by Jayce Carter
“Sure. Let’s do it.”
What’s the worst that can happen?
Chapter Two
Tara pulled at the short hem of her dress, cursing herself for allowing Gena to talk her into the getup. Little sundresses are for skinny nineteen-year-olds, not for thirty-year-olds of my size.
She’d taken one look at the dress and rolled her eyes so hard she’d gotten dizzy. Somehow, she’d still put it on, probably because she doubted she’d win a fight against her feisty friend.
Chris was supposed to meet her in town at the rustic bar that pretended to be a restaurant. It had been made to look like it came out of an old western, fitting perfectly into the desert of the surrounding area. Tara had spent time there since she could walk, playing on the wooden tables, running through the narrow kitchen and stealing cherries from the bar. It had turned into a hipster joint more recently, with people from LA coming in and wearing what they thought people in the desert wore, like they were in some slutty western with a lot of fringe.
She’d planned to show up to the party in her normal attire. Jeans, a T-shirt, comfortable shoes. Instead, Gena had wrangled her into a breezy sundress that was cinched below her bust and sat far shorter than she was comfortable with.
The whole meeting—because Tara would not call the fiasco a date—was Gena’s plan.
Just like everything else, she’d orchestrated it, and just like always, Tara was pretty sure it would crash and burn. Her outfit already had, so why not everything else?
Sure, it made sense. It was harder to pretend to be dating if they’d never even met. So, this last-minute get-together organized by one of Tara’s friends would serve as a good way to see if she and Chris could even get along.
For all she knew, she’d hate the guy. Maybe he was a raging douchebag and she’d rather spend time with the mechanical bull than him. At least she’d get a ride, then.
“Tara!” Kathy jumped up and down as she exclaimed.
If she wasn’t so nice, Tara would have hated her. Okay, maybe I hate her a little. Between those big blue eyes and her perfect little body, Kathy was the sort of girl who got cast to play the popular mean girl in movies. Somehow, however, she’d missed that notice, because she’d always been a sweetheart to Tara. It made it mildly more difficult to be annoyed by her perfection.
“I’m so glad you’re here!” Kathy smacked into Tara, the run-hug fueled by a lot of alcohol that hung from her breath. Hell, Tara could get a contact buzz from her.
“Of course,” Tara assured her, catching herself so they both didn’t go over. That was what she was good for, though. Steady Tara. She might not be thin or pretty, but those thick thighs of hers were stable.
Just what I want. To be stable, like a barn.
Kathy disengaged herself and moved backward, brilliant smile blinding even in the dim bar. “I didn’t think you’d show.”
Tara followed her through the tightly packed people, all swaying to some new, hip band who tried to sound old. “Why? I always come to your parties.”
“Well sure, normally, but with them coming?”
“Them?” Tara twisted to the side to narrowly avoid an over-eager waitress who pushed past, a huge tray of drinks lifted high. “Who’s them?”
Before Kathy could answer, Tara twisted back toward the group to come face-to-face with none other than Harry and his soon-to-be-wife.
Well, at least this dress isn’t the biggest disaster of the night.
* * * *
Half a beer and an hour later, Tara let her elbows rest heavily on the table and tried to ignore the conversation. Once she’d arrived, she couldn’t leave. It would be too obvious, too pathetic to slink out with her tail between her legs, especially since her short dress would show it. Instead, she got seated at the opposite side of the long table from the happy couple, who Kathy had apologized up and down about.
Apparently, someone else had invited them, not realizing the drama it would cause.
Every time she caught Mr. Perfect’s stupid voice, she’d cringe.
Why had she shown up? She should crawl under a rock and ignore the world. Hibernate until after the wedding and the disaster and her shame had drifted away like ancient history.
Making the whole thing more depressing, Chris hadn’t shown. A text from Gena had said he was running late because of a flight delay.
At least, that was what she’d said. The more Tara soaked in the humiliation of the night, the more she suspected she’d been stood up. Worse, the idea that he’d backed out was the best option, the other being he’d walked in, taken one look at her then run off.
What was I thinking? Sure, be in a fake relationship. That’s a great idea! This is all Gena’s fault.
“Oh, the wedding will be beautiful,” Harry’s fiancée, Hannah, the home-wrecker who had destroyed Tara’s marriage, gushed.
That wasn’t fair, though. Harry probably hadn’t told the other woman anything true. He’d likely said he and Tara were separated, that things were already over—whatever he had to tell her. The truth was, Hannah would figure it out eventually.
It wasn’t her fault Harry was a cheating bastard. It wasn’t her fault he had a wandering eye and had always followed it away from Tara during their marriage. It sure as hell wasn’t her fault Tara had stayed as long as she had, that she’d put up with it for years.
No matter how many times Gena and Patrick had let her spend the night and cry after yet another episode of her finding Harry with some woman, she’d gone back. She’d believed that he’d changed, that it was her fault, that she was lucky to have any of his attention at all. Harry was good-looking, successful, charming. She had thought she should be happy with whatever she could get.
“I just want to marry the man I love,” Hannah said, and Tara had had enough. If I throw up all over the table, I wonder if the humiliation would be worth some splashback on Harry.
She pushed to her feet, needing to get away from Harry and his fiancée and the wedding talk before she said something that would ruin Kathy’s get-together and her own reputation. Well, whatever reputation I have.
Kathy stood, catching her arm and leaning in. “I’m really sorry, Tara. I had no idea they’d show up.”
Tara forced a smile. “It’s fine.”
“Where are you going?” Hannah asked, her smile too real to be fair. “I’m sorry, boring everyone with wedding talk like this.”
“No, no, I’m sure everyone wants to hear about orchids and, I don’t know, lace.” Before anyone could chime in on the stupid joke, she moved backward another step. “I’m just getting some fresh air. Too much fun in here.”
“You’ll come back?”
Not a chance. “Yep, sure. I’ll be right back.”
The cold air on her heated cheeks helped clear Tara’s head. It erased Hannah’s voice and the snide, ugly look on Harry’s face. He’d stared at her the entire time, like the best show in the place was whatever happened there.
This was crazy. How had she thought it was a good idea to show her face anywhere? I wonder how the Himalayas are this time of year? I can hide there until everything blows over. I can milk yaks or something until no one remembers what happened. Unless news has already spread there and even the yaks are laughing.
She set her hands on the wooden railing outside, then leaned forward, staring at the way the stars spread out in the night sky.
“Leaving so soon?”
Tara turned to find the man who’d spoken, and her eyes went wide like one of those old cartoons with the wolves who watch the hot girl on the stage. She’d have like to say she’d reacted calmly, that she’d seen the incredibly, unfairly hot man and had been as suave as ever, but that would have been a lie.
She was lucky drool didn’t escape from her gaping mouth.
The man was tall and built. That much was apparent even in the shadowy deck area, lit up only by the strings of Christmas lights that were left up year-round, like some angelic being. The sharp line where his jaw met
his neck was accentuated by a perfect throat and wide shoulders. His hair was brown, longer and spiked slightly at the top with the sides buzzed shorter. Dark eyebrows sat above dark eyes, and a light dusting of facial hair covered his jawline. He wore a white button-up shirt with the arms rolled up past solid forearms.
Damn, why is that so sexy? What, are forearms the new abs? I wonder if I can catcall men to show me their forearms.
His full lips pulled into a knowing smirk. “Distracted?”
Tara shook herself awake. She’d already reached her optimum level of humiliation for the day, so she should probably stop trying to add to it. “Yeah. It was a little crowded in there.”
He peered past her before leaning his hip against the railing, crossing his arms over his chest, highlighting just how broad he was. “Not a fan of crowds?”
“Not those crowds.”
His eyebrow lifted, which told Tara she hadn’t hidden her snark all that well. Not that she’d tried.
Her mother would say she wore snark like a second skin, something sharp enough to keep people away. That sounded fine to her, since people being close hadn’t done her a lot of good over the years. She flashed her sharp wit like a set of fangs, and she didn’t mind taking a bite when she had to.
“And what are you doing here? This doesn’t exactly look your speed.” By which, she meant he looked as if he’d walked straight out of a women’s filthy magazine or a dirty dream. The sort of filthy dream she would sure as hell be featuring him in the moment her head hit the pillow that night.
Before he could answer, however, the angry little steps that Tara had spent five years hearing echoed through the door. “What are you doing here?”
Tara turned her gaze to Harry. He was a handsome man, but nothing compared to the newcomer. Still, there’d been a reason that Tara had fallen for Harry in the first place. He’d been the best she’d thought she could get. “Kathy invited me.”
“And? You made Hannah uncomfortable.”
“No one told me you two were coming. What, do you want me to read minds?”
“Maybe just act like an adult and stop pouting. You’re ruining everyone’s good time.” Harry leaned in, his voice low. “You were just invited out of pity, Tara. No one really thought you’d show up.”
“Is that why you invited me to the wedding?”
“What other reason would there be? No one in their right mind would show up at their ex-husband’s wedding to his new wife.”
“To his new wife he met by cheating on his old wife?” Tara spat the accusation, muttering the truth she rarely shared. She wasn’t a confrontational woman, at least not directly, but somehow being talked down to while the newcomer watched had rankled more than usual.
Harry’s gaze narrowed, making his eyes look beady, like a rat. “Maybe I wouldn’t have cheated if you’d kept things interesting. You’re worse than frigid, because at least frigid women know they’re frigid. You think everything’s fine but sex with you is about as much fun as an exam by a mammogram machine.”
The jab landed, hard. Tara’s shoulders came forward, all that attitude she carried scrubbed away as it always was by Harry’s harsh words. Why was it that the snark she had always melted in the face of her ex-husband’s criticisms?
“And if you insist on showing up places, could you at least wear something respectable? Jesus, Tara, you look like a—”
His tirade was cut off by the new man taking a step between them, standing taller than Harry and imposing enough to end the rant.
Harry cast an annoyed look at him. “And who are you?”
“Her date, and I’d appreciate if you didn’t speak to her that way.”
Harry did a double take, his gaze comical as it drifted between Tara and the new man—the man who was either a nutcase or a hero for stepping in—as if he couldn’t figure out what those words meant. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s right. Why don’t you go on and stay out of it? Trust me, there are much better catches inside.”
The man straightened his back and cast a withering stare down at Harry. “Go back inside before you say something you regret.”
Harry’s mouth dropped open and snapped shut as fast. He looked as if he might argue for a moment but seemed to think better. He turned and fled back inside.
At least they didn’t have to worry about him causing problems. The last thing Harry would want anyone to know was that he’d been scared off by some guy. Harry loved his image, and in that image he was an alpha.
Tara almost felt bad watching the new man put Harry on his back like a misbehaving puppy. Almost.
Tara stroked her hands down her dress, then pulled at the hem of it, suddenly more aware of just how short it was. “Thanks for that,” she muttered softly. “I’ll get going.”
“I thought we were going to some sort of get-together, Tara.”
Her name on his lips distracted Tara so much, the way it would sound groaned out when he— Knock that off, girl. You’re not a horny teenager who’s going to jump on him.
Wait, how did he know her name? Tara turned her gaze on him. No. It can’t be.
He stuck his hand out, smiling. “Nice to meet you.”
Damn it. That was just her luck, wasn’t it? Of course, the handsome stranger, complete with killer good looks and a white-knight complex, was Chris, her rent-a-date.
Well, little Tara sure did grow up from those pictures I saw. Chris couldn’t help the slight leer as he took in the curvy body she’d grown into.
She’d wrapped that body in a sundress which hung on tiny straps that teased him. Her breasts were large, and the dress showed off her cleavage, then hung short enough for her thick thighs to peek out. Her hair, long and a dark reddish-brown, hung in large, loose curls that highlighted her chest.
Damn, Chris had had no idea she’d turned into such a beautiful woman.
Even better? The silence as she realized exactly who he was.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she whispered, again tugging at that hemline.
Each time she did it, his gaze was locked on the mindless motion, and all he wanted was to pull that damned hem higher.
He shook his head to dislodge the idea. This wasn’t about that. It was about getting them both out of a hard spot.
“This isn’t going to work,” Tara said.
The words had him frowning. “What? Why not?”
She moved away from the railing and away from him. “This was a stupid idea.” Again with the tugging of her dress, the action also causing more of her chest to show. “Why did I think this was a good idea? Like anyone would honestly believe we were in some sort of relationship?” She scoffed, shaking her head.
The hell?
Chris fought himself from telling her she was an idiot. He doubted she’d take that well.
Instead, he tried something else. “You were supposed to help me, too. Are you backing out?”
She brought her hands to those luscious hips, the action drawing her hem a tad higher and accentuating exactly where his hands would fit. “You don’t have to be nice. This probably isn’t what you thought you were getting yourself into.”
“I’m not the one trying to back out of this,” he reminded her. “Besides, Patrick will ask what happened. If he thinks I stood you up, he’ll kick my ass.” Not that he was worried about what Patrick thought. Patrick would kick his ass already if he knew the sorts of thoughts Chris was having about Tara. No brother wanted that.
“I’ll tell him I changed my mind.”
“And what do I tell my mom, who’s expecting to meet you?”
“Whatever you want.” Her hip cocked to the side, annoyance skirting across her face. “It’s not like she’d believe I was really your girlfriend.”
“And why not?”
She said nothing, just gave him an ‘you are dumber than should be possible’ look.
Chris tried to move on. “So, that was Mr. Wonderful?”
“In the flesh.”
“I can see why you
divorced him.”
She huffed a sound that said nothing about his statement.
He pushed. “Why don’t we head back in?”
“What for?”
“Because if you don’t, it’ll look like you’re running.”
She pressed her pouty lips together, a spark there that said she had more spirit in her than she’d let on at first.
Why had a woman like that put up with her ex-husband? Chris had heard more than a few things from Patrick before they’d thought up this whole nonsense idea. He’d sat there and listened while Patrick had come up with plans to murder the bastard, as Chris was supposed to supply the alibi. And possibly keep a body in my freezer for a few months, he thought, but those details had been vague.
And after that little run-in? After hearing what the asshole had said about Tara, what he’d been about to say, Chris had to admit to being ready to help. What was a life sentence if he got to see the smirk fall off the ex’s cocky face?
“Just for tonight,” Tara said, pointing her finger at him like a threat before turning around to walk toward the back door of the bar.
Chris allowed himself to linger long enough to trace his gaze over her back, over the ample curve of her ass.
A night sounded good to him.
* * * *
Tara shifted in her seat at the table beside Chris. He sat so close that the rough fabric of his jeans brushed against her bare thigh and made her realize just how little she was wearing. She felt even more naked than before, as if Chris could see past the scrap of a dress Gena had forced her to wear.
Worse? People kept looking her way. Even after Chris had introduced himself, using no shortage of charm, people had kept staring.
She knew why, of course.
They didn’t go together. No matter how much Tara tried to relax, to enjoy the party and the talk and the fruity drink that lingered on her tongue, she couldn’t ignore that she looked like the fat best friend with a great personality.
“So, how did you two meet?” Kathy asked, a smile plastered across her lips as if Tara having a date was the best thing she’d ever seen. Probably the most entertaining.
