by Elle Kennedy
“Because a man like that does not err.”
“That’s not true,” Trevor argues. “What’s the thing they always say? To err is human.”
“He’s not human!” Malcolm retorts, before hopping on the plush semicircle bench of our booth. He proceeds to channel Oprah-era Tom Cruise and jump up and down like a maniac. “He’s a beautiful god sent from above to dazzle us mortals with his sheer masculine beauty!”
I mean, I can’t argue with that. Dean is quite dazzling.
“What happened?” Seraphina rises from her spot, moving away from Malcolm’s bouncing legs to sit beside me.
“He tried to set up a whole romantic proposal, and I wouldn’t let him go through with it,” I confess.
Then I swallow a groan, because saying it out loud sounds ludicrous.
Their expression confirms my suspicion. I ignore Malcolm’s, because he would look just as horrified if I turned down Dean’s offer to buy me a Subway sandwich. But Trevor and Seraphina are both eyeing me like I’d gone insane.
“Aren’t you madly in love with him?” Trevor asks blankly.
“Yes.”
“Then why wouldn’t you let him propose?” demands Sera.
After failing to successfully explain it to Dean, I attempt to do a better job at laying out my feelings to my costars. “I’ve always been a planner,” I tell them. “And I’m definitely a relationship girl. But I see relationships as…I don’t know, picture a ladder. The relationship is a ladder and the rungs are all the steps.” My tone turns a bit grumbly. “First comes love. Then comes engagement. Then comes marriage, and then the stupid baby in the dumb baby carriage.”
Trevor bursts out laughing. “Your opinion of children is inspiring.”
“Sorry. I’m just cranky because Dean’s not speaking to me. But you know what I mean.”
Sera’s answering smile is kind. “Well, sure. But here’s the thing. Yes, those are natural steps in most relationships—”
“Not in mine. I’m polyamorous,” Trevor interjects. “Our steps are wild.”
She ignores him. “But you get to decide how big the ladder is. How much space there is between the rungs.”
“That would be a poorly constructed ladder if the rungs weren’t equally spaced,” I point out, furrowing my brow. “How would you be able to climb it properly?”
“Oh my God, it’s just an analogy,” she says, laughing. “All I’m saying is, you don’t have to look at it as rung one equals engagement and rung two equals marriage. Maybe the first rung is the engagement, but then you climb for a bit and marriage comes on rung five. It’s not set in stone. And just because you had this plan for yourself…” Her gaze softens, while her tone becomes firm but still compassionate. “You’re not the only person on the ladder, Allie. Clearly, he doesn’t view the rungs the same way you do. You’re on the same ladder, climbing to the same place, but Dean’s rungs are in different positions and he’s on shaky ground. You feel secure on the ladder, but he doesn’t. He needs you guys to be on the same rung.”
Malcolm, who’s seated again, stares at her in awe. “Whoa. That is deep.”
“Like the ocean.” Trevor nods.
Oh God, is she right? Is this about more than Dean being his usual impulsive self? I assumed he was proposing because he’s spontaneous and was simply jumping on the wedding bandwagon. But what if this is about Dean needing a stronger commitment, needing to know we’re moving forward together?
“Gang!”
Jarred from my thoughts, I glance over at Elijah’s approach. He’s a friend of Malcolm’s who tagged along with us tonight and has spent most of the night bragging how his father owns a chain of upscale hotels up and down the Atlantic seaboard. For fifteen full minutes after we’d been introduced, he’d talked my ear off about the Azure Hotel Group until Trevor finally rescued me.
Luckily, Elijah is incapable of sitting still for long. The guy keeps darting off to the bathroom to do lines of cocaine. I’m not just guessing either. Every time he’d left the booth, he winked and said, “Gonna powder my nose. Literally!”
“Why sssso sssserious?” Elijah says in a bad impression of the Joker. “We’re at the club!”
Trevor fills him in. “We’re giving Allie relationship advice.”
Elijah pushes past the guys to plant himself on my other side. When his jean-clad thigh presses against my bare one, I very obviously shift closer to Sera. He’s been flirting with me all night and doesn’t seem to notice I’m not transmitting a single come-hither vibe.
“Here’s my advice: dump the loser and go home with me tonight.” He flashes a slimy smile.
“No, but thank you for the offer,” I answer politely.
“Aw come on, don’t be like that.” His hand creeps toward my knee.
Malcolm does me a solid by leaning over and smacking it away. “Elijah,” he chastises. “Behave!”
“Do I ever?” he drawls before giving me another lewd smile, this one involving his tongue poking out the side of his mouth.
And that’s when I realize something.
What if I was sharing a ladder with this guy?
What if, in some horrible alternate universe, there’s an Allie Hayes dating a creepy cokehead who’s more likely to sell the ladder for drugs than want to climb it together?
Meanwhile, this Allie Hayes is moping because her boyfriend isn’t following the specific steps of her plan?
If a proposal makes Dean feel more secure on our relationship ladder, and if I already know I’m going to marry that man one day, then what the hell is wrong with me?
A lightbulb goes off above my head, flashing the words: I’m such a fucking idiot.
“I need to text Dean.” I sigh, reaching for my phone again. This time, none of my friends threaten to drown the phone in the champagne bucket. Sera’s faint smile tells me she knows I’ve seen the error of my ways.
ME: Where are you?
Then, realizing he might ignore the text, I add two words I’m certain he won’t ignore.
ME: I’m worried.
DEAN: All good here.
I know him well. No matter how pissed he might be at me, Dean would never allow me to worry.
ME: Where’s here?
HIM: Newark.
ME: ?
There’s a short delay, as if he’s debating whether I deserve his precious explanation. I’m not annoyed, though. The guilt in my stomach churns harder the more I picture my amazing, sexy Dean alone on his wobbly ladder.
HIM: G & Logan played the NJ Devils tonight. We’re in Logan’s room raiding the minibar now.
ME: Oh nice. What hotel?
HIM: Azure Tower near the Prudential Center.
ME: Any idea when you’ll be home?
HIM: Not late. They have an early flight in the morning.
HIM: We done with 20 questions?
Ouch. But I deserve it.
Since I don’t want to start any important conversations via text, I guess I have to wait until I see him at home later. He’s with his friends, anyway, and—
I gasp.
“Elijah!” I half-shout.
The smarmy, drowning-in-cologne guy beside me looks thrilled to be acknowledged. “What is it, gorgeous?”
“You said your family owns the Azure Group? Does that include Azure Tower in Newark?”
“Damn straight it does.”
Oh my God. It’s serendipity.
He waggles his eyebrows. “Why? You want a private tour?”
Gag. “No, but…” Excitement tickles my spine. “I need to ask a huge favor.”
21
Dean
“I don’t think he’s coming back.” Grinning, I nod toward the closed door that leads to the adjoining room. We’d started out an hour ago in Logan’s room, but ended up in Garrett’s after clearing out the minibar. Or rather, after I cleared out the minibar. Though in my defense, there were only two beers in there and two mini bottles of whiskey. Pathetic. Is that how they’re treating professional
hockey players at the Azure Tower these days?
Then we realized they’d simply forgotten to replenish Logan’s bar, because when we went next door, Garrett’s was jam-packed with little bottles of booze. I’m fixing myself a rum and Coke as we wait for Logan. He said he was quickly hopping in the shower before he joined us for a final nightcap, but it’s been like twenty minutes.
“I bet he’s having phone sex with Grace,” Garrett guesses. “Or sending dick pics. You know every time we fly, he sneaks into the jet bathroom and takes pictures of his junk to send her?”
I snort. “Ha, like you don’t do the same for Wellsy.”
“Well, obviously. I’m not going to deprive my lady of all this…” He gestures up and down his body, then strikes a pose in his Bruins T-shirt and plaid pajama pants.
My favorite thing about my social circle? None of us lack confidence.
“Why do you have adjoining rooms anyway?” I glance at Logan’s door. “The whole world already knows you guys suck each other’s dicks. Just man up and share a room.”
“Hilarious.”
“Thanks.”
“Logan needs my protection,” G explains. “He’s afraid a puck bunny will sneak into his bed again.”
“I’m sorry—what?”
“Happened to him a while back in San Jose.” Garrett chuckles. “Grumpy jackass dragged himself all the way down the hall to my room and woke me up. Now he’s demanding I’m always next door, so he won’t have to go far if he needs to bunk with me.”
“Wow. Diva much?”
“Right?”
As I lean against the desk, sipping my drink, Garrett’s expression grows serious. “So, what are you going to do? Like, for real. Because you keep dancing around it.”
When I got to the hotel, I wasted no time telling my friends what happened with Allie the other night. The whole sordid tale of brutal rejection dished out by the girlfriend who supposedly loves me. But that’s about as far as we got.
Garrett swishes the ice cubes in his whiskey glass before bringing it to his lips. “So just to recap, she told you multiple times she wasn’t ready for an engagement.”
“Yeah,” I say warily.
“And you absorbed that information and were like, huh, I guess I should propose, then.”
I glower at him. “Oh, fuck off. It wasn’t like that.”
“I’m trying to understand how it wasn’t, because it seems like she told you she wasn’t ready, and in response you bought a ring and set up a fancy dinner and ambushed her.”
“I can’t believe you’re Team Allie on this one.”
“I’m not. I’m Team Logic. Guess what, dude? We lucked out, man. We could’ve ended up with chicks who say one thing and mean another. The ones who let out those big sighs and then when you ask what’s wrong, they’re, like, nottttthing—” He mimics a high-pitched voice. “But we didn’t. I’ve discovered that usually when our girlfriends say something, they’re not playing games.”
“Right, and Allie has always said she sees us married one day,” I mutter.
“Yeah. One day.”
“So what does it matter if we’re engaged now but get married in ten years?”
“Exactly,” he says, head tipped in challenge, “what does it matter? Why do you need that ring on her finger so badly?”
That gives me pause. I suppose he has a point. We don’t need to be engaged. We already live together. We know we’re in it for the long haul.
It’s just a ring, right?
My hand curls tighter around my glass. No, though. It’s not.
It’s a symbol.
A symbol of our commitment. Yes, we live together and are in it for the long haul, and yes, I know engagements get broken all the time, but…Christ, I don’t even know anymore. And the irony of this entire situation doesn’t escape me. The guy who slept around in college, the self-proclaimed manwhore whose nickname was Dean the Sex Machine, needs a pledge of commitment otherwise his pwecious wittle heart won’t feel safe?
“The way I see it, you’re at an impasse. You can’t force her to get engaged.”
“No,” I agree.
“Then what are you going to do? Break up with her?”
I glare at him.
“What? It’s a valid question.”
“I’m not breaking up with her.” Frazzled, I gulp down almost half my drink before setting it on the desk. “I guess my only option is to accept she loves me but just isn’t ready. And then keep living our lives until that changes.”
“Holy shit. That’s very mature of you.”
I smirk. “I have my moments.”
On the nightstand, Garrett’s phone buzzes. He leans toward it to check the screen. “That’s Wellsy. One sec. Let me just text her back—”
“WHAT THE FUCK!”
We both jump when a male shout echoes beyond Logan’s door. It’s quickly followed by a female shriek.
A very familiar shriek.
Frowning, I march toward the door and loudly rap my knuckles against it. “Logan, was that my girlfriend?” I demand.
“Dean?” Allie’s unmistakable voice.
“Allie-Cat?” I call back. “Is that you in there?”
“Yeah, I’m here with Logan.” There’s a pause. “And his penis.”
Garrett’s head pops up from his phone. Sheer delight lights his face. “Oh God. I don’t even care that we got our asses handed to us by Jersey. This night officially just became the greatest.”
He hops off the bed and races to my side. One of G’s favorite pastimes is—to quote the asshole himself—“serving as a bystander to our stupidity.”
I knock on the door again. “Unlock this thing.”
When I hear a click, I throw the door open and burst into Logan’s room, where I find Allie and Logan facing off. My girl stands on one side of the king-sized bed, wearing the sequined dress she’d donned for the club. Only one stiletto, though. I look around, spotting the other heel on the carpet near the far wall by the bathroom.
On the other side of the bed is Logan. He’s buck naked.
I lift a brow. “Nice dick,” I tell him.
He sighs.
“Any reason why you’re showing it to my girlfriend?”
“I didn’t show her a damn thing.” His bare pecs flex as he lifts both hands to rake through his damp hair. Droplets of water slide down his neck. “I got out of the shower, and she was just right there, sitting on my bed. I thought it was another thirsty bunny.”
“So you decided to drop your towel?” Allie challenges.
“I was mid-drop when I walked out of the bathroom. Don’t act like I was stripping for you.” He scoffs. “You wish.”
Garrett snickers. In a helpful gesture, he picks up the towel and tosses it to Logan, who hastily covers up his pretty package.
My attention returns to my girlfriend. “Why are you in Logan’s room?”
“Why aren’t you in Logan’s room?” she shoots back. “Your text said Logan’s room!”
“His minibar was empty so we moved over to G’s. You didn’t think it was weird when you walked in and nobody was there?”
“I saw your jacket on the chair and heard someone in the bathroom. Thought it was you.” She crosses her arms defensively. “I certainly didn’t expect your friend to walk out with his stupid penis.”
“My penis isn’t stupid,” Logan protests. “How did you even get in here?” His exasperated gaze travels to Garrett. “How do they keep getting in here!”
Garrett shakes with laughter.
“My costar Malcolm brought a friend to the club tonight,” Allie tells us. “And turns out the guy’s dad owns all the Azure hotels. Don’t you dare rat him out, but he asked one of the bellhops to give me a copy of Logan’s key card.” She smiles broadly. “We met up at the service entrance behind the kitchen, and he handed it over all stealthy-like. It was like a drug deal.”
I fight a laugh. Only Allie would enjoy a pseudo drug deal with a total stranger. She probably
memorized the entire encounter in case she needs it to prepare for a role one day.
“Awesome,” Logan says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Apparently anyone who feels like it can just ask for keys to my room and nobody bats an eye. Who the fuck decided I’m no longer allowed to feel safe in hotels?”
“Oh, boo fucking hoo,” Garrett mocks. “It happens to me like every month.”
I grin at G. “Brag.”
“As fun as this little reunion is,” Allie interrupts, her blue eyes focusing on me. “Can we talk? Alone?”
“You guys can use my room,” G offers.
I glance over gratefully. “Thanks.”
“Wait, let me get my shoe,” Allie says, hobbling across the room on one stiletto.
I narrow my eyes. “Why is it all the way over there?”
“Because she threw it at my head,” growls Logan.
Garrett hoots. “Such a good night,” he says happily.
A moment later, Allie has her other shoe, I’m snatching my windbreaker from the chair, and we disappear into the other room. I kick the door closed behind us, then stand in front of her while she timidly sits at the edge of the bed.
After a beat of silence, she says, “I’m sorry.”
“You came all the way to Jersey to tell me that?” I ask wryly.
“No, not just that.”
“What else?”
“I’m really sorry.”
I hide a smile. She’s so goddamn cute. Her sparkling eyes. Her smoking body in that short dress. She’s honestly my favorite person in the whole world.
“There’s more,” she adds, clasping her dainty hands on her knees. She takes a breath. “I had a forty-minute cab ride to plan out what I was going to say to you, but all my practice speeches sounded so cliché and contrived. I did a couple out loud for my driver, and he told me I was overthinking it.”
I wrinkle my forehead. “Overthinking what? Your apology?”
“No.” She exhales in a rush. “My proposal.”
This time there’s absolutely no stopping the smile. It stretches across my face, making my jaw twitch. “Your proposal,” I echo.
