There would be no winning this one. He could tell his dad how Emily disliked him even more than he disliked her. He could spell out all the reasons why. But he wasn’t up for the disappointment he’d see in his dad’s eyes if he got into too many details.
When Jase looked up, the eyes that met his were frayed around the edges, faded from the years but still so eerily similar to his own that it was like looking in the mirror. “You know they don’t all turn out like your mom and me,” his dad said.
“I know,” Jase answered evenly.
Honestly. Because sure, he’d seen a lot of marriages where one member hadn’t climbed into a rusted-out Dodge pickup and taken off for California with the latest guy she’d been banging on the side.
But the marriage he knew best was the one he’d felt the repercussions of through most of his life. The one that ended with his father, the biggest, strongest man he knew, broken down so bad that it had taken years and the support of half a dozen guys who loved him like brothers for him to recover. And the truth was that even two decades later, Big Joe Foster still wasn’t the man he’d been before that blow.
Jase cleared his throat, heading back to safer ground. “So adding the baby to the mix… Sure, it moves things up for Romeo and Sally, but aside from the wedding plans themselves, it doesn’t really change anything.”
His dad nodded, settling deeper into his chair and turning his attention to the game. “Good to hear.”
Chapter 6
October
Sally and Romeo decided on an intimate post-Christmas, pre–New Year’s wedding, and the now-truncated wedding party had assembled for a planning dinner at Wood, a Boystown neighborhood staple. The place was one of Jase’s favorites, guaranteed for a great meal with a slew of awards backing up the hype. It had warm, low lighting, keeping your meal an intimate affair, and a dining-room-length bar that ran opposite the wall of booths where they’d been seated.
Romeo’s little brother Martin had scored the best man slot, and thanks to an overabundance of cousins and Romeo’s refusal to pick favorites, Jase, Brody, and Max had made the groomsman cut. Martin was a cool kid—twenty-one, a senior at Loyola with plans to start law school the next year, and a decent sense of humor—which meant nights like this one ought to be a whole hell of a lot easier to get through.
Or that’s what Jase had thought until Emily breezed through the door, unwinding a burnt-caramel scarf from around her neck and then sliding one button after another free from her narrow-waisted wool overcoat. She looked polished, neat, and somehow sunny coming in from the late-autumn night.
So she’d made the cut too.
Jase took a deep swallow of his beer and set the glass down slightly harder than he should have. He’d had a feeling but, hell, a guy could hope.
She spotted him first. And he had to give her credit. The flash of hostility in her eyes was nearly gone before he’d seen it, replaced with warm smiles for everyone else. She was good, even offering a chipper “Perfect” when Sally suggested she sit next to Jase to leave room for Peg.
Those long legs slid in next to his, all but ensuring she’d end up in his space under the table. Great.
“You again,” she murmured, then tuning up a smile even he wouldn’t spot as a fraud, she asked, “Shitty day, I hope?”
“Worse every minute,” he assured her, meeting her grin and raising her a friendly shoulder bump that should have had steam shooting from her ears.
But they were on good behavior so she capped it, offering him a smarting pinch on the cheek and a singsong, “That’s what I like to hear.”
Yeah, that was his girl.
By the time his pork chop arrived, the booth was straining to accommodate a wedding party of ten, the now-defunct wedding binder, the post-baby-bombshell replacement binder, and Peg’s newly fractured fibula—which was expected to be healed in time for the maid of honor to wear matching heels at the wedding—kicked out at an angle so no one would bump it.
He might have been more relieved if he wasn’t so aware of Emily beside him, her thigh touching his every time someone at the table jostled or needed to reach across for a bite of whatever plate everyone else was moaning over.
To her credit, Emily didn’t seem fazed. If anything, she appeared to be enjoying her opportunity to exchange a few barbs beneath the din of Sally’s chatter about the seasonal merits of one flower over another.
And, okay, maybe some sick part of him was getting off on it too. Hell, they’d spent the better part of a decade without an outlet for their mutual hostilities.
A decade. Could that be right?
He turned, propping his arm on the booth back behind her so he was angled in a way where his words would be for her and her alone.
“What?” she asked, giving him her profile.
“Out of curiosity, when did you actually start to hate me?”
The question caught her by surprise, earning him a startled look from those big, brown eyes. But then he could see the wheels turning as she debated a response.
Would she be thorny because it had become almost a sport between them, or would she give him a straight answer?
A put-upon breath was the compromise, and then she leaned in closer to his ear to answer. “Eight years ago. After the accident.”
Right. But Eddie flooring the gas and driving into that concrete train support hadn’t been any kind of accident at all.
He turned, brushing a bit of her hair from her face. “Just then? I would have thought longer.”
Her posture became somehow more relaxed, and her brow furrowed slightly in consideration. She licked at the soft, pink bed of her lower lip.
“No. Before that, it was more disappointment. Frustration. Maybe even a little confusion. I don’t know. But after the accident, it matured.”
He pulled back and nodded. “Into this white-hot loathing we have today.”
“Just,” she said with a smile he couldn’t help but return, and maybe even got a little caught up in.
And then Sally was leaning in his direction. Okay, his and Emily’s.
“You know how much I want this to work. And you guys probably have more weddings between you than the lot of us combined. So let’s talk reception ideas. The church is secured, but the reception… We need venues. A list of what’s available, capacities, whether they will let us cater or bring in our own cake. You guys know what works and what doesn’t, so I’m hoping you can scout a few locations.”
Scouting. She didn’t want him to just do a quick Internet search.
“Honestly, if you two go together, we’ll have the best feedback and”—Sally smiled, but there was an alarming glossiness in her eyes—“I just want it to be special, you know?”
Damn.
Jase turned to Emily just as she faced him. Their eyes met in dismay. Because there was no cool way to turn down a pregnant woman on the brink of tears.
“I can’t wait,” Jase said, almost choking on the words.
“We’ve got you covered.” Emily reached past him to give Sally’s hand a squeeze. “Me more than Jase, but he’ll be a help too.”
* * *
Outside the restaurant, Emily was on her phone, her gaze trained on the sidewalk in front of her toes. She’d gotten a call after they’d settled the check and excused herself to take it. Something about the spokesperson for one of her accounts falling through.
Half the group had already taken off, and the rest were inside deciding where to go next. But Jase had an early morning ahead of him helping Molly pick up a couch she was buying off some guy down in Hyde Park. He’d been saying his good-byes when he checked the front window and saw Emily still on her call, her shoulders hunched against the cold.
So he’d grabbed her coat and, after tapping her shoulder, held it open as she mouthed “thank you” to him, slipping one arm and then the other into the sleeves
.
After reassuring someone named Calista on the other end of the line about the product spot, she wrapped up her call and walked over to the corner where he was waiting to flag a cab.
“Are we actually going to do this?” Emily asked without looking his way.
“Do what? Help our friends the way we promised we would? Sacrifice a few hours of our time to help provide them with a memory they’ll keep for the rest of their lives?” he asked, his voice dripping with the kind of superiority that was sure to get a rise out of her.
And, oh yeah, there it was.
That soft head of hair coming up to reveal sharp, narrowed eyes and a wicked smile.
Just the way he wanted her.
Her lips parted, and he could see the pink tip of her tongue sliding across the even row of her bottom teeth. Like she was contemplating the best way to eviscerate him.
His pulse jacked, and even though he knew with every ounce of his being that he should step back, he moved closer instead. Brushed her hands away from the lapels of her overcoat and started buttoning it like he had any right to touch her at all. Like he was doing it to torque her off, and not because some messed-up part of his brain just couldn’t help himself.
She was slim, the long coat wrapping easily around her. Even with it cut to her proportions, he still had enough fabric to bunch in his hands as he buttoned her up.
What would happen if he reversed his actions, working his way back down that line of onyx disks and sliding his hands beneath the wool to skate over the narrow cut of her waist and the subtle flare of her hips?
His fingers flexed as he realized the wayward path his thoughts had taken.
What was he doing thinking about his hands on Emily’s hips? The heat of her body? Or anything about her body at all?
Yeah, and Emily seemed to have snapped out of whatever temporary trace she’d succumbed to as well, because suddenly she was smacking at his hands like he was a gnat. Insignificant and annoying. Unwelcome that close to her.
Good.
That was better.
“You ass. Of course I’m going to follow through on my commitment to my friend. You’re the one with the track record of letting friends down, which is why I was clarifying that you were actually planning to hold up your end. Though even if you didn’t, I could handle this venue thing with my eyes closed.”
Yeah, yeah. Emily had skills when it came to making nuptial miracles happen. No doubt. But—“I’m the one who lets my friends down? Not ever, Em.”
She met his eyes, and something that looked like hurt flashed within them for the barest instant. But then it was gone and she was back to doling out the cutting glare he’d become accustomed to the handful of times they’d seen each other over the past few years.
“Right. So how do you want to do this, then?”
They talked briefly about the reason they’d been called to action. Each agreed to put together a list of venues with potential, and then they’d coordinate visits to those with availability the weekend after Christmas.
They’d narrow it down to a short list so Sally and Romeo could make the final decision. A Yellow Cab pulled up, and Emily crossed her arms while taking a step back from the curb to give him the ride.
His mouth was running before he’d had the chance to check it. “We’re only going a few blocks apart. Hop in and we’ll share.”
The words had barely left his mouth before he was ready to drag himself around the corner for a solid ass kicking. Because seriously, what was that?
Share a cab with Emily?
So he could sit in close quarters with her even longer. Soak up even more of that subtle scent she was wearing, the one he couldn’t quite identify but made him curious enough to want to burrow his nose into her neck and see if he could figure out what it was.
Maybe their legs would touch again.
Maybe if they did, she’d look at him. Their eyes would meet and hold.
Maybe he’d get to hear that little catch in her breath, see the heat slip beneath her skin and—
“Pass,” she replied succinctly, her eyes dropping back to her phone.
Christ.
What was he thinking?
Suddenly the more familiar, definitely more comforting sensations wrapped around him snug and warm.
Annoyance. Frustration.
Hostility.
He didn’t like Emily. So what did it matter if she didn’t want to ride with him?
“Fine. Get in the cab,” he said flatly, his hand already circling her arm and firmly pulling her toward the waiting car. “I’ll take the next one.”
What. The. Fuck.
Chapter 7
Standing on the terrace of the Westin Chicago River North hotel overlooking the water, Emily tried to tell herself that the anticipatory high she had going was solely the result of excitement over helping a friend. It had nothing do with the fact that, after a week, she would be seeing Jase again. That they’d be alone.
No one there to keep them civilized.
Too bad that jump in her pulse when he strolled through the lobby doors with his overcoat open, the wind catching the short waves of his hair as he squinted into the morning sun—yeah, that jump—was calling her a liar.
“Morning, Em,” he said, meeting her at the garden’s edge to hand her a steaming cup of coffee. “Eye of newt and toe of frog, just the way you like it.”
The laugh was out before she could stop it, but then she took a piping-hot sip of what could only be described as an incredible cup of coffee, indeed dressed just the way she liked it. So maybe she’d let Jase slide for making her crack a smile before she got her first jab in.
“Morning.”
He looked like he was waiting for her to hit him with a zinger. She smiled. Let him wait. “Thanks for meeting me early. I’m hoping we can hit most of these venues today.”
Jase leaned closer, checking the list she’d pulled up on her phone.
“Nice picks. Yeah, but there’s a major renovation starting next month on this second one, so we’ll have to see. Number three, though…”
Her gaze cut to where he was leaning over her shoulder, to the day-old stubble roughing up his solid jaw and the way the muscles along his neck moved as he spoke.
“…Anyway, there’s room to dance, so it’s got that.” He glanced up then and nodded at the river in front of them. “Too bad it’s going to be the middle of winter. The view right here is pretty spectacular.”
She’d been thinking the same thing before he arrived. While Indian summer temps were already behind them, the sun was shining, casting a golden glow over the bridges, skyline, and Riverwalk. The terrace wouldn’t accommodate the number of guests Sally and Romeo were planning, but the view really was something else. “The ballroom downstairs is still gorgeous, though. Ready to get started and have a look?”
Clearing his throat, he stepped back. “Sooner we start, sooner we’re done.”
Right.
Six hours and eight hotels later, they were standing outside Subway where Jase had just inhaled a twelve-inch turkey on seven grain and Emily was still nibbling the last of her crack-addictive white chocolate chip and macadamia nut cookies.
He’d done it again. Found a new way to get under her skin and make her writhe with frustrated discomfort.
Those little unnerving touches throughout the day. The supposedly inadvertent contact.
The way his lips turned up at the corners when she railed at him, all but baiting her to do it again. Making her think that, on some level, maybe he liked their charged interactions.
Making her wonder if she was the one enjoying their confrontations just a little too much.
“Emily, now you’re just being difficult.”
She snickered, taking another bite. “Like you refusing to even set foot inside my favorite pick?”
If she’d been on her game, she would have told him it made her skin crawl. Thrown in a traumatized shiver for effect and then sat back gloating when he sold it to Sally and Romeo like no other spot would do.
Stupid.
“Damn it, Em—”
“Damn it, Jay,” she cut in, exaggerating the nickname just for kicks.
Pointing her half-eaten cookie at him, she laid it out. “You want to go talk to the manager at your restaurant, but I want to go to my hotel.”
Jase looked ready to blow a gasket. She thought about taunting him some more, but then the wind picked up, catching her hair and whipping it around her face in a way she couldn’t ignore. She tried to sweep it aside with a hand, but the gusts were unrelenting. Finally, she popped the three-quarters of her remaining cookie in her mouth and used both hands to tame the beast. Of course then she had a mouth overfilled with cookie and Jase staring down at her, his shoulders quaking with repressed laughter.
Chewing desperately, she fought her own rising laughter.
“Oh Christ, please don’t choke,” Jase urged, shoving his soda at her, the amusement in his eyes making them bright.
After a swallow of that disgusting concoction he’d made at the fountain using all the flavors, her laughter spilled free as she peered up at him. “What is that?”
“My own special recipe. I’ll never tell.”
He really did have quite a smile.
Her hair was back in her face, but this time, Jase was the one to gather it up. And then they were standing there on the sidewalk, Jase’s hand in her hair, his eyes locked with hers.
And that’s when everything inside her went a little haywire. When her throat got tight, and her fingers started to tingle. Her belly slid into a slow churn she wished was disgust but definitely wasn’t.
May the Best Man Win Page 5