Before Monday, I resigned myself to the fact that I would be going alone, but now that she agreed, I can’t think of much worse than going to this wedding on my own. I need her. She’s not only a shield, but also a distraction. I’m not sure how I’m going to feel, watching the ceremony. I’m the best man. I have to stand beside Jared and pretend like it’s fine that the only girl I’ve ever really wanted is marrying my twin.
Hell, not only do I need a hot Italian distraction, but I also deserve one.
I shove my hand into my pocket and pull out my phone, checking for a letdown message from her, but there’s nothing. I type out a quick text, asking where she is and if she’s still coming, and then I delete and write again, trying to word it so I don’t come across as a needy prick. Just as I have typed out something I’m happy with and am about to press Send, I glance up, and in she walks.
I feel the smile stretch across my face as relief washes over me.
Her eyes meet mine but quickly flick away. She ducks her head, wheeling her small, bright yellow cabin regulation size suitcase alongside her as her teeth sink into her bottom lip. My eyes have a mind of their own as they sweep over her. She’s wearing high-waisted, skinny, cropped jeans that cling to her curves, another pair of amazing heels, and a short-sleeved red shirt with white polka dots. It’s one of those fashion ones that has been cut too short and shows off a couple of inches of luscious skin across her belly. Her hair is pulled up into a stylishly messy topknot. She looks edible.
Damn. Why did I let her friend-zone me so quickly?
I gulp and swallow my inappropriate thoughts, trying not to wonder what her hair would feel like if I tangled my fingers into it while I kissed the life out of those glossy pink lips.
Lucie trots over to me, her red stiletto heels clacking on the floor almost to the same rhythm of my rapid heartbeat. She’s still not looking at me. A blush covers her cheeks as she drags her luggage along. A different but still ridiculously large handbag hangs from the crook of her elbow. Stopping in front of me, she looks up, and her eyes meet mine. She seems uncertain, flustered, and pretty much terrified. I sort of feel the same.
I gulp and feel the grin slide onto my face. “I wasn’t sure you’d show up.”
“I almost didn’t. I got up this morning, fully intending to cancel, but my flatmate was having none of it.” She laughs breathlessly at the admission. “I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was a nightmare. My Uber driver said there was an accident on the M20 that was backing everything else up.” She flashes me an apologetic smile.
I wave a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. You’re here now.”
Unreasonable excitement settles in my tummy. I’m genuinely looking forward to getting to know her more. I like her. She has a bit of sass, and I like humour in a girl; it’s sexy.
Reaching out, I take the handle of her suitcase from her and pull it to my side. It’s half a gentlemanly gesture, but also half a kind of guarantee that she won’t run away and change her mind if I’m holding her luggage hostage.
She smiles weakly and wrings her hands in front of her. “I still think this is insane, Theo,” she admits, wincing. “There’s still time to call off this ridiculous agreement. Have you come to your senses?”
She looks so apprehensive that it makes me feel a little uncomfortable too. I hate it when people feel awkward. I’m one of those people who likes to try and make everyone around me happy and at ease.
“I haven’t. Come on, let’s just do it. Live our best lives. What could possibly go wrong?” I joke.
“A lot of things actually.” She gulps, probably imagining all the things that could go wrong. Her eyes flick to the exit before coming back to my face.
I give her one of my most charming, disarming, reassuring smiles. It’s the smile I throw at skittish kids when I occasionally do my magic shows in hospices—yeah, I am that person. The one who pulls handkerchiefs from their hands and makes money appear from behind ears and a whole bunch of other stupid stuff in the hopes of making sick kids laugh like some dorky, rip-off Patch Adams.
“It’s gonna be great. Are you hungry or thirsty? Let’s check in and then get a coffee or something.” I raise one eyebrow and wait, letting her think it through.
I have everything crossed that she doesn’t change her mind. She’s here now, so surely, it’s too late to back out.
She sucks in a breath and then pulls back her shoulders and nods. “Screw it. At least I’ll have an eccentric story to tell my grandkids when I’m old. Nonna was wild once, kids; I got on a plane with a complete stranger …”
Grinning, I shoot her a wink. “It’ll make a great bedtime story. Provided I don’t kill you on this trip and sink your body to the bottom of the loch, of course.” As soon as I say it, I wish I hadn’t. That’s not really a good joke to make to an anxious woman who you’re trying to convince you’re not a serial killer.
But she obviously likes my humour because a chuckle escapes her lips and she rolls her eyes. Stepping closer to me, she loops her arm through mine and tugs me towards the waiting attendant. It breaks the ice a little more.
After checking in, we’re ushered through the body scanners, and Lucie is pulled for a random pat-down. I grin at her exasperated eye roll and watch, kind of jealous of the female security officer who gets to run her hands over Lucie’s thighs and under her breasts.
As she steps to my side and slides on her shoes, she leans in and frowns. “I always get the pat-downs. I must have one of those untrustworthy faces or something.”
“It’s the glasses. They give you a bad-girl edge.” I can’t help but chuckle at her disgruntled face.
We head towards Departures, and I nod in the direction of the food court. “Do you want anything to eat? They won’t serve food on the flight; it’s too short.”
Lucie groans and shakes her head, pressing a hand to her stomach. “No. I’m too nervous to eat.”
I smile sadly and step closer to her, trying to catch her eye as I touch her wrist with my fingertips. “What can I do to make you less frightened of me?” I genuinely want to know; I don’t want her all kinds of nervous the whole weekend.
She shakes her head. “It’s not you. Now that I’m mentally committed to going, I’m kind of over it. What will be, will be,” she replies. “Now, I’m just worried about the flight.”
“You don’t like flying?”
“I’m not overly keen, no.”
My insides clench. “Why didn’t you say? We could have driven up instead. I mean, it’s, like, ten hours, but if you’re not a good flyer, we could have done that. A couple of friends are driving up today; we could have hopped in with them.”
Tim and Heather wouldn’t have minded a couple of extras in their car. Heather doesn’t like flying either, apparently.
Lucie waves a hand. “I fly. I travel to Italy all the time to see family, so I’ve flown loads since I was a kid. I’ve just never really got used to it, and I get really nervous about it beforehand. Normally, I take a Benadryl, but as it’s only a short flight, I thought better of it. It’s the take-off I don’t like. Once we’re going and the seat-belt sign switches off, I usually feel better. Let’s maybe get some Dutch courage first, huh?” She nods at a bar, and I grin.
A day drinker. Add a tick to the my kind of girl box.
The bar is busier than I expect it to be on a Thursday afternoon, so we have to weave through the crowd. Her hand is fisted into the back of my T-shirt, so we don’t get separated as I try not to run over anybody’s feet with our carry-ons.
I clock the eighteen-year-old wannabe wolf-pack gang from earlier in here, too, drinking their Stella Artois. Lucie follows me to the bar and leans against it. As the group of boys all watch her arse, I step closer and set my hand on the small of her back—a clear sign for them to back the fuck off. I get it though; her arse is spectacular, all J-Lo rounded, and it’s like it pulls your eyes down there with its own gravity. With the denim hugging every inch of it, I can’t even blame
them for looking.
I order a Corona Light because I’m driving once we get off the plane in Glasgow, but Lucie opts for a whiskey sour. I’m suitably impressed.
We manage to snag the last empty table, and I lean in closer to be heard over the busy hubbub around us. “I had a bet with my mate as to whether you’d stand me up today.”
She laughs and sips her drink. “Oh, really? He didn’t think I’d show?”
“No, he did. I didn’t.” It’s a joke laced with truth.
She laughs, and the sound makes my insides clench. She’s so easy-going; it’s nice.
“You’d just better not be using me as some sort of pawn in a plan to break up this wedding, Theo. If I get there and find out that this is part of some scheme, you’ll be in so much trouble. I’m not afraid of jail time; I will decapitate you.”
“Savage.” I chuckle but then see the hard glint to her eye. She’s serious. I lean back and cross my finger over my heart. “Honestly, it’s not like that; you’ll see. I’m happy for them. Besides, Amy and I never would have worked anyway; we’re too similar. It’s just … it takes a while to stop wanting someone, you know?”
Her smile falls, and she nods. “I know exactly how that feels. And it sucks.”
Her eyes are sad, and I suddenly realise she’s likely in the same place as me, mentally. She’s not over her cheating ex, and I’m still hung up on Amy. How tragic.
We chink glasses and cheers to our pathetic love lives.
“Did you and Amy ever date?” she asks, sipping her drink, watching me over the rim of the glass.
“Nope, never.” I take my own swig. “I just liked her, but she never knew, and then she got with my twin brother.”
She gasps and then winces. “Your twin? Ouch.”
“Yeah, serious ouch. But it’s okay. I’m over it—well, mostly. Um, Lucie … obviously, it goes without saying that I don’t want this stuff to be common knowledge. No one knows that I have a little, inappropriate crush. If you could keep that to yourself, that’d be great.” I eye her hopefully, but she doesn’t strike me as the sort of person who would intentionally cause trouble for the hell of it.
She smiles and sets her hand on my arm, squeezing gently. “I won’t say anything. I’m not an arsehole.”
“Excellent. Well, to not being an arsehole then.” I grin and nod, holding up my bottle, offering her an air cheers.
By the time we finish our second drinks, they’re boarding our flight. The closer we walk towards our gate, the paler Lucie becomes. Her breathing is shallow, and her eyes are darting over every surface as we step onto the plane. The stewardess shoots Lucie a worried look and then glances at me questioningly as we step over the threshold. Smiling reassuringly, I reach down to grip Lucie’s hand. It’s warm and clammy, and she clings to me so hard that my fingers creak and mash together painfully. I should worry about it really; my fingers are my livelihood, so I have to look after them, but instead, I quite like that she’s using me to anchor herself. I’m so messed up.
Lucie allows me to dumbly lead her down the aisle.
When we get to our seats, I motion to them and take her bags from her hands. “You want aisle or window? I’m easy.”
She gulps and shrugs. “Okay if I have the window?”
I nod and move aside, so she can slide in. Then, I stow her handbag and our carry-ons up in the overhead compartment.
As I slide into the seat beside her, I glance over to see her fumbling with her seat belt with shaky hands. “Here, let me.”
I reach over and gently push her hands out of the way, fastening the belt for her, tightening it to fit. I don’t miss the fact that the back of my fingers accidentally brush across the exposed skin of her belly. I also don’t miss the fact that her breath catches the same as mine does. My mind wanders to inappropriate places, but I force it to stop. This is simply a friendly weekend; that’s what I promised her. I just need to try and keep my mind out of the gutter and off her arse and amazing rack. Then, maybe we can just have a good time together and enjoy a free holiday. Every male part of me is finding that hard though—likely because every female part of her draws my attention.
“Looks like it’s my turn to distract you from a panic attack,” I joke, winking at her. “Come on, it’s only an hour and fifteen minutes of your life. It’ll soon be over.”
I place my hand over hers and give it a little squeeze, trying to get her fingers to relax from the white-knuckle grip they have on the armrest. She smiles at me weakly, and I motion with my head to the back of the plane, grinning mischievously.
“Fancy joining the Mile-High Club? That’ll keep your mind off it.”
Still pale, she playfully raises one eyebrow. “But what will I do for the other hour and twelve minutes?”
I can’t contain the laughter that rips from my throat.
seven
Lucie
Of course, we don’t join the Mile-High Club. And we don’t crash and burn in a fiery wreck either. In fact, the whole flight is actually kind of nice—well, after the initial take-off anyway. Theo is hilarious in a weird but cute way. He’s not like Lucas at all; in fact, he’s pretty much the opposite of my quiet, well-to-do ex-fiancé who is always about image and status. Theo is incredibly chatty and friendly and just all-round sweet. The way he looks after me throughout the flight makes my stomach flutter.
He holds my hand the whole of take-off, not even complaining about me probably breaking his fingers. And then we joke around and talk about random nothingness for a while, sipping on coffee and eating plane-bought sweets. And when it becomes time to descend, he silently holds his hand out in offering, and I don’t hesitate to take it.
It’s so unlike the times when I flew with Lucas and he would just tell me to calm down and stop being foolish. Lucas isn’t exactly the most patient or empathetic person on the planet. In fact, he’s the one who started me on the pre-flight Benadryl train. He’d heard from friends that it made you drowsy and suggested I give it a try. So, they became a regular thing when we travelled together. I don’t like taking them; they make me feel all muffled and groggy for hours after. That’s the real reason I didn’t take one for the flight today. Not because it’s a short flight, like I told Theo, but because I didn’t have Lucas to press a pill into my palm and insist I take it so I wouldn’t embarrass myself—and him.
When the wheels finally touch down, I gratefully beam over at Theo as I release his hand. He makes a show of wincing dramatically and unclenching his fingers a couple of times, and I chuckle and resist the urge to clap for the pilot and cheer just because I’m still alive.
Theo grins, and when he finds a gap in the traffic of eager beavers wanting to get off the plane first, he stands and reaches up to grab our bags from the overhead compartment. As he does so, his white Top Gun homage T-shirt—emblazoned with a pair of aviator shades and the slogan Talk to me, Goose—rides up a little, and I blink as I catch a quick glimpse of his tanned, toned stomach and a small smattering of hair.
Holy hell.
Gulping, I swallow the wave of desire that pulses through my body. I knew he was good-looking, but no one ever knows what’s hiding behind a well-cut suit or loose T-shirt. I didn’t exactly expect him to have a dad bod, but I wasn’t expecting flat, sculpted yumminess either. That one inch of exposed stomach has set the tone for the whole weekend. It’s now my life’s mission to get that shirt off him and snap a picture, so I can show an envious Aubrey because she will lose her mind.
“That bag is almost as big as you.”
While I’m off in fantasy Theo-land and not paying attention, my handbag accidentally hits me in the face as he dangles it in front of me.
I giggle awkwardly and slip it onto my shoulder, standing and half-kneeling on my seat as I force my dirty mind away from thoughts of what the rest of his chest might look like. No doubt I’ll see over the weekend. It’s the height of summer after all, and he did promise me sunbathing. I shouldn’t be this excited about the prospec
t.
We fall in line with the other passengers, and by the time I get to the exit door, I’m beaming so wide, my cheeks ache. I practically skip down the gangplank, excited to start the weekend. Weddings aren’t exactly my thing, but it’s only one afternoon, and like he said, the rest of the time is my own. I’ve never been to Scotland before, and I Googled Loch Lomond on Monday night with Aubrey, so I know the place we’re headed to is stunning. This break is a long time coming.
Following the signs, we head through customs and up to the car rental desk. While Theo leans on the desk and talks to the assistant about his pre-booking, I take a moment to study him. Now that I know there’s a real body under there, I can’t help but want to see more. He’s in his Top Gun T-shirt, a pair of cream shorts, and well-cared-for white trainers on his feet. His shoulders are broad, his legs long and toned, and his forearms have that muscled, vein thing going on—I never knew I liked those before today.
He’s decidedly more casual than in the suit I first met him in. He looks better like this though, more comfortable, more himself. There’s a faded three-inch scar on the shin of his right leg. I ponder it, wondering how he got it. When he turns, I’m still mid-examination of him, so my eyes zero in on his crotch, and I’m too slow to drag my stare away. Face burning with embarrassment, I startle, wrenching my gaze away, hoping I’ve not been caught on crotch watch.
“Right, all sorted. Come on then. Let’s go.” He nods over my shoulder, looking pleased with himself as he pockets the rental keys and hands me the paperwork, which I fold and shove into my bag. He’s still wheeling my suitcase for me as we follow the assistant. It’s adorable.
As we walk through the airport and out the door, our arms accidentally brush against each other, and I feel my stomach flutter as I resolutely stare at my feet, knowing my face is likely beet red.
“How’d you get that scar on your leg?” I ask, needing to think about something else.
“Car accident about a year or so ago. Broke my leg, and the bone came right through. I had to have it pinned and—”
Stand-In Saturday: (A standalone romcom. Book 2 in the Love For Days series) Page 6