“Oh. Wow. How scary. I’m so sorry.”
“And, no, to answer your question, Keane unfortunately won’t be going back to baseball. He injured his pitching elbow and surgery didn’t go as planned.”
“Oh no,” I say. “I’m so sorry. Was Keane at the grand opening party? I don’t think I saw him there.”
“No, he said he’d come, but the loser didn’t show up. Typical. I’m sure he was too exhausted from shaking his ass for dollah billz the prior night to drag his sorry ass out of bed.”
I look at Kat quizzically, not sure I’m drawing the correct conclusion here.
“Keane’s a stripper,” Kat confirms, reading my mind. “Seattle’s answer to Magic Mike. And guess what his stage name is?”
“Peen?” I venture.
Kat giggles. “‘Peen Star’!”
“No, not anymore, babe,” Josh pipes in. “Peenie changed his stripper-name a few weeks ago. He’s ‘Ball Peen Hammer’ now.”
“What?” Kat says, laughing uproariously. “No.”
“Yup.”
“Why the hell did Keane do that to himself? That’s a ridiculous name.”
“He needed a new one. It seems your knuckleheaded brother had to go into the stripper equivalent of the Witness Protection Program.” Josh explains that Keane ran into “a bit of trouble” on the stripper circuit—something having to do with Keane “banging too many clients,” and my stomach revolts. What is it with hot men and meaningless sex? I truly don’t understand it. Isn’t there a hot guy on this planet who prefers to commit wholeheartedly to one woman at a time—and then, shockingly, remain irrevocably faithful to her through good times and bad? Is that too much to freaking ask these days, for the love of God—that there be one available man like that?
Josh continues: “But don’t say anything to Peen about his stripper woes, okay? I know you Morgans are ruthless when it comes to razzing each other, but, apparently, Keane’s really embarrassed about the whole situation and doesn’t want anyone to know.”
Kat pouts. “Why the hell do you know all this juicy family gossip and I don’t? You’re not even an official member of my family yet, and everyone’s already confiding in you more than me? I’m thoroughly offended.”
Josh laughs. “I only know about Peen’s troubles because when the shit hit the fan, he called Rum Cake for help and Rum Cake called me. So, of course, we got Henn involved and he saved the day.”
“Well, this I gotta hear.”
“Later, babe.” He motions vaguely to me. “T-Rod’s probably jumping out of her skin about the thousand-and-one things she thinks she should be doing right now.”
I shoot Josh a snarky look that tells him he’s read my mind and he winks.
“And, like I say,” Josh continues, “Keane doesn’t want anyone knowing about his little stripper-Armageddon, so we’ll spare T-Rod the gory details.”
“I’m sure that’s for the best,” I say. “So, Kat, just a hunch, but I’m thinking your family kinda likes nicknames?”
Kat giggles. “Oh, you noticed?”
I laugh with her. “Which brother is ‘Rum Cake’? The older one on crutches or the younger one whose band is gonna play for everyone tomorrow night?”
“Neither. The second-oldest. I’ve got four brothers.”
“You’ve got four brothers?” I say. “Wow. Well, I’m definitely looking forward to meeting all of them—and your entire extended family, too.” I look down at the time. “Which I’ll be doing in approximately twelve minutes when the Morgan bus arrives.” I shove my iPad into my bag and stand. “Shall we head to the lobby to greet the Morgans? If it’s okay with you, after you say some welcoming words, I’d like to tell everyone about the itinerary and make sure they download the app—”
“Actually, Tessa,” Kat says, cutting me off. She motions for me to sit back down. “There’s something Josh and I want to talk to you about before we head over to greet everyone.”
The hair on the back of my neck stands up. “Sure.” I lower myself back down onto my chair. Crap. This is it—I know it is—the moment I’ve been dreading for the past two months: Kat’s about to tell me my services will no longer be required after the wedding. Yeah, yeah, I realize she’s been incredibly sweet to me these past two months, and, yes, I’m aware she’s taken to calling me Tessa—a habit she adopted when she heard her mom calling me that during a shopping excursion for Kat’s wedding dress with her mom, Sarah, and me—which she insisted I join because, she said, I know Josh’s taste better than she does. But, come on. I’m not a fool. A piece of me has always known Kat’s only been luring me into a false sense of security with all her crazy kindness, all in the name of cutting me off at the knees when she becomes Mrs. Faraday. And I can’t say I blame her. What sane woman would want another woman managing every aspect of her husband’s life the way I do for Josh? Surely, Kat is going to want to do everything for her new husband all by herself, as she should.
“Oh my gosh, Tessa,” Kat says sympathetically. “Don’t look so worried, honey. I just want to show you the last jersey in the box, that’s all.” Without further ado, she pulls the final jersey out and holds it up, revealing the nickname on its back: T-Rod.
Relief floods every cell in my body, all at once. “Wow. Thank you,” I say, taking the jersey from Kat. “That was so sweet of you to order this for me.” I try to smile broadly but my cheeks feel tight. “How’d you slip that sucker into the order? That was sneaky of you, Kat.”
Kat looks at Josh and smiles. “She doesn’t get it.”
“Well, then I guess you’d better explain it to her.”
Kat looks at me. “You don’t get it, do you?”
I stare at Kat blankly. “Get what?”
“Honey, this jersey isn’t a party favor, it’s an invitation.”
I’m utterly confused and I’m sure my face shows it.
Josh chuckles. “Theresa, Kat and I want you to be our guest this week.”
“Huh?” I say stupidly.
Kat lays her cheek on Josh’s shoulder and her palm on his chest. “You’ve worked so incredibly hard for us to make this party amazing and now we want you to kick back and enjoy the fruits of your labor.” She points her index finger at me menacingly. “We want you to be our guest and we won’t take no for an answer, Tessa.”
“But...” I sputter. “There’s too much work to do.”
Josh scoffs. “If there’s still shit to do, hand it off to the dream team you hired. You do have a dream team, right? Because, otherwise, you’re fired for embezzling from me.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not embezzling from you, Josh.”
Josh laughs. “Yeah, come to think of it, you don’t seem to spend the truckloads of money I already pay you, so I don’t know why you’d steal even more.” He beams a huge smile at me. “What the hell do you do with all the money I pay you, by the way? I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
“I buy shoes,” I say. “Lots and lots of shoes.”
Josh chuckles.
“I love those sandals, by the way,” Kat says. “Adorbsicles.”
“What’s your size? I’ll order you a pair. Do you prefer this color or—”
“Nice deflection, T-Rod,” Josh says. “But I’m on to you.”
I sigh. “Look, guys. I really appreciate you thinking of me—it means more to me than I could ever express—but I can’t be a guest like everyone else. How could I possibly do that when there’s so much to oversee?”
Josh shrugs. “Easy. You just say ‘YOLO,’ knock back a few shots, have faith in the team you hired, and have the time of your life. Pretty simple, if you ask me.”
I argue the point for a bit, but it’s futile. Josh and Kat’s minds are clearly made up.
“You’re family, T-Rod,” Josh says, shocking the hell out of me—Josh has never said anything like that to me before. “It’d be weird to have you working all week—not to mention embarrassing to me. You want people thinking I’m a world-class douche for making you wo
rk this week? Come on, dude. Don’t make me look bad.”
“Tessa, we insist,” Kat says, and I’ll be damned, she looks completely sincere.
My chest is tight. This is a bit overwhelming, actually. Josh considers me family? And his bride is insisting I attend their weeklong celebration at this swanky resort as a guest? I swallow hard. “Thank you,” I say softly. “I accept your invitation. Once your guests have all arrived safely at the resort, I promise I’ll hand everything off to the activities director and her team and make myself available for emergencies only.”
“Perfect,” Josh says. “Beginning with the opening party tonight, I better see you drinking and letting loose. You got that, Miss Rodriguez?”
I sigh. “Yes, Mr. Faraday.”
“I’ll give you a bonus if you get shit-faced tonight, by the way.”
“I never get shitfaced. And I don’t need a bonus from you, but thank you.”
“Hey, there’s a first time for everything.”
“I make no promises.”
“Get three sheets to the wind for me,” Josh says. “Please?”
“I’ll get one sheet to the wind,” I say.
“Make it two, as a wedding gift to me.”
“Fine. Two it is. But you know I hardly ever drink.”
“That’s why I want you to do it for me. Kick off the week with a bang.”
“Yes, sir. So is that it? I’m ordered to stop working and get drunk as soon as everyone has arrived at the resort?”
Josh looks at Kat. “Is that it, Almost-Mrs.-Faraday?”
Kat smiles. “That’s it, Almost-Husband. Thank you again, T-Rod. You’ve been a lifesaver and a great friend throughout this whole process. Now I see why Josh adores you so much.”
My cheeks flush. “It’s been my pleasure. I couldn’t be happier for you two.”
It’s the truth.
Of course, I would have preferred to hate Kat’s guts the same way I’ve hated the ones who’ve come before her, especially his horrific ex-girlfriend, but, dammit, Kat’s so damned Charlotte-like in every way, it’s been impossible for me not to feel anything but fierce, undying love for her. (Bitch.)
“Well, should we head down to the lobby to Meet the Morgans?” Josh asks.
I look down at my watch. “Absolutely. In fact, we’d better bust a move, y’all.”
Kat squeals and leaps up from the couch, her adorable baby bump leading the way. “Let Josh and Kat’s Weeklong Wedding Shindig begin!”
21
Ryan
“He offered a prayer so deeply devout that he seemed kneeling and praying at the bottom of the sea.”
A moment ago, the entire Morgan group including me stepped off the chartered bus that collected us from Kahului Airport, and now we’re walking behind a beautiful woman in a Hawaiian-print dress, headed toward the grand entrance of the sprawling beachside resort that’s about to become our home away from home for the coming week.
About twenty yards from the threshold of the lobby, my phone pings with an incoming text from Henn that stops me dead in my tracks: “Charlotte McDougal,” the text reads, followed by a phone number and the following note: “Please name your firstborn Hennessy, rather than Peter. Thanks.”
I stop walking and let the herd stream past me on both sides, my heart exploding in my chest.
“Everything okay, honey?” my mother asks, coming to a stop next to me.
“Yeah, I just need to make a quick call.” Without waiting for my mom’s reply, I sprint away, shouting over my shoulder. “Will you get my room key for me, Mom? Thanks! That’s why I love you the most, woman!”
I find a little bench next to a koi pond about fifty yards away from the hotel entrance and sit down, my chest heaving, and then, with shaking fingers, dial the number supplied by Henn.
“Hello?” a female voice says.
My heart stops. “Charlotte?”
“Yes?”
“Charlotte the flight attendant with red hair?”
“Yes? Who’s this?”
I clear my throat. “Hi, Charlotte.” I swallow hard. Shit. My throat is dry. “This might sound crazy, but this is Ryan Morgan, the guy you and your friend Samantha met about three months ago at The Pine Box?”
There’s dead silence on the other end of the line.
“In Seattle?” I add.
More silence.
Shit. Did Henn get the wrong redheaded Charlotte the Flight Attendant for Delta? I clear my throat again. “I bought you and Samantha drinks at the bar and then you went to sit with some guys at a table in the corner and—”
Charlotte cuts me off. “Yeah, I remember you, Ryan. I’m just shocked to hear from you after all this time.”
“But you remember me?”
“Of course. You’ve got pirate-tattoos all over your arms. Blue eyes. Chiseled jaw. Ridiculous muscles. Cocky grin. Swagger, swagger, swagger.”
I exhale with relief. “Yeah, that’s me. Well, I don’t know about the swagger part, but, yeah, I’ve got—”
She cuts me off: “You wanna know why I remember you so well, Ryan?”
Uh oh. I don’t like the tone of her voice.
“Because it’s not every day my best friend says yes to a date with a guy—in fact, other than you, it’s now been a full year since she’s said that magic word to a single guy—and, believe me, she gets hit on a lot.”
I know I should feel bad about Charlotte’s revelation, but I feel nothing but elated. “Wow, that’s—” I start to say, but Charlotte interrupts me.
“Let me cut to the chase here, Ryan,” Charlotte snaps. “To be honest, my friend thinks you’re a complete asshole and so do I. You—”
“But that’s why I’m calling,” I blurt, cutting her off. “If you’d just let me explain—”
Charlotte cuts me off again. “No, asshole. You’re gonna let me talk, or else I’m hanging up.”
I take a deep breath. “Okay.”
“Like I said, my friend thinks you’re a complete asshole and so do I. You shamelessly pretended to be Prince Charming to get into my friend’s born-again-virgin pants and then let her get blindsided by your blonde pterodactyl-girlfriend! You think my friend’s forgotten what your girlfriend told her about you? About how you hit on some woman at dinner earlier that same night, the minute your girlfriend got up to use the bathroom? About how you lied to your girlfriend and told her you were meeting your sister’s boyfriend that night? And let’s not forget the lovely things your shrieking blonde pterodactyl of a girlfriend screamed at my friend, too! Nice language. What a classy girl you’ve got there, Ryan. It was no wonder my friend ran out of there, crying.”
“Samantha cried?”
“Fuck, yes, she cried. Here she thought she was making this amazing connection with the perfect guy who was looking for something ‘real,’ and the next thing she knows his girlfriend shows up and starts calling her a ‘cunt’ in front of the entire freaking bar? And then she finds out you’re actually the kind of guy who trades phone numbers with women when you’re out on a date with—”
I cut her off. I can’t help it. “No, no. That was bullshit. I didn’t ‘trade phone numbers’ with anyone. Please, listen to me—”
But Charlotte doesn’t listen to me. Instead, she talks right over me, obviously enraged. “So if you think you can call me after all this time and just expect—” She abruptly pauses. “Hey. How the hell are you calling me after all this time? I didn’t give you my number.”
Shit. Why didn’t I anticipate this question from Charlotte? “Um...” I begin.
“How’d you get my number, Ryan?”
Oh, shit. I’m fucked.
Should I tell Charlotte I have a buddy that works for Delta? Or that Samantha gave me Charlotte’s number or that... Shit. My thoughts are racing. What lie can I tell and get away with it? I gaze down at the koi pond in front of me for a long beat. If I tell Charlotte the truth, she’s gonna think I’m a stalker and not let me near her friend. Will she hang up and maybe
even call the police? But if I don’t tell her the truth, how the hell will I convince her to trust me enough to give me Samantha’s phone number?
I exhale a deep, long sigh. I know it in my bones: if I’m gonna have any shot at getting this woman to lead me to Samantha, then I’ve got to take a leap of faith and lay myself bare to her. And so, that’s exactly what I do.
I tell Charlotte the entire story of the past three months, omitting Henn’s name and how I hooked up with him in the first place, beginning with the true story of what happened in that restaurant with the blonde and ending with my sudden idea to seek out Charlotte’s phone number today.
When I’m finished talking, I wait for Charlotte’s reaction, my heart clanging fiercely in my chest, praying from the depths of my soul Charlotte won’t freak out and hang up on me.
But there’s nothing but silence on the line.
“Hello?” I say, my breathing shallow. “You still there?”
“Yeah,” Charlotte replies (thank God). “Sorry. I’m just... Wow. Who is this hacker guy? How’d you find him?”
“He’s a friend of a friend. I can’t say more than that.”
“And you’ve been looking for my friend all this time—and... holding out for her?”
“Yeah, but it’s not quite as crazy as it sounds. I think I’ve felt the need to take a hiatus from the dating scene, anyway, to lick my wounds from the Bunny Boiler.”
“The ‘Bunny Boiler’?”
“My ex. The pterodactyl. You know, like in Fatal Attraction?”
“I’ve never seen it.”
“Oh. Well, Michael Douglas cheats on his beautiful wife with a closet-psycho who then breaks into his house and boils his daughter’s pet bunny.”
“Whoa.”
“Charlotte, please believe me: I’ve never done anything this crazy in my life.” I run my hand through my hair with one hand and press the phone against my ear with the other. “Honestly, I’m not completely sure why I’ve been so fixated on this one particular woman when I’ve got plenty of other options. All I know is I don’t want anyone else. I can’t stop thinking maybe she’s The One.” I pause, gathering my thoughts, my heart clanging. “Okay, maybe she’s not gonna end up being the woman for me—I’m not so far gone that I don’t still realize that’s a definite possibility here—but I feel like I owe it to myself to find out, once and for all, so that, either way, I can just move the fuck on. At the very least, I wanna clear my name with Samantha so she knows the stuff I said to her that night wasn’t bullshit and that the horrible shit Olivia said about me wasn’t true. I’m not a lying, cheating douche. I swear to God, Charlotte. I’m not perfect, but I’m a good guy.”
Tempt Me: A First Class Romance Collection Page 123
