—next thing, there’s an emergency run to the pharmacy, and she’s peeing on a stick, and—”
Romeo swallowed, and swallowed again, like his stomach was about to revolt.
Jase took a step back but caught the subtle shake of Max’s head and relaxed.
“We’re going to be parents. I’m going to be a dad. And I’m not even married yet.”
Jesus. No wonder the guy had looked like he was running from a horde of zombies! Even when they were planned, babies could be scary. But the fact that the news was less than twenty minutes off the press and Romeo was out here instead of inside with Sally was setting off some alarms.
“So she told you…and you left?” Jase asked as gently as a guy like him could.
“Hell no,” Max cut in, turning that lethal stare on Jase as he shouldered closer to Romeo. “It’s a lot to swallow with a house filled with a few hundred guests. Our boy here just needed some time to let the news digest. He’s solid, and he’s going to do the right thing. Aren’t you, Romeo?”
The poor guy shrank back against the wooden siding. “I only left because she was afraid her mom would figure something was up and go crazy before the party. I swear, it wasn’t my idea. I’m solid, Max.”
“Yeah, but if you weren’t solid…” Jase said, giving the guy a meaningful look. Because the engagement had come up pretty fast. “Like, if you had any doubt at all… Now that you’re bringing a kid into the mix, more than ever, you need to be honest with yourself about how you feel. Doing the right thing isn’t always doing what everybody’s telling you the right thing is. Understand?”
Probably not. Romeo came from the kind of family they based Thursday night sitcoms around. But speaking as the product of a marriage that never should have been—a marriage that nearly destroyed his father and that Jase had only survived thanks to Eddie’s parents all but adopting him for the month after his mom took off—Jase had no problem explaining it to him.
Okay, no problem, other than Max escalating into that wide-legged, “don’t even think about screwing with me” stance. It had to scare the crap out of the punks unfortunate enough to be on the wrong side of the law when their paths crossed, but Jase had seen this guy choking up over a Budweiser Super Bowl commercial. Which meant he couldn’t totally give the glare the credit that maybe he should. Besides, Max’s arms were still crossed rather than tensed with his fingers twitching restlessly around his hips. Like he was ready to swing or fire. So Jase figured he was okay.
“Guys, I’m solid,” Romeo said wearily. “Mostly. I mean, my knees feel like Jell-O and my guts like I put them through the spin cycle. But as far as Sally and this baby—our baby—go, no doubt in my mind. I want them both.”
“Then that’s all that matters,” Brody said, throwing an arm around Romeo and giving him a rough shake. “So the timeline gets pulled in some. Who cares?”
Romeo let out a short laugh and started walking back toward the house. “You’ve met Sally, right?”
* * *
“Don’t try to talk, Sal,” Emily begged. She was kneeling in front of her friend, who was perched anxiously on the edge of a silk vanity stool and turning a shade of blue almost as disturbing as the surrounding decor of her frilly childhood bedroom.
“But the hall…is booked…a year…in advance,” Sally managed, each punctuating gasp and following string of words weaker than the ones before.
Emily nodded her understanding and tried again to pry the satin binder from Sally’s fingers. But either the loss of oxygen had constricted her fingers, or the mere thirty minutes her friend had had to come to terms with the fact that she was pregnant wasn’t quite long enough for Sally to give up her hold on the wedding plans she’d been making from about the time she’d started collecting those creepy dolls encased in the mirror-backed glass by the corner.
The binder wasn’t going anywhere.
“Yeah, but there are so many beautiful spots for a reception in the city,” Emily tried again, giving it her optimistic best. Because this was bad—or not bad, because what a terrible thing to think about a baby—but the timing was going to take some getting used to. “The wedding can still be out here at your family church, just like you wanted. And the reception… Well, we’ll find the perfect spot, sweetie. We can start looking tomorrow.”
Sally’s words came back to her, urgent and alarmingly thin. “I had…the…perfect—”
“No tears!” Peg Willson squeaked, casting a panicked look behind her as she rushed in and hurriedly swung the door closed. The reverberating bam of wood meeting frame had her eyes bugging and the blood draining from her face. Cracking the door, she peeked out before turning back.
“This is the only paper bag I could find,” Peg whispered, shoving at Emily the contraband she’d gone all Mission: Impossible to retrieve as though she were afraid being caught with it would cost her an arm.
Emily stared, wondering how Peg thought her sister breathing into the stiff, glossy, handled work of art with little leaping frog cutouts would be any help.
Peg was a sweet girl. Mostly. And smart as a whip when it came to school. But when it came to basic common sense…
“Mom can always tell when you’ve been crying from that ugly red business you get under your eyes.” Peg made a face as she leaned in closer. “I can see it starting already.”
…not so much.
“What? No!” Emily countered quickly, thinking of the dangerous cocktail of nerves, tension, and hormones currently raging through Sally’s system. “You look fine. A little powder and you’ll be good to go. But first—”
Fingers flying over her phone, she searched for tips on hyperventilation.
“Hey, how about you try covering one nostril and breathing through your—”
The room suddenly shrank as one br
oad-shouldered, tuxedo-clad groomsman after another started wedging his way in, Romeo in the lead.
Thank God.
He knelt in front of his fiancée. “Sally, baby, you look terrible.” He looked back over his shoulder, a frantic look in his eyes, and then, totally missing the warning look in Emily’s, went on. “Jesus, maybe somebody should call an ambulance.”
Emily was about to open her mouth to reassure him that no ambulance was necessary, that she had it under control if they would just give her another minute, when a deep voice cut in from too close behind her. Jase.
“Now, Romeo, that’s just all those overprotective instincts kicking in. Your girl here is fine. Aren’t you, Sally?”
And then he was crouching next to Emily and cutting her a quick look of disdain before concentrating on the bride/mother-to-be.
“Are you serious with that bag, Emily?” He let out a patient sigh and then smirked at Sally. “No wonder you haven’t caught your breath, sweetheart. But I’ll have you back to rights in no time at all.”
Emily could feel the heat rushing into her face. She hadn’t been the one to get that ridiculous bag. And the fact that Jase thought she had? Well, of course he would. The guy was notorious for selling her short.
“In fact, how about you guys give me some space here with Sally?”
Emily blinked. Had he just…?
A cold glance from those obnoxiously long-lashed eyes confirmed it.
He had. That ass had just dismissed her.
Unbelievable.
Typical.
Emily gave Sally’s hand a squeeze. “Not necessary. We’ve got this.”
“Yeah, but I’ve been waiting to get Sally alone for years.” Jase made a ridiculous face and edged closer, shooting a mischievous look back at Romeo, who appeared to be about to have a heart attack himself. “And now the clock is ticking before she’s a married woman. How about you guys all excuse me so I can make my move?”
Cripes, all that oozing charm was enough to make Emily gag. And worse yet, it seemed to be working. Sally had stopped those desperate little sucking breaths, and she was getting the color back in her face.
May the Best Man Win Page 3