The Wedding Pact Box Set

by Denise Grover Swank

  But something even more shocking hit him and the realization nearly knocked him over. He didn’t want to build a life with just anyone.

  He wanted it with Libby—and only Libby.

  He had to get to Kansas City and stop the wedding.

  Noah put a hand on the doorframe, blocking her entry. “I made a mistake.”

  “I know.” She batted her eyelashes. “And you rectified it, so let me in.” She opened her trench coat, revealing a sexy outfit of black lingerie. He felt absolutely nothing, which only strengthened his resolve.

  “No. I don’t think you understand.” Why had he been such an idiot? “Choosing you was the mistake. I’m sorry, Donna, we’re done.”

  She dropped the hold on her coat, her lingerie still exposed as she put her hands on her nonexistent hips. “Think long and hard about this, Noah McMillan. You’re never going to amount to anything without me. I was probably your one last chance to make something of yourself.”

  Maybe she was right, but he was willing to take that chance. “Then I guess I’ll be the low-life slacker I was meant to be, because I’m done.” Then he shut the door on her stunned face.

  How had he been such a fool?

  He ran to his bedroom to throw some clothes in a suitcase and grab the bag with his rented tux. He hadn’t canceled his flight, and if he hurried, he could still make it there in time to stop her from making the worst mistake of her life.

  Thankfully, Donna had left by the time he ran to his car and sped to the airport . . . only to discover his flight was delayed. While he waited, he opened his Facebook app and found a Tiffany Brown who lived in Seattle, went to Oregon State, worked for Scott Abrahams, and was in a relationship labeled “it’s complicated.” He sent her a friend request, knowing it was a long shot, in the hopes she could give him inside info about Scott Abrahams and the competition.

  After a delay on the ground, the plane touched down three hours late, which meant the wedding was due to start in just half an hour. But when he tried to call Lib to tell her he was coming and to hold off going down the aisle until he got there, he realized his phone was dead. The night before had been so intense, he’d forgotten to charge it.

  The rental car process seemed to take forever, especially since he had to take a shuttle to get there, but he finally headed out, following sketchy directions from the rental car agent, who looked all of fifteen. Amazingly enough, the directions were good, and when he saw the church up ahead, he went over his options. It was 5:15, which meant the wedding had already started. Maybe he could go inside and object, like everyone had done at Blair’s wedding.

  He’d boarded the plane with the aim of interrupting the wedding, but now he couldn’t help wondering what Libby would do if he objected. Would she be relieved? Would she kill him?

  He pulled into the parking lot and discovered the decision had been made for him. Libby was running out the church doors, Megan and Blair hot on her heels. Noah slowed down and drove toward them, his heart in his throat.

  Then Libby bolted again, running straight for his car. He hit the unlock button, watching in disbelief as she threw her bouquet into the crowd and then opened his passenger door. The sudden frenzy of women vying for the flowers reminded him of feeding time in a shark tank. Amazingly enough, Megan’s gram was front and center.

  The door opened and Libby scrambled into the passenger seat. The crowd streaming out of the church was growing by the second, and Mitch stood in front of all of them like he was their disgraced quarterback.

  She kept her eyes on the crowd as she shut the door. “I’ll pay you a hundred dollars if you get me out of here right now.”

  She was here. In his car. And from the look on Mitch’s face, she wasn’t married.

  “Only a hundred?” he asked, purposely trying to keep his tone light. “My plane ticket cost more than that.”

  Libby sucked in a breath and turned to look at him, anger in her eyes.

  Oh. Shit.

  Chapter Three

  Noah’s grin faltered, probably because he realized he was in deep shit. But getting away took precedence. She could kill him later.

  Mitch raced toward the car, and even the older guests had streamed out onto the lawn. “Libby!”

  Panic spiked her pulse. “What are you waiting for? Go!”

  The car lurched forward and the tires squealed on the asphalt. “Where are we going?” he asked, clearly confused.

  “I don’t care!” she shouted. “Just drive!”

  He barely stopped at the street corner before skidding around it.

  Oh, God. What had she done?

  “Libby?” he asked, sounding worried. “What happened?”

  “Shhhhhhh!” she hissed loudly, covering her face with her hands. “Just give me a minute.”

  Thankfully, he knew her well enough to keep quiet.

  What the hell had she been thinking? Why had she been so certain the stupid curse would work for her? Megan and Blair had been right. It was a coincidence that both of their love stories fit the fortune teller’s prophecy. Nothing more. Nothing less.

  She was a fool.

  And now, because of her idiocy, she’d wasted several thousand dollars, broken Mitch’s heart, and humiliated herself in front of a hundred people.

  She’d done plenty of stupid things in her day—like the time she ran off to Monte Carlo with a mechanic who swore he was becoming a Formula One racer, only to return a week later with a sunburn and a seven-thousand-dollar balance on her Visa card. Or the time she was arrested for painting a mural with amazing anatomical detail of her ex-boyfriend’s penis, right down to the bump near his testicle, on the side of his new girlfriend’s house—but she wasn’t so sure she’d live this one down.

  “Where to, Lib?” Noah asked, his concern evident.

  Where to? She couldn’t go home and face all those wedding presents stacked in the corner of her living room. She couldn’t face her friends, or God forbid, her mother. She definitely couldn’t face Mitch, although she owed him the apology of all apologies, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

  The truth was, there was nowhere she could go that would make her feel any better than she felt right now in this car. It felt like the entire world had melted away, leaving behind only her and Noah, the one person she could trust to understand.

  “Just keep going.”

  “Okay.”

  His warm hand covered hers, and that simple comfort brought tears to her eyes.

  She blinked them back.

  There would be no tears allowed for her stupidity. She leaned her head back on the seat and closed her eyes. She’d had several sleepless nights, so the lull of the car soon had her dozing.

  “Libby.”

  “Hmm?” Something dark and heavy pressed on her mind, but how could it when she was with Noah? Noah always seemed to lift her burdens.

  “I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

  She opened her eyes and gasped when she realized it was now dark and they were parked in front of a café.

  Then the whole nightmare came rushing back.

  “Where are we?”

  “The exit sign said Junction City, Kansas.”

  “What?” She looked around, taking in the sight of cars in the lot and the street behind her. “How did we get here?”

  He lifted his shoulders into a lazy shrug. “You said to keep driving. So I did.”

  She slumped back in the seat. What did it matter where she was? As long as she wasn’t staring into the face of her humiliation. But apparently Junction City wasn’t far enough, because it was still there, staring back.

  “Come on,” Noah said. “I’m hungry.”

  She sat up straight and turned to face him. “You want me to go in there?” She pointed to the restaurant. “Dressed like this?” She waved her hand up and down the front of her sleeveless silk dress. Beading and sparkles covered the edge of her sweetheart neckline and the skirt flared at her waist, creating a sea of crinoline and silk around her.

>   He shrugged. “I told you. I’m hungry.” Then he opened the car door and walked around the back of the car and opened her door.

  She glared up at him. “Go to a fast-food drive-thru.”

  “No. I’m tired of driving, and you have a bladder the size of a thimble. I know you have to pee.”

  She did have to pee, but there was no way she was going inside. “I can’t go in there wearing a wedding dress!”

  He leaned his forearm on top of her door. “Sure you can. You’ll give them a thrill that they’ll talk about for years. That makes you a giver. Come on.”

  “No. I’ve endured enough public humiliation for one day.”

  He slid his arm off the door and squatted in front of her. “I don’t know what happened, and I want to hear about it as soon as you’re ready. But don’t think I forgot the stories you told me about your college days. The Libby St. Clair I know didn’t bat an eye about walking into a restaurant wearing a boa, a bikini, and a tiara. Wearing a wedding dress is way classier than that.”

  She scowled. There was that look on his face, the one that told her any argument would be wasted breath. “You’re going to make me go in there, aren’t you?”

  An ornery grin spread across his face. “Let’s just say you’re going in one way or another.” He winked. “If you make me pick you up, I’ll put you in a fireman’s hold and tell everyone I’m carrying you over the threshold.”

  She groaned as she climbed out of the car. “I hate you. You’re an ass.”

  His grin spread. “Many women find it endearing.”

  “Name one.” She picked up her skirt so it didn’t touch the dirty sidewalk, although she wasn’t sure why it mattered now.

  “Well, there was Christy last week, and Tina the week before that.”

  “What about Donna?” The thought of his girlfriend stirred anger in her gut, catching her by surprise. “Aren’t you supposed to back in Seattle taking care of her thing? Isn’t that why you couldn’t come to my wedding?”

  “Wow. You’re in rare form.” He moved around her and opened the door to the restaurant. “Somebody must be hangry,” he teased.

  “I’m not hangry. Apparently, you are.” She walked through the door and stopped in front of the hostess stand. “I have to pee.”

  The teenage hostess had a phone pressed to her ear. Her eyes widened at the sight of Libby’s dress and she muttered, “I’ve gotta go,” into the receiver. She hung up and stared at them for a long moment, her mouth hanging open. This was proof enough of the odd pair they made right now—Noah in his jeans, tight-fitting olive-green T-shirt, and athletic shoes, and Libby in her ridiculously opulent dress. And it was all the confirmation she needed that this was, in fact, a terrible idea. She started to turn around, but Noah grabbed her shoulders and turned her back to face the hostess.

  “We need a table for two,” Noah said, wrapping an arm around her back and holding her firmly in place. “Something romantic if you have it. It’s her wedding night.”

  Libby jerked her gaze up to meet his. He only grinned.

  “And you’re eating at the Golden Cowboy Café?” the hostess asked in disbelief.

  “Well . . . yeah,” Noah said. “Libby here has been talking about it ever since she heard about this place. She wanted to forgo the reception and drive straight from the wedding in Kansas City to the Golden Café.”

  “Golden Cowboy Café,” Libby corrected, still grumpy.

  “See?” Noah held out his hands. “But first she has to pee.”

  “The restroom’s that way.” The hostess pointed to a short hall close to the entrance.

  Moments after she entered the restroom, Libby realized she had a dilemma on her hands—there was no way she could maneuver her dress on her own in the tiny stall, and even if she wanted to take it off, which she didn’t, it was laced up the back.

  Groaning, she peeked out the bathroom door. “Noah.”

  He stood in the hall, his back against the wall. When he turned toward her, her breath seemed to stick in her throat. How many times had she looked at him, up close and personal even, but this was the first time he’d taken her breath away. She knew other women found him attractive—how could they not? His dark brown hair was slightly unruly, giving him a just-out-of-bed look, and his long-lashed dark brown eyes were usually sparkling with mischief. But now—tonight—there was something different about him.

  He raised his eyebrows, and she remembered he was waiting for her to tell him why she’d called him. She resisted the urge to close the door and hide. What if he realized she was checking him out? He’d never let her forget it.

  “I need help,” she forced herself to say.

  Confusion flickered in his eyes. “How so?”

  She cringed. God, this was embarrassing. “I can’t deal with this skirt.” She lifted handfuls of the full fabric and then dropped it to demonstrate its bulkiness.

  Fear replaced confusion in his eyes. “What do you want me to do about it?”

  “I need you to hold this up so I can pee.”

  He took a step back. “You want me to do what?”

  She reached for him. “Get over yourself and help me before I pee myself. And if you dare to try and tell me it’s my problem, just remember you’ll have to ride in the car with my pee-soaked skirts.”

  He rushed over and pushed her back into the bathroom. “What do you need me to do?”

  She laughed at how quickly he was moving now. “I don’t know exactly how to do this. We’ll have to wing it.”

  “You didn’t pee earlier?”

  “No, I held it, which is why I really have to pee now. Aren’t you the one who said I had a thimble-sized bladder?”

  “Well, yeah . . .”

  She turned to face him, her back to a stall door. “I’ll back up and lift the skirt in the back with one hand and you hold it up in the front.”

  “Aren’t you worried I’ll see something down there?”

  She snorted. “It’s highly unlikely, given the fact you’ll have about ten yards of crinoline in your face.”

  “Why are you only using one hand to hold up the skirt?”

  “So I can pull down my panties. What’s with all the questions? My bladder sphincter’s about to give out.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “That’s disgusting.”

  “Hey, it’s biology. Let’s do this.” She backed up, pushing the door open as she reached around her back. “Why aren’t you lifting?”

  He looked startled as he followed her into the stall. “I didn’t know we were lifting yet.”

  “Well, we are! Do it!”

  He grabbed handfuls and started tugging upward. “Why are you still standing?”

  “I can’t see the damn toilet beneath all of this crinoline. And I’m having trouble reaching my underwear.”

  She could barely make out his expression from all the fabric in her face, but a sly grin lit up his eyes. “Lucky for you, I’m an expert at removing women’s panties. I volunteer as tribute.”

  “You have your job, and I have mine.”

  He shrugged playfully. “Just sayin’.”

  Libby reached under her skirt and got her panties to her knees, but she felt unbalanced as she started to lower herself to the seat. “I’m afraid I’m going to miss.”

  “You think you’re going to pee on my foot?” he asked in horror.

  “No! I’m afraid I’m not going to land on the toilet. What if I miss the seat?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. This stall is barely wide enough to hold the toilet. How could you miss it?”

  She put one forearm on the side of the stall and inched herself down.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he asked. Now that she was in a crouched position, she could no longer see his face.

  “I told you. I’m trying to find the damn toilet.”

  “Would you hurry already? Someone’s going to walk in here and think I’m some pervert molesting a bride.”

  “And this bo
thers you . . . ?” Her voice trailed off suggestively as she connected with the toilet seat. “Mission accomplished.”

  “You’ve peed already?”

  “No. I’m on the toilet seat.”

  “You haven’t even started peeing?” His voice rose in dismay.

  “I’m working on it.”

  Libby heard the bathroom door hinges squeak open, then Noah’s voice. “Oh, hello. Don’t mind me.”

  The door slapped shut in an instant.

  Libby released a chuckle.

  Noah chuckled. “I think we traumatized that poor woman. Are you finished?”

  “No. I haven’t even started yet.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “You’re listening! I can’t pee knowing you’re going to hear it.”

  “What the hell do you want me to do? Cover my ears? I can’t exactly do that without letting go of your dress!”

  “Then hum. Or sing.”

  “What do you expect me to sing?” he asked in disbelief.

  “I don’t know!” she groaned. “How about ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall?”

  “If I sing the damn song will you pee already?”

  “Yes. Do it. This is getting painful.”

  He groaned, but then began to sing. “Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer.”

  Libby felt herself relax and began to pee.

  “Take one down, pass it around—” He stopped singing. “Oh, my God. I think you’ve ruined beer for me forever.”

  “You’re listening to me pee?” she shrieked.

  The door opened again, and this time Noah oozed in a pseudo-cultured voice, “Good evening. I’m the Golden Cowboy Café bathroom attendant, and I’ll be happy to help you with your personal hygiene needs as soon as I’m done with the current customer.”

  There was a several-second pause, the sound of the swooshing door, and then Noah said, “That’s the second woman who has run off in horror. If I get arrested, you better bail me out.”

  “Unfortunately for you, I don’t have any money . . . or toilet paper.” She felt along the wall of the stall. “I think this stall is out, but my dress is hiding the dispenser anyway.”