The Worst Wedding Date, page 9
I cross my arms and stand at the edge of the parking lot, this close to calling my own ride and letting Theo loose on the world for a few hours, when he brushes my arm as he walks past me, striding to a white Subaru pulling into the parking lot.
“Ride’s here.”
“It’s been a minute,” I mutter.
“Good ride karma.”
“I’ll walk.”
He looks back at me, and just when I think he’s going to rub his eyes in frustration again, he looks at the hand halfway to his face, grimaces, and drops it. “I’ll walk. You take the car.”
“If you walk, you’ll somehow find a way to hitch a ride with a surfer who takes you across the island, you two will leap into the ocean to go swimming at some magical secret swimming hole, and get stung by jellyfish. He’ll offer you weed to take the edge off the bite, which will make you strip down and flash the exact wrong person, and the two of you will end up in jail, and I’ll be bailing your ass out instead of enjoying dinner with the wedding party tonight.”
To my utter surprise, he doesn’t argue.
Instead, his lips quirk up in a grin. “You forgot the part where we’d try to crack coconuts without remembering we don’t know how to use machetes and end up at the emergency room again.”
I reach deep for a little more patience and a little less irritation. What would my life be like if I could be that lackadaisical about having fun? If I could let my hair down, rip my bra off, throw caution to the wind and see how much life I could squeeze into one day like I’ve been working myself up to believing I can do for a year now?
I want to.
Why can’t I?
“Please get in the car.” Nope. Still not fun.
“Yes, Laney. Whatever you say, Laney.”
He’s grinning while he climbs in. Red, swollen eyes and all.
I join him under silent protest, telling myself I’m only in the car to make sure he doesn’t go somewhere he shouldn’t, and distinctly remembering why I’ve always disliked him.
He makes me feel like I’m doing life all wrong. Like I’m too serious. Like my priorities are backward. Like he knows this immense secret about life, and I’m not worthy of being included in the grapevine, and I want in. I do.
But Emma’s having a better day today without me.
And I know she’s having a better day because of me, but I’m not there. I’m not with her.
And really, Theo didn’t need me today.
I screwed up.
He was having a grand time with a bunch of kids, far away from Chandler, and it was honestly utterly adorable, and I wanted to join them but didn’t know how because I feel so awkward about doing all the things he was doing.
I don’t know how to fly a bucket around a beach and pretend it’s a dinosaur, and even if I did, I wouldn’t look nearly as hot as Theo with his shaggy hair and killer smile and tight, tatted body.
And when he asked me to build a sandcastle, I froze, because I couldn’t believe Theo Monroe was inviting me to have fun with him.
I feel very, very alone and left out right now. And it’s probably at least partially my own fault.
Theo chats with the driver the entire ride.
I pretend I’m not listening during the whole ten-minute ride about where to rent the best surfboards. About the best calamari on the island. About if it’s worth it to drive up to the volcano park at night. Where to find secret waterfalls. How the driver’s cousin runs a parasailing company, and Theo should drop his name to get a discount.
They trade numbers when we get out.
Meanwhile, I feel like the frumpy wet blanket. Again. I hate feeling like the frumpy wet blanket.
Worse?
Theo’s eyes are practically clear already.
When his uncle turns the corner as we’re strolling back into the resort lobby, he doesn’t say a thing about the lingering redness.
But would he?
“Theo,” he hisses, “want in on a secret?”
I bite my tongue—hard—to keep from answering for him.
And it’s not because I feel like whatever the secret is will cause trouble for Emma and her wedding.
It’s because I want to know.
Sabrina won’t tell me why she’s mad at Theo. Theo won’t tell me anything. And I know there’s more to the story of why Emma wants me to be a buffer between Theo and Chandler than she’s telling me.
I also know when they don’t tell me secrets, it’s sometimes to protect me, but it’s more often because they need time to solve their issues on their own without me.
There’s a distinct possibility I’ve annoyed half of Snaggletooth Creek at one point or another with my suggestions for how to fix something.
But I want to know a secret, dammit.
“Maybe later,” Theo says.
His uncle rocks back on his heels and flashes that Monroe grin. “It’s a good one.”
“Bet it is. Gives me joy to think you get to hang on to it a while longer.”
“You don’t want to know at all?”
“I have to wear nice clothes tonight. Need something else to look forward to at dinner.”
“You can tell me,” I interject.
Uncle Owen doesn’t even look at me. Just cackles and walks away. “Your loss,” he tosses over his shoulder to Theo.
No, my loss. My loss.
As if I’d ever admit that out loud.
Kingstons don’t gossip.
The number of times I’ve heard my mother say that…
Theo heads deeper into the resort. Much like yesterday, I tag along.
All the way down the walkway to his bungalow.
Our bungalow? His bungalow?
The place my luggage currently calls home. That place.
I suck in a deep breath through my nose.
Time for a perspective check.
I’m in paradise. I can hear the ocean. I can smell the salty breeze. The flowers here are brightly colored, smell amazing, they’re gorgeous, and there are so many types. There was an adorable bouquet of knitted hearts in one of the glasses on the sink in the bathroom this morning. Emma’s happy. I’m off work and not checking email, which is hard but also amazing. Theo didn’t go blind. I have a bed to sleep in and I can order room service, since I’m not sure I’ve eaten anything yet today.
Have I?
Have I eaten?
Did I have a protein bar today, or was that yesterday?
Theo keys into the bungalow and holds the door for me.
“Thank you,” I say automatically.
He eyes me.
And then he sighs like I usually do, again, which is the last sound I ever hear Theo make around anyone else.
It’s just me.
I make even the funnest of fun people sigh.
He mutters something to himself, and crosses the living area to the closed bedroom door.
The hide-a-bed is still sticking out of the couch at an odd angle. The gauzy curtains on either side of the balcony door sway in the breeze since I forgot to close the main door when I left. And Theo’s looking at me like I’m once again holding him back.
“You coming?”
Just like that. You coming? No actual invitation. No suggestion that something’s changed since I got out of the shower this morning and saw that note that if I went in this room, my parents would be sent a picture of me sleeping with him and told that I’m carrying his love child. Just you coming? like it’s assumed I want to go wherever he goes.
He winces.
My face must be telegraphing just how much I’d like to toss him into a volcano while we’re here.
“C’mon, Laney. Come see. It’ll make you feel better.”
“Food and going back to life without you will make me feel better.”
He scratches his chest under the gaping side of his shirt, not the least bit visibly offended. “Consider it an apology. And a thank you for saving my eyesight.”
I feel like I’m about to walk into a trap.
But curiosity is bigger than the fear.
If I can find out what’s behind that door, I can find out how to fix it so I don’t have to keep sharing a bed with Theo.
Because one thing’s crystal clear.
He’s not letting anyone from maintenance at the resort in here to look at that hide-a-bed while he has a big secret hidden in the primary bedroom in the suite.
“Do you truly have a camera set up behind that door with a filter that’ll put my head on a naked body and auto-email my parents to tell them I’m having an orgy here too?”
He doesn’t react, doesn’t cringe or blush or look even the slightest bit called out, despite this feeling I have that he’s embarrassed about the note. I can’t tell you why I feel it.
I just do.
But he grins at me like he’s having fun with me now. Not making fun of me. Having fun with me. “Yeah,” he says, “but it’s worth it to see what else is inside.”
“I honest to god have no idea why Emma loves you as much as she does.”
He shrugs like it’s one more insult that doesn’t penetrate his tattoo shield. “She has to.”
I close my eyes. “Apologies. That was rude.”
Is it hard to say? Yes. But was it rude? Also yes. And this will be much easier if the two of us can get along.
“C’mon, Laney. Come see what’s behind door number two. Gonna make you forget just how big of a pain in the ass I am. Promise.”
I am absolutely walking into a trap.
But curiosity and that overwhelming desire to fix it, whatever it is, win out.
Right along with that desperate need to be in on some fun. Any fun. No matter what it is or how much I’ll regret it later.
Time to see what’s behind door number two.
10
Theo
There are about a million things I know to be true about Delaney Kingston. One of the biggest is that she doesn’t do dares. She doesn’t wander into danger. She’s the most rule-following-est boring person I’ve ever known.
And I say that as a man who’s had stretches of unreasonable attraction to her despite how boring she is.
I also know I’m taking an enormous risk in letting her in on my secret.
But she’s had a shitty day, and whether it’s my fault or not, I don’t like seeing people have shitty days.
Even Laney.
Maybe especially Laney.
She’s letting me push her first into the second bedroom like she’s given up the will to fight. Like I’ve broken her in two days. Not even two full days at that. Actually, not even twenty-four hours.
Jesus.
I’m known in some circles as the guy who makes people feel better about themselves.
Not the guy who tears them down.
But there I went, falling into old habits and waving around my dick for fun.
No more.
I’m better than that. Have been for a lot of years now.
Time to remember it and quit fighting this.
“Go quick so they don’t get out,” I murmur into her hair, which now smells like a salon in the sunshine, as I open the door and put my hand on her lower back to steer her inside quickly.
She does.
I slip in behind her and close the door in time to hear her soft gasp.
Miss Doodles, the gray tabby mama cat, looks over at us from her perch on the bathroom sink in the open-plan primary bedroom and sizes Laney up while one of the kittens nurses.
“Oh, god. It really is cats and not porn,” Delaney whispers.
All of my muscles tighten, but I make myself focus on what I know she knows. “You don’t like cats? What about kittens? Kittens are awesome.”
“My parents say cats are the devil.”
“Your parents are judgmental nutjobs. Cats are awesome.”
She side-eyes me.
But there’s something about that suspicious look that doesn’t fully feel suspicious.
It feels wounded.
“I do a lot of stupid shit, but I don’t lie,” I tell her. “No reason to when you live without regrets. So when I say cats are fucking awesome, it’s the truth.”
“You just called my parents nutjobs.”
Shit.
But if I’m pushing things, I’ll push things. And I’ll do it with a smile. “Again, no lies detected.”
She’s not amused.
Be better, Theo. Be fucking better.
My eyeballs still sting, so I catch myself once again before I rub them in utter frustration at the complete lack of belief in her body language, reach deep, and pull out an even bigger megawatt Theo Monroe smile. “Your parents are lovely human beings who are mistaken about cats. And cats are awesome for useless, hell-bound demon-spawn like me. We fit. Great companions. Cut from the same cloth.”
Even with the smile, she takes me seriously. She wrinkles her nose, and while she doesn’t tell me I’m not a hell-bound demon-spawn, the next words out of her mouth still surprise me.
“That’s what they always said when I’d ask for a cat. That cats were the devil.”
Fuck me.
She doesn’t believe them.
She was hurt by them.
I’m bent over in an instant, making a soft little clucking noise to call the friendliest of the kitten bunch, because I’m gonna do for Delaney what her parents never did.
Mind made up.
I don’t care who she is. I don’t care what our history is. I don’t care how much it’s gonna hurt like hell if seeing her with a kitten makes all of those old repressed feelings roar back to life.
A girl should have a cat if she fucking wants a cat.
“Jellybean, c’mere,” I say to the gray kitten who fell asleep in my hand two nights ago.
And when the tiny, barely-one-pound ball of fluff comes boingy-boingy-running to me with her little tail pointed in the air and her blue eyes open wide and her big ears fully up and curious, I scoop her right up.
Then I grab Laney’s hand and deposit the cat into her palm.
Laney squeaks.
Jellybean mews.
And then the very worst thing in the entire world happens, just like I knew it would.
Laney Kingston melts over that kitten in front of my eyes.
“Oh, you are precious,” she whispers as she lifts Jellybean until they’re almost nose-to-nose while the two of them stare at each other, blue eyes lined up with blue eyes.
I lift my hands, fully intending to grip Laney by the shoulders and guide her to the chair in the corner to sit and enjoy the kitten—or maybe all of the kittens—but I’m terrified to touch her again.
Compliant Delaney? Kitten-deprived Delaney? Hurt Delaney?
She’s inspiring instinctive caveman tendencies that I haven’t let myself feel for her since I couldn’t control it in high school.
“You’re so soft,” Laney whispers. “How are you so soft?”
Jellybean meows at her.
“Oh, look at your eyes. And your ears. They’re so big for your head. And your paws. Oh my god, how are your paws so tiny?”
Fuck me again. I need to get out of here, but I also need to make sure they have fresh water and enough food, and I need to make sure she won’t tell anyone they’re here.
Get me in trouble? I don’t care.
Hurt my kittens?
Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.
She carries Jellybean past the bed to the wicker chair in the corner beside the closed balcony doors all on her own, carefully stepping around the other kittens swarming her as she goes.
All except Fred.
Fred does not like people, so he’s not swarming.
I poke my head under the bed and verify that he is, in fact, still hovering back there. The black-spotted tabby shrinks back at the sight of me.
I grab a toy mouse and settle it as deep under the bed as I can get it without disturbing him in case he wants to play, then head to the bathroom area behind the half-wall separating the bedroom from the sink, tub, and shower.
“What are you doing?” Delaney says, prompting a round of adorable baby meows from the kittens, when I step into the open shower.
The fact that she’s not doing baby talk clues me in to the fact that she’s talking to me. “Cat litter doesn’t change itself,” I answer.
Once again, I’m getting the what kind of alien freak am I stuck with? look from her.
Probably shocked that I’d change cat litter. Wasn’t exactly the type the last time she saw me on a regular basis.
But that’s not me anymore.
And I have no idea how much she’s changed since high school either, so I shouldn’t be an ass for history’s sake.
“Treats are next to you,” I say. “They like the ones in the purple pouch best.”
“Where did you get kittens?”
“Heard them crying in a dumpster the day I got here.”
“Oh my god. Someone threw them away?”
I shrug. “Don’t know. Lots of strays around here. Miss Doodles might’ve just picked a bad place to have kittens. But she loves people.”
Her brows furrow. “Is it normal for stray cats to love people?”
“Here? Guess it depends on how much people feed ’em. Suppose they get pampered at a resort by all the people missing their cats back home.”
Do I think someone threw them away?
Yeah. Yeah, I do. The stray resort cats will come close, but not the way Miss Doodles does.
Miss Doodles was absolutely someone’s pet.
But will I tell Laney that?
Nope.
Not when she’d probably insist we figure out who Miss Doodles belongs to and get justice.
Not doing that. Not a fucking chance.
Justice happens when my cats have a good home. Not by making someone else pay for what they did.
Far as I’m concerned, they did me a favor.
“You’re not supposed to have a room full of cats in the resort, are you?”
“I will fucking burn this place down before I let them make me kick these kittens and their mama out into the street.”
Her jaw drops a moment, then she visibly swallows.
