Opposites Attract: The complete box set

by Higginson, Rachel

  But at the same time, Kaya added, “Vann’s coming tonight, isn’t he?”

  I wanted to roll my eyes, but I politely refrained. “Can I just remind y’all that Vann wasn’t the point of the story. I was actually talking about my terrible luck with men. Thank you for rubbing it in my face.”

  They really hadn’t offended me, but I had to do something to divert their attention.

  Kaya’s elbow nudged mine where it rested on the table. “I think you broke Vera’s brain.”

  “Not true!” she defended immediately. “Pregnancy broke my brain. Dillon just surprised me. I didn’t realize you knew each other.”

  “We don’t,” I assured her. “Not really. It was this awkward, chance meeting thing. It lasted all of fifteen minutes.” Regrouping, I realized Vera needed something besides the facts. She needed me to weave her a story that would make sense in her hormone-addled brain. “We’ve run into each other enough that he recognized me. And then he overheard our conversation and basically just stepped in because even he could recognize how awful it was.”

  It was that very moment that Killian arrived, sliding in next to Vera at our table and squishing her against Molly. He grinned at Kaya and me. “Hey, ladies.”

  What a dork.

  Before we could even respond, Ezra appeared, looking buttoned up and socially awkward as ever. Then Wyatt walked over from the bar, the exact opposite of Ezra—tattooed, loose and totally comfortable in every space. And then… the man of the hour. Vann.

  He wore a version of what I had come to realize was every outfit for him complete with trendy sneakers. He trailed behind the other guys, in no rush.

  I squeezed out of the booth so Wyatt could sit next to Kaya, but that only squashed me awkwardly between Ezra and the table and god, I just wanted to leave. Why had I opened my stupid mouth? Why were men here at all?

  This was supposed to be a bachelorette party. The plan was to gorge ourselves on good food, unbutton our pants or skirts later and curl up on my gigantic leather couches and finish the night with Meg Ryan movies.

  We’d all taken the weekend off to celebrate the union of two of our favorite people. We had all let other, less qualified people run our kitchens for the entire weekend. That meant Blaze was currently at Bianca, by himself. Without my supervision.

  I needed alcohol to soothe my frayed nerves and give me the courage to get through this vacation weekend. And I needed my friends. And a fantastic time. And for them not to write a narrative of what was going on between Vann and me in their heads only for them to get their hopes up and then dashed to smithereens.

  “Dillon,” Ezra said, in that way of his that didn’t include normal words like hello or hey or how’s it going.

  “Ezra,” I returned formally. “You going to make it through this weekend?” He had been ordered by Killian, Vera, and Molly that he could not work, no matter what.

  I could already see his hand twitching, desperate to check his phone. He wasn’t going to last thirty minutes.

  Not that I was any better.

  Ezra eyed me seriously. “That depends. Is my restaurant going to make it through this weekend?”

  Ha. Touché! I shrugged helplessly. “Hopefully?”

  His glare sent me running back to the bar. I knocked my drink down as I went, fully aware that I’d just thrown back an Old Fashioned like a shot, which was basically sacrilege in the Bourbon community. But desperate times and all that. I tottered trying to walk in the tall heels I hadn’t worn in months, maybe longer than that.

  These red-soled beauties used to be my party girl go-to, but since finding a real purpose in life, I’d traded them in for sensible sneakers with Dr. Scholl inserts.

  Sometimes I wore Crocs.

  Oh, if only my high school friends could see me now.

  “I think you owe me a drink,” Vann’s reserved voice suggested from beside me.

  I hadn’t realized he’d followed me over here. I side-eyed him while leaning forward on the bar and flashing some upper cleavage. It wasn’t for Vann. It was so the bartender didn’t make me wait twenty minutes before he noticed me.

  Listen, I’m all about female empowerment and making a name for myself in my trade because of my talent and not my tatas. However, this was a packed bar and I wasn’t above using my assets to get drinks faster than the huddle of frat guys at the other end.

  He rested his elbow on the bar and turned his body to face mine. “Saving you is turning into a bad habit. I feel as though some compensation might even things out for us.”

  “Someone thinks highly of his accidental ability to be in the right place at the right time.”

  He let out a laugh that had an edge to it. “Maybe it’s you with the knack to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Have you ever thought about that?”

  I had definitely thought about that. It seemed to be the entire direction of my life.

  Instead of admitting that, I miraculously held the truth back and gave him a flirty smile. “Do you mean, like right now?” I walked past him and let my hand settle on his shoulder. Brushing over his shoulder blades and down his spine, I felt brave and bold and like the Old Fashioned I’d downed had seriously kicked in.

  “Just kidding,” I murmured near his ear.

  He spun around as I continued walking. “Hey, now, what about that drink?”

  I twisted around on my toes, letting my heels use the momentum of the slick wood floor to propel me like a ballerina. “I thought I’d give you the chance to save me again.”

  His mouth split in a surprised smile and he tipped his head back and laughed. “One time, Baptiste. Just this one time you’ve outsmarted me. Don’t expect it to happen again.”

  “We’ll see,” I called before hurrying back to the table. If I had to be stuck with Vann all night because the other couples were lovesick puppies, at least we’d started getting along. There were some definite friendship vibes sparking back and forth between us.

  Maybe even more than friendship.

  Or I don’t know, maybe it was just irritation mixed with a few drinks.

  Regardless, the whole mysterious broody thing was equal parts sexy and frustrating.

  True, I liked to believe I could do most things on my own without a man stopping by to change my tire or replace my lightbulbs. But there was something about the way he delivered his help that turned me to warm happy goo instead of fire and brimstone.

  The way he looked at me didn’t hurt either. Vann was shockingly open and honest. He said what he thought. And not everything he said was nice. But somehow, his blunt honesty was growing on me.

  Ten

  Three hours later, we’d made it to dessert stop numero uno. I was happy I’d worn my stretchiest pair of leggings—thank you Costco!— and flowyest tunic because I needed them.

  Tonight, had been like Thanksgiving, plus the entire holiday season, plus the day after Valentine’s day when all the candy goes on super sale—combined. These friends of mine could eat.

  And drink, to be honest.

  I was already planning a double session of yoga classes in the morning, or I was going to look like the Kool-Aid Man for Vera’s wedding in two days.

  Realizing the weekend had only started and that I had to get through a decadent bridal brunch, the rehearsal dinner, plus the actual wedding reception, I couldn’t help but groan.

  “What’s wrong?” Kaya asked from across the table, where she sat nestled against Wyatt, his tattooed arm wrapped securely around her.

  “I’m going to gain three hundred pounds this weekend.”

  Molly raised her eyebrows. “I was thinking the same thing. I’m going to have to recommit to those damn spin classes or I’m never going to fit into my wedding dress.”

  “Spin class?” That sounded interesting. I had been thinking about joining the same gym as Molly and Vera for months, after my gym had gone bankrupt and closed their doors. I’d been dedicated to my favorite yoga studio since, but I knew I needed to mix in some cardio. M
y limbs were all stretch and flexibility, but there was more to life than being able to stand on your head for twenty minutes.

  I loved the idea of having friends at my gym. Not that I could get Vera and Molly to work out with me often. But maybe after the baby I would be able to coax Vera into some low-stress Zumba or biking or something.

  A cycle class was an entirely different side of Molly that I didn’t even know existed.

  She rolled her eyes. “Vera tricked me into going a while back. I quit after she got pregnant because… because basically it was the worst. But now that I’ve eaten my weight in salsa and fried food tonight, I have no choice.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Vann countered, pointing a stern finger at her. “You just like to complain.”

  She leaned forward, dropping her voice to a secretive tone. “Every time I get off that cursed bike,” she explained, “I think it should buy me dinner. It gets way too familiar for a forty-five-minute class.”

  I couldn’t help but snicker at her expense. She bugged her eyes out, letting me know she was serious.

  “It is a tough class,” Vera agreed. “But dang, it worked. I’d still be dragging Molly’s lazy bones there every morning if pregnancy wasn’t currently kicking my ass.”

  “Don’t say that,” Molly groaned. “I don’t even need to go. I’m perfectly fine adding all five thousand calories from tonight to my body. I got a man.” Ezra smiled at her adoringly, squeezing her hand in his. Until she finished by saying, “I can officially let myself go.”

  “Wait, what?” Ezra asked, causing us all to laugh harder.

  When the laughter died down, Vann leaned closer to me, so his shoulder bumped against mine. “You don’t eat like this all the time?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged, and when his arm settled it was touching mine more fully. “You guys are chefs. Good chefs. I would think this would be every day fare for you all.”

  “It’s actually the opposite,” I told him. “We’re usually so busy cooking for other people, we’re too tired to cook for ourselves.”

  “Or I am so sick of the food I’m cooking over and over that I can’t even stomach the idea of eating it,” Kaya added from across the table.

  “True story,” I agreed. “When you’ve looked at something approximately three hundred times in one night, it’s significantly less appealing.”

  “Interesting,” Vann said.

  “Nights like these totally make up for it though,” I told him. “You know, when you go out with your friends that have good taste and they want to literally eat everything and you’re like, ‘oh, I guess I do too.’ I’m going to have a food hangover in the morning.”

  He smiled at me, but it was slightly peculiar—as if he was surprised he thought I was funny.

  The waiter stopped by again and Killian ordered a round of limoncello for the table. We were at this kitschy little Italian place with a tiramisu that I was confident would be served in heaven. We’d been sipping Prosecco and negronis and now we were apparently moving on to dessert beverages.

  Killian nuzzled his bearded face against Vera’s neck, causing her to giggle. “Dance with me?” he asked. I couldn’t actually hear him from where I sat at the other end of the table, but I read his lips and watched her cheeks flush.

  They stood up a minute later, escaping to the small dance floor in the corner where three older couples swayed and two-stepped to big band music and the best of a Frank Sinatra cover band.

  “That looks fun,” Molly told Ezra. He took her hand and led her away.

  I gave Kaya a look that said, “Don’t leave me alone here with Vann!”

  She raised her eyebrows and tilted her chin toward the dance floor. I shook my head no. Her eyebrows rose higher. I glared lasers at her. She kicked my shin under the table.

  Then stupid Wyatt got involved. Taking Kaya’s hand, he said, “If you’re done having your stroke, would you like to dance?”

  She smiled serenely at me. “I would love to.”

  I slumped against the booth side of the table while the two of them pranced off to the dance floor. “Traitor,” I mumbled beneath my breath.

  “That’s kind of cliché,” Vann murmured, sounding as irritated as I’d felt. “Don’t you think?”

  I turned to face him. “The dancing?”

  “Sinatra, the couples, all of it. I find it repulsive.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. He never said what I expected him to say. “Agreed. They might as well be an advertisement for happily ever after.”

  “Or erectile dysfunction,” Vann added.

  On that note, I nearly choked on my spit. “What?”

  “Haven’t you ever noticed those commercials? They’re all about selling an image like this. Couple goes to dinner with friends. Couple dances romantically. Couple falls into bed only to be interrupted by something unexpected. Don’t worry, this blue pill works whenever you want it to work. Unless it works for longer than four hours. Then you should be concerned.”

  I snorted—that’s how hard he’d made me laugh. I’d resorted to snorting. “What concerns me the most, is how much you know about them.”

  He hid his sheepish smile behind a sip of the cocktail I knew he didn’t really enjoy. He’d been nursing it for the last thirty minutes and every time he took a sip, his nose wrinkled. “They’re on all the time.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Have you ever watched a football game? Or the news? Seriously, you can’t not know about ED. It’s everywhere.”

  “Apparently.”

  I had a thing for the look of complete outrage on his face. He didn’t like to be misunderstood. And I knew that sometimes that came off as arrogant, but it was also kind of cute.

  “I’m good down there,” he insisted. “Everything works great.” He made the okay symbol and clicked his tongue against his teeth. “I’m good to go.”

  Widening my eyes and looking completely shocked, I asked, “Is that a proposition?”

  “Oh, my god, no!” He dropped his head into his hands. “There’s something about you I have never liked. This might be it.”

  I smiled as I took another drink of the cocktail that I found delicious. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The waiter returned and dropped off the limoncellos. I settled them around the table and then drained my negroni.

  Vann eyed his small fluted glass and nearly neon-yellow liqueur with great suspicion. “What is this?”

  “It’s lemon liqueur,” I told him. “It’s delicious. You’ll love it.”

  “It doesn’t look like anything I’d love. I’m more of a beer guy.”

  “Oh? I’m sure they have something on tap.”

  He shook his head again and it felt like a final decision had been made. “I already looked. They don’t have anything I like.”

  “That high maintenance, huh?”

  He let out an impatient sigh and then explained his stance on beer—which was extensive. He was into the small breweries that were popping up around Durham and inside Charlotte. He loved IPAs the best. New England style which apparently looked like orange juice. And he was majorly disappointed at the beer selection in all the places we’d been to tonight. Except for Craft. That was the only stop tonight that had won his approval.

  He shrugged. “I’m not high maintenance, I just know what I like.”

  “I know what I like too and I’m going to be honest, this time you’re wrong.”

  “About booze?”

  I gave him a look and said, “Yes, about booze.”

  “Nope. Sorry. I’m right.” He eyed the dainty glass of limoncello. “That looks sour, bitter, and persnickety.”

  My lips lifted in an amused smile. “Sounds like you’re scared to date her.” I nudged the glass toward him. “Good thing it’s just a drink. Much less commitment this way.”

  He shook his head. “You’re set on making me drink this.”

  I bounced up, tucking one knee beneath
me and turning Vann’s first encounter with limoncello into a spectator sport. “Personally, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with persnickety.” I batted my lashes innocently for dramatic effect.

  His gaze drifted over me, starting at my face, drinking in every detail, line and contour. Then it dipped lower, scanning over my bare shoulders, pausing at the dip of exposed cleavage that my favorite subtly scandalous lacy black tunic showed off, dropping lower and lower until even my ankles felt sexy. My stomach fluttered with surprised butterflies.

  I found myself transfixed as his focus moved back to the liqueur. I held my breath as his long fingers wrapped around the delicate stem and in one fell swoop he tossed it back like a shot.

  My lips parted in shock. “You’re supposed to sip it!” I cried too late.

  His face scrunched and twisted, his lips puckering in disgust. “Goddamn,” he gasped on the other side of the glass.

  I couldn’t help it, I nearly collapsed on him from laughing too hard. I’d wanted to introduce him to a fun, new drink. Of course, it was going to taste awful if he glugged it in one big gulp.

  “This was a prank?” he asked, eyeing me as I draped myself over him and tried to breathe through the laughter. “Are you pranking me?”

  “I didn’t know you’d drink it like that!” I insisted. “I meant for you to sip it.” I sat up, my head buzzing from the booze and from the nearness of this man. I’d propped my elbow on his shoulder and felt the deliciously warm heat of his skin beneath the smooth material of his crisp button-up. “You did it wrong.”

  From this vantage, I was sitting just slightly taller than him, with my feet tucked beneath my butt, my heels discarded on the floor. He looked up at me, his gray eyes a brewing thunderstorm of unspoken thoughts. “You should have warned me.”

  I leaned closer, desperate for more of his heat, more of the way he was making me feel. “You didn’t give me the chance!”

  He watched me for a few moments. My skin tingled as his intense eyes simply took me in, studied me, tried to figure me out. “I was right.”