“I don’t care.”
Judy nods with a smile. “You’re a good person, Andrew Brinks.” She allows that to linger for a moment, then slips away, giving me some privacy to fight what I expect will be a battle.
“What’s that?” Brooklyn’s voice rings out and I whirl around. She’s in yet another frilly gown with layers of tulle and silk that swallow her slender frame.
“A dress,” I respond coolly.
“I see that.” She steps toward me, her gaze narrowing. The downside of having grown up together is her ability to read me. And right now, she knows, just by the combination of my darting eyes and rocking back on my heels, I’m not being honest with her. “But what’s it doing here? I didn’t see it here earlier.”
“It was,” I argue, although my voice lacks any conviction.
She closes the distance even more, now only a few inches away. “Are you sure?” She scans the racks of dresses, all of them bright white and larger than life. The dress behind me couldn’t be more different. Not to mention it looks suspiciously similar to the one she just described. “I find that difficult to believe.” She crosses her arms over her chest.
“What?” I shove my hands into my pockets. “It’s here, isn’t it? I thought it odd, too, but you may as well try it on, don’t you think? You can’t be blamed for an employee mistake.”
“Drew…,” she starts.
“Doesn’t hurt to at least see what it looks like off the hanger.” I lift the dress and hold it out so she can get an unobstructed view.
She opens her mouth to protest when her eyes catch a glimpse of the detailing on the lace overlay. There are a few beads and sparkles, but nowhere near the over-the-top style of the dresses she’s been trying on. Longing fills her expression, her eyes glistening as they rake over the elegance before her.
“Come on,” I encourage, my voice softer. “Try it on.”
Unable to resist the temptation, she murmurs, “Okay.”
“Okay.” I hand her the dress, our eyes meeting before she turns around and disappears behind the curtain. She doesn’t even stop to peer in the mirrors to see how she looks in the current dress. It doesn’t matter. Once she tries on the one Judy brought in, she won’t want to give any other dress a chance.
As I’m about to head to the divan and sit, my phone buzzes in the pocket of my pants. I pull it out to see a text from Molly.
How’s it going? Did Brooklyn find a dress yet? She hasn’t sent me any photos.
That’s because she hasn’t found any she likes. Mrs. Bradford came by the shop last night and pulled a selection of dresses for Brooklyn to try on. She left instructions she’ll pay for the dress, but only if it’s one she picked out. And they’re all hideous.
I sit down and bounce my legs as I wait for Molly’s reply. I almost expect her to call.
What? That’s utter horseshit. Doesn’t that old shrew realize this is Brooklyn’s wedding, not hers?
I’m handling it.
A longer than anticipated period of time passes as I wait for her response.
How are you handling it?
Don’t worry. I promised I’d help her find the dress of her dreams. I’m not letting her walk out of here without it.
You’d better not. Keep me updated.
I will. Oh, by the way, I’m on to your scheming ass. I know you’re not sick, that this was your way of forcing us together. Remember that payback is a bitch…especially my version of payback.
I hit send. A few seconds later, my phone buzzes at the same time Brooklyn pulls the curtain back. Without looking at it, I shove my cell back into my pocket and lift my eyes to her. All the oxygen is instantly sucked from the room, my jaw growing slack as I soak in how unequivocally stunning she looks. When I saw the gown on the hanger, I thought it was beautiful. But the way it clings to her curves and seems to bring out the small flecks of gold in her green eyes… I’m stunned, mesmerized, hypnotized.
Blood rushes through my body as she saunters toward the podium, stepping onto it. The way she sways her hips, the confidence she exudes… I’ve never seen anything so attractive. I open my mouth to say something, to tell her how amazing she looks, but mere words won’t do it justice. There isn’t a single word in the English language to adequately relay how bewitching Brooklyn is in that dress.
As I watch her, her eyes bright, I can picture her on the big day. She wouldn’t want some extravagant hairstyle. Just a few curls in her dark locks, maybe pinned at the side of her head, cascading in front of her shoulder. Her makeup would accentuate the color of the dress—golds and browns.
From the instant I learned of her engagement, I’ve been against it. But now, jealousy fills me, raw and ugly. I hate the idea of her walking down the aisle to Wes. He’s a decent guy, but Brooklyn’s special. She’s special to me. And she deserves someone who treats her like the treasure she is. I’m not sure Wes truly appreciates her. I’m not sure I’ve ever appreciated her, either. I certainly could have fought harder for her, regardless of how naïve I was as a teenager. That doesn’t mean I’m willing to give up on the idea of us now.
“Wow.” Judy’s voice breaks through the tension as she hurries inside, a shoe box in her hands. “That looks fantastic on you. How do you feel?”
Brooklyn studies her reflection in the mirror, unable to tear her eyes away. I don’t blame her. I can’t, either. The cut is perfect for her body type—ample chest, slender waist, curvy hips. I’m no fashion expert, but I don’t know many women who can pull off a dress like this, the silk clinging to every curve. But Brooklyn can.
“Like a princess,” she murmurs, meeting my eyes in the full-length mirror.
“Then I think we’ve found the dress.” Judy beams as she approaches her. Gathering the loose fabric, she clips it to give her a sense of how the dress will look once it’s ordered in her size and fitted to her body type.
“Are you certain this was one of the dresses Mrs. Bradford approved?” Brooklyn chews on her lower lip.
Judy opens her mouth, catching my gaze out of the corner of her eye. I subtly shake my head, hoping she’s smart enough to pick up on what I’m trying to tell her. I don’t want Brooklyn to know I’m paying. She’ll never accept. It’s inevitable she’ll eventually learn the truth, especially once she tells Mrs. Bradford about the dress. I need her to believe otherwise for a little while, hopefully until it’s too late to get a refund.
“Of course,” Judy responds with a bright voice. “Why don’t we get your measurements and I’ll place the order for it right away. If we put a rush on it, we can get it in time.” She peers into the mirror as she continues adjusting the fabric around Brooklyn’s frame, meeting my eyes once more. “Of course, there’s a fee for the rush.”
“There is?” Brooklyn asks as I subtly nod at Judy, indicating it’s okay. I don’t care what it costs. Brooklyn deserves this. She’s worked hard her entire life, making sacrifices most other people her age wouldn’t. It’s time she’s rewarded for it.
“Yes, but don’t worry. Mrs. Bradford agreed to pay the rush fee, as well.”
A moment of hesitation passes. I sense the wheels turning in Brooklyn’s head. She looks away from Judy and catches my gaze. “How very generous of Mrs. Bradford.”
“She’s a peach,” I add.
She squints at me, her lips formed in a tight line. “She certainly is.”
I hold my breath, waiting for her to refuse the dress. When she refocuses her attention on the mirror, her expression brightens. Now that Judy has clipped the dress in a way that’s closer to how it will fit once it’s been altered, Brooklyn’s even more stunning. Wes is one lucky bastard. If nothing else, I’ll make it my mission for the rest of my life to ensure he knows this.
“Okay.” She nods, her smile growing wider. “This is the one. Let’s do it.”
“Perfect!” Judy steps back, clasping her hands together. “I’ll send one of our seamstresses in to get your measurements. We’ll both give you some privacy while she does th
at.” She gestures at me as she heads out of the dressing room, pausing, waiting for me.
“I’ll be out front whenever you’re ready.” I approach Brooklyn, leaning toward her. After the past week, I expect her to withdraw from me, but she doesn’t. I take a moment, inhaling her lavender scent as I gently kiss her cheek. “You look gorgeous,” I murmur against her ear, then step back, following Judy toward the reception area.
I’m not sure how much time passes as I watch her fill out form after form, punching a bunch of numbers on the calculator to come up with a grand total. It all seems a bit archaic. I’d prefer she just scan a barcode and run my credit card without me seeing her push all those buttons.
“To place the order, we normally only require a fifty percent down payment, in addition to the rush fee, but I don’t think that’s possible here, especially if you don’t want her to know you’re paying for it.”
“Which I don’t.”
“You do realize she’ll eventually find out, correct? Mrs. Bradford will wonder why there’s no charge. I promised I’d forward an email copy of the receipt this afternoon.”
“I understand. I just need her to believe Mrs. Bradford bought it for a day. Not even. I’m assuming you don’t have a return policy, do you?”
She chuckles. “Not on rush orders. They’ll have to go into production right away.”
I nod at my credit card sitting on the desk, then at the four-figure total scrawled on the paper beside it. “Put the charge through.”
She picks up my card, pausing as she studies me. With a smile, she refocuses her attention on the credit card machine and swipes the card, a sales receipt spitting out almost immediately.
“It’s a shame.” She shakes her head as she hands me the slip and a pen.
“What is?” I ask as I sign.
“You love her.”
“It’s not like that,” I argue, my face heating. If she could pick up on that after only a few minutes, what does everyone else think?
She narrows her eyes, giving me a knowing look. “You can’t fool me. I make a living off love. I know it when I see it. And you love her. I see brides and grooms on a daily basis. I’ve yet to see a groom look at a bride the way you looked at Ms. Tanner when you saw her in that dress.”
“Like I told you…” I avert my gaze. “She’s just a friend.”
Judy places her hand on my forearm and I peer at her. “And I’ve never seen a bride look at a groom the way she looked at you.” She withdraws, giving me a comforting smile. “For what it’s worth.”
“Thanks.” It’s all I can manage.
“I hope it works out.” She takes the signed receipt from me, then hands me my copy and my credit card.
“Me, too,” I mumble.
“What’s going on?” We both snap our eyes to see Brooklyn walking toward us, her brows furrowed.
“Nothing.” I shove my card into my pocket. Brooklyn looks at Judy, then back at me as I struggle to come up with a reason as to why she caught me signing something.
“I just realized who your friend is,” Judy flounders, coming to my rescue. “My boyfriend is a huge hockey fan. Andrew was gracious enough to give me an autograph for him. Of course, I’d like one for myself, as well.”
She reaches into the desk and produces a blank notecard, pushing it toward me.
I grab the pen and scratch out my name once more, scribbling the signature I use when signing autographs.
“Tell him I said thanks. I’m glad someone still knows who I am.”
“Are you kidding me?” she scoffs, playfully jabbing me. “Everyone knows the name Andrew Brinks. You’re hockey royalty. Not many players can go from barely seeing any ice time to being star center and leading his team to the Stanley Cup in just a few months. That’s like saying no one knows who Gordie Howe is.”
She walks across the reception area, leading us toward the door. I get the feeling this isn’t the first time she’s done something like this. Then again, she is in sales. Learning how to read people and say what they need to hear is essential in that profession.
“That’s sweet, but I’m no Gordie Howe.”
“You’re just modest.” She winks, then turns to a stunned Brooklyn. “Ms. Tanner, it was a pleasure. I’ll call you when your dress comes in and we’ll arrange your fitting. I expect it will only take about six weeks or so with the rush order on it.” She reaches into her pocket and withdraws a business card, handing it to her. “If you have any questions in the meantime, don’t hesitate to contact me.”
“Thanks.”
Judy meets my eyes. “Mr. Brinks. Have a nice day. I’ll be rooting for you.”
I simply smile as I hold the door open for Brooklyn and exit the shop.
“Typical salesperson,” she scoffs as we head toward the Common where I parked.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, come on. She said she was rooting for you after fawning all over you. She didn’t even realize you were no longer playing professional hockey.”
“Yeah.” I play along. “Typical salesperson. Hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Want to grab lunch somewhere?” I pass her a devious smile.
“What did you have in mind?”
I look at the sky, the sun trying to peek through the clouds. “I think it’s the perfect day for a trip to the beach.”
Her laughter fills the air. “How did I know you’d say that?”
“Because you know I’m a nostalgic bastard.” I sling my arm around her, grateful when she makes no move to push away. Just like old times.
“That I do.”
Chapter Sixteen
BROOKLYN
Blissfully content with a belly full of greasy food, I steal a glance at Drew as he turns down Molly’s street. After leaving the dress boutique, we drove out to Revere Beach, where we gorged on whole belly clams, lobster rolls, and roast beef sandwiches, much like we used to nearly every weekend growing up. For the few hours we spent staring at the small waves in the chilly air, things were the way they used to be. Before life got complicated.
When Drew pulls into the driveway, we both scrunch our brows as we stare at the house, not a single light on, Molly’s and Noah’s cars gone.
“That sneaky little shit,” Drew mutters.
“You think she planned this, too?” I ask as he puts the SUV into park.
“I don’t think. I know.” Bright eyes meet mine, surrounded by chiseled features—high cheekbones, strong nose, jutted chin. It’s a face I’ve seen thousands of times in my life. A face I’ve always loved…but in a way I doubt I’ll ever admit to anyone again, perhaps even myself.
“I’m glad she did.”
“Really?” Drew lifts a brow, my statement obviously taking him by surprise.
“You’re not?”
“Spending the day with you? Of course I’m glad. I just figured you’d—”
“Be upset?” I interrupt. “I guess a part of me was at first, but… I don’t know.” With a sigh, I lean against the seat, then glance back at him. “I think we needed a day to remind us what great friends we are. How we should never let anything come between that.”
Drew pulls his lips between his teeth, his shoulders falling. “Of course. Friends.” His voice sounds resigned.
“Yes.” I swallow hard. “Friends.” With a smile that doesn’t even come close to reaching my eyes, I open the door, stepping onto the driveway.
He’s quick to follow, walking me to my car. “Well, as your friend, if you need help tasting wedding cakes, I can make myself available for that. I’m sure Alyssa and Charlotte would also take one for the team.”
I lean against my car, laughing. “How very charitable of all of you.”
“Always happy to lend a hand, especially when cake is involved.” Winking, he crosses his arms over his chest. It doesn’t matter that he’s wearing a jacket. I can still make out the definition beneath. Wes is in decent shape. He works out and takes care of himself, but his arms don�
�t envelope me the same way Drew’s do.
I stare at him, hesitating. I don’t want to leave. What if, the second I pull out of this driveway, we lose everything we gained today? I don’t want to go back to the way things were before—having to walk on eggshells around Drew or avoid him altogether for fear I won’t be able to control my impulses.
Both of us unsure what to say, the moment builds, his stare deepening. Transfixed, he has that look again, the need I see pulling me toward him when I should be backing away. I can’t keep putting myself in this position, can’t allow the power he has over me to cloud what’s important, what’s right, what’s safe.
“Well…” I clear my throat, breaking the tension. “I guess I’ll see you Sunday night.” I reach for the door of my car and open it, about to duck behind the wheel when his voice stops me.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” he blurts out.
I pause, turning to face him. “Why?”
“No reason.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and shuffles his feet. There’s a hint of vulnerability about him, at complete odds with the macho hockey player most people know. But I know the real Andrew Brinks. He can knock a guy out on the ice, but when his daughters ask him to don a tiara and have a tea party, he doesn’t hesitate. I consider myself lucky to know that side of him. I guess that’s the side of him that’s helped me bury the hurt he’s caused.
“The girls want to go to the science museum. I was planning on taking them tomorrow. I thought you could come with us if you weren’t busy. They’d like that. You know… Friend.”
My shoulders fall. I’d love nothing more than to spend time with the girls. I barely see them much these days. But every free minute I have over the next few months is filled with wedding preparations. The schedule of events Mrs. Bradford sent earlier in the week probably rivals the royal itinerary.
“I’m sorry. I can’t. Our engagement photo shoot is tomorrow. After that, we’re meeting with the caterers to go over the menu, then with a florist to decide on centerpieces and bouquets.”
He smiles a small smile. “Say no more. I understand. Another time.”
Love Triangle: Six Books of Torn Desire Page 104
