A Week with the Best Man

by Ally Blake

  “We need to get changed, put on some lippy and get ready to lose several decibels of hearing.”

  “We’re going out again?”

  “We’re going to hear the wedding band play!” Lola threw her hands in the air. Behind her Gray copied the move.

  Harper heard Cormac’s door shut but deliberately did not look back. Maybe that was the key. Not looking at him at all. No getting lost in those deep brown eyes. No imagining how his springy hair would feel between her fingers. No holding out for even a glimpse of that smile.

  Out of sight, out of mind had worked for the past decade; it’d have to work now.

  “Go make yourselves pretty, boys,” Lola said. “Give us half an hour and we’re all yours.” Lola turned to Harper with a grin. “It’ll be a double date!”

  “Yay!” Harper said, throwing her hands in the air in imitation of the lovebirds, before following Lola into enemy territory to prepare for the next level of hell.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  HARPER SHOWERED, CHANGED into a cream bustier, black pencil skirt and pearlescent stiletto sandals, taking time to turn the beachy frizz into smooth, Veronica Lake waves. Cormac had been right in suggesting she dressed to dazzle. But she it wasn’t her version of playing dirty. It was her version of armour-plating.

  Gray drove this time, escorting them in his old Jeep, to the next town over—bigger, more touristy, full of bars.

  Their bar—The Tide—boasted dive-bar chic, all crumbling brick and flaking black paint on the window frames. The deep base sound of rock music thumped through the walls.

  Lola took Gray by the hand and dragged him past a long line of people to the front door, where a bouncer the size of a yeti stood holding a folder.

  “Seth!” said Lola. “I haven’t seen you in class for too long.”

  The bouncer took one look at her and melted. “I know, Miss Lola. I’ve been busy.”

  “How’s your neck?”

  “Not good.”

  “Come. Next week. Promise me.”

  He blushed. “Promise.”

  “Excellent. I have these three cutie-pies with me. All right?”

  The bouncer’s lovey-dovey smile hardened as he ran beady eyes over Gray, then Cormac. He seemed to save his longest glare for Harper.

  “That’s my big sister, Harper,” Lola said. “She’s here for my wedding this weekend. Hey, Seth, you should totally come!”

  Harper opened her mouth to reprimand Lola for making such an unconsidered request. There were seating plans to consider. And catering. Fire hazards. Lola had been that way her whole childhood—saw a tree, had to climb the tree, saw a dog, wanted the dog, even if it was at the end of someone else’s lead. Their father’s light ran through her blood, but thankfully none of the dark.

  But then she looked to Gray. Let him be the bad guy here. For Lola was his responsibility now, or she would be come Saturday afternoon.

  Gray shrugged. “Sure. The more the merrier. We’d love to have you there.”

  Harper gawped. Then saw the delight in Lola’s eyes. Not a new kind of delight, but a warm and familiar glance. As if she knew exactly the kind of man she had and was grateful for it.

  Harper felt herself soften towards the big guy. If he knew Lola that well, enough to realise how happy a yes at such a ridiculous request would make her, then maybe...

  Then Harper remembered Grayson was a Chadwick. Which made him the wrong man for Lola, no matter what.

  The face of the man who’d sent her the awful phone messages slid unbidden into her head, his voice cracking as he accused her of seeing in black and white. She shook him off. She did believe in absolutes. In right and wrong. In the fact that it was easy for a man to say yes when they owned the whole damn town.

  “Ease down, soldier,” Cormac murmured, his deep voice rolling over her, his hand clamping gently over her wrist.

  She pulled her hand away, the skin burning from his touch. Shocked that her intentions had been so clear.

  “Bite me,” she shot back.

  “Any time, anywhere.”

  Her gaze clashed with his. She could all but see the sparks that now seemed to be multiplying between them. She definitely felt them.

  Cormac’s smile was slow and smouldering. Knowing. Before he casually motioned to Seth the bouncer, who had lifted the velvet rope to let them through.

  Once inside, Lola grabbed Gray by the hand again as they made their way down a long, dark hall, leaving Harper and Cormac to bring up the rear. Harper kept her distance, not wanting to make accidental physical contact again. Especially not in the dark with his Any time, anywhere rolling through her mind on a loop.

  Until they spilled out into the bar proper. Despite its less than enticing exterior, the inside was beautifully kitted out. A large room with wood columns throughout, an empty stage at one end, a long, clean-looking bar with mirrors behind and elegant drop lighting all round.

  The bouncer wasn’t for naught, as the place was packed. On a Tuesday night too. That was beach living for you.

  “This cosmopolitan enough for you?” Cormac asked, leaning close so he could be heard over the music.

  Harper caught his scent—freshly cleaned male skin, with a tang of sea air still clinging to his hair—before she leaned determinedly away.

  “It’s no Cavalli Club,” she said, referring to her favourite place to grab a cocktail to celebrate a contract fulfilled.

  “I’d suspect nothing ever is.” His smile was quick. A flash of white teeth in the darkness before he turned away, looking for Lola and Gray through the crowd. Spotting them, he reached back with a hand.

  Harper stared at it.

  “I won’t bite,” he said, not needing to lean in for Harper to understand. “Not right now anyway.”

  His hand closed around hers—warm and a little rough. As if perhaps he didn’t spend his days merely chauffeuring bridal parties around town. And every time his skin shifted against hers she felt it. All over. As little triggers all over her skin. And waves of warmth beneath.

  Chatting and charming as he went, Cormac forged a path through the crowd till he found Lola and Gray at a small reserved cocktail table near the stage.

  Lola had already scored a bottle of bubbly; Gray was pouring out the glasses. When he lifted his glass and drank deeply, he caught Harper’s eyes. Said, “Soda water.”

  Once again Harper felt the world shift a little off its axis as Gray surprised her. Had it been that obvious she’d been ready to add another sin to the list? First a Chadwick and now a drunk driver?

  Harper lifted her glass to Gray’s and said, “Chin-chin.”

  Gray grinned, lifted his glass, tapped it heartily to hers, and drank.

  After one glass of the very good bubbles, Harper agreed to another. She must have been thirsty after the heat of the day, as it was gone before she remembered drinking it.

  Then a tray of milky-green shots appeared from nowhere. Amarula and some peppermint liqueur; she didn’t catch the name. She tried one—it was good. It would be rude not to have another.

  “Isn’t this fun?” Lola asked.

  Harper nodded. Being out with her sister as adults wasn’t something they’d managed before Harper had moved overseas. She’d been too busy studying, working to save for Lola’s university, for rent, food, Lola’s ski trips, surfboards, fun money and all the extras it took to fit in in Blue Moon Bay.

  “What’s your favourite cocktail?” Lola asked. Then, before Harper could answer, she shouted, “Pina coladas all round!” The tables near by shouted happily along with her, so Gray—with his deep pockets—ended up buying pina coladas for the entire bar.

  By the time the band started up, Harper was well and truly sozzled. Her vision was hazy, her insides buzzed; she couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

  So glad was she to be with her sister in the flesh. So
glad the bar wasn’t a dive. So glad she’d picked the shoes that as comfortable as they were dazzling.

  She actually felt...happy.

  Why had she been in such a grump? Blue Moon Bay really was pretty. She’d had a lovely day rediscovering the place. Gray seemed nice, if not a little dull for her tastes. And it was becoming clear that he knew, and adored, her sister. The Chadwicks—despite their past misdemeanours—were excellent hosts. There was nothing wrong with having your own chef! And, disruptive dreams aside, the bed was like a cloud to sleep on.

  As for Cormac Wharton? Harper blinked and across the table he came into focus.

  He looked good. More than good. Slick grey jacket over white T-shirt. Jeans that fitted just right. Thick chestnut hair in those adorable spikes. Low light creating sexy shadows under his puppy-dog brown eyes. He looked all broody and delicious, like a modern-day James Dean.

  What kind of name was Cormac, though? Although she could talk...

  Most of the boys at Blue Moon High had names like that. Blane. Preston. Braxton. Like the bad guys in a John Hughes movie.

  Corm. Mac.

  He looked up, questioning. Had she said that out loud? She sucked on her straw and squinted a smile his way.

  He blinked, the broody furrows in his brows clearing as his face split into a smile. And not just any smile. The smile. Like sunshine on a rainy day. The moon coming out from behind a cloud. A unicorn appearing in a dell.

  The one that made her heart feel as if it was locked in a fist.

  Whoa. So there was happy and then there was precarious. Harper let her drink drop and breathed out long and slow.

  Cormac’s furrow slowly returned. He cocked his head, questioning. But what could she say? That she’d happily look at him all night long? That she’d once thought him the most beautiful boy in the whole world? That she wondered what a girl had to do to make that any time, anywhere promise come true?

  “Let’s dance!” Lola cried, then grabbed Harper by the hand.

  Needing a little cooling off, Harper took one last sip of her cocktail before reaching back with her drink. Cormac reached back and grabbed it. She gave him a grin of thanks. When he smiled back, her stomach flipped a full three-sixty degrees.

  She lifted her hand to her mouth and blew him a kiss.

  He blinked, reached out and caught it, and pulled it to his heart.

  It was all so ridiculous Harper laughed, feeling it from her belly button to the outer reaches of her skin. Inside that happy little bliss bubble, she let Lola drag her wherever she pleased.

  Which turned out to be the dance floor.

  “There’s a band!” Harper said, only just noticing the stage was now full.

  “My wedding band!” Lola shouted, giving them a big wave.

  The lead singer waved back, and the band played...something. A few somethings. All of them fabulous.

  It had been so long since Harper had danced. Or listened to music on purpose. Or carved out time to just let go.

  With the disco lights dancing over her eyes, the thump of the bass resounding through her bones, her sister at her side, she danced till her top stuck to her back, till the balls of her feet ached, till her body no longer felt less like a tightly wound rubber band and more like a warm, wet noodle.

  What other sisterly experiences had they missed over the years? Birthdays. Work days. Drunk days. Sad days. So many hazy, lazy summers and winters so brisk it felt as if Antarctica was on your doorstep.

  Harper caught Lola’s eye. Then her hands. Then pulled her into a hug.

  Lola stopped dancing and hugged her back.

  “I love this song,” Harper said.

  “Love you too, Harps.”

  Before Harper could digest all the feelings she was feeling, Gray appeared, taking Lola’s hand and sweeping her out of Harper’s arms and into his own.

  Watching them together Harper smiled when she felt as if she might burst into tears.

  She shifted from foot to foot beside them until the buzz began to fade. Then she slunk through the crowd. Feeling squidgy. Off kilter. As if she’d left something behind.

  She found Cormac at the bar, the pool of light from the pendant lamp above carving shadows onto the strong planes of his face. When she dragged herself up onto the bar stool next to him he didn’t budge. Moreover, he didn’t notice.

  “Hey,” she said, bumping him with a shoulder. Though her sense of balance was such she didn’t so much bump as lean.

  Meaning when he looked over at her, she was snuggled up against him. Close enough to see every tangled eyelash. The smudges beneath his beautiful eyes. The slight bump in the bridge of his nose. The stubble fighting its way to the surface despite the fact he’d shaved. The sensual seam between his lips.

  When she felt drool pooling beneath her tongue she used the bar for leverage, pushing herself away.

  “Well, that was fun,” she shouted. Then realised she no longer needed to as the acoustics at the bar were awesome. “The dancing. Fun. The band’s really good.”

  “So why aren’t you still out there?”

  “Gray and Lola...” Harper waved a hand towards the dance floor. And felt that same sad feeling break over her again. But she didn’t want to feel sad, not when she’d been feeling so good.

  So she pressed her shoulders back, lifted her chin and said, “Don’t you love this song?”

  Cormac coughed out a laugh. For once there was no humour in it.

  “Not a favourite?” Harper asked.

  “Not.” He took a mighty swig from his designer beer, before staring across the bar into nothing.

  Harper looked around. Where was charming Cormac Wharton and what had this curmudgeonly stranger done with him?

  Funnily enough, while his vibes were very much “stay away from the bear”, Harper found it a relief. With no need to brace herself against the constant charm offensive, she could finally relax.

  She settled more comfortably on the bar stool, caught the bartender’s eye and asked for a big glass of iced water.

  “Sure about that?” the bartender asked, leaning a forearm on the bar and giving her the twinkle eye. “Can’t tempt you with something a little more exciting?”

  He was handsome, and she was well-pickled, so she gave him the twinkle eye back. “Get me that glass of water and you’ll see how excited I can be.”

  As the bartender poured her drink, Harper could have sworn his pecs danced, one after the other, behind his tight black T-shirt.

  Then again, she couldn’t exactly trust her eyesight. She felt squiffy. And hot. Her hair stuck to the back of her neck. She pulled the top of her bustier away from her chest and blew a stream of air into the gap.

  When she looked back to the bartender his eyes had dropped to her chest. Oops.

  Gently tugging the top of her bustier back into place, she spared a quick glance at Cormac. And got nothing. No gulp. No gawp. He was too busy staring moodily into the middle distance to score a flash.

  When the glass of iced water appeared in front of her she crooked a finger at the bartender. “My friend here doesn’t like this song, but I do. You can be the tiebreaker. So what’s the verdict? Good song, or the worst?”

  “Good song,” the bartender agreed, twinkling with all he had.

  “See?” Harper said, slapping Cormac on the arm.

  Cormac refused to respond.

  So Harper poked him in the arm. Then the shoulder.

  When she went for his cheek he caught her finger in a closed fist and slowly brought it back down onto the bar.

  Their eyes caught. When Harper found herself drowning in pools of melted dark chocolate she breathed in so fast, so deep, the wires inside her bustier strained against her ribs.

  Out of the corner of her eye Harper noted the bartender moving away to flirt with someone else.

&nbs
p; “You have good reflexes,” she said, her voice sounding a little more awed than she’d meant.

  “You’re drunk,” he said, one eyebrow raised, a half-smile on his face.

  With her mental barrier no longer in place, Harper felt the power of it like a sucker punch, sapping the air right from her lungs.

  “Pfft,” she said though her lips were a little numb, so it sounded more like a raspberry. “I’m a grown woman who has had a couple of—” several “—legal alcoholic beverages. For which I will not apologise.”

  She lifted her spare hand to brush away a lock of hair that had fallen into her eyes. When it fell back into place she shook her head. When her brain jiggled like jelly she stopped.

  Cormac let go of her finger and held up his hand in surrender, before lowering it to wrap around his drink.

  Harper sat on her hand in an attempt to suffocate the fizzing feeling left over from his touch. “So... Cormac.”

  “Yes, Harper.”

  “Hmm? No, I mean, Cormac—is it a family name?”

  He swallowed a sip of beer and shook his head. “My mother chose it. After Cormac McCarthy. The author.”

  “Me too! I mean, I wasn’t named after Cormac McCarthy. Obviously. But people often believe I must have been named after Harper Lee. Though I wasn’t. Which isn’t the same thing at all, is it? Quite the opposite.”

  Harper knew she was rambling. But, now that she’d let down her guard, she was struggling to remember where she’d put it.

  “My sister got the short end of the stick there,” she managed. “Being named after someone famous.”

  “The Kinks song?”

  “Bugs Bunny’s girlfriend.”

  Cormac shot her a look that put the bartender’s twinkle eye to shame. The life force behind those deep brown eyes of his so strong, so vibrant, so rich, Harper curled her toes into her shoes to distract herself from the heat washing though her.

  “So, McCarthy,” she managed through a tight throat. “He wrote The Road, right?”

  “That he did. But my mother was obsessed with one of his earlier books—Blood Meridian.”

  “Ah.”