The Good Mistake (Hemsworth Brothers #3)

by Haleigh Lovell

  My lips tipped into a flirtatious grin. “You betcha.”

  After a charged pause, Molly cleared her throat loudly. “Ahem! Speaking of dates,” she said. “Did you save the date for the big day? Mom sent out the invites months ago.”

  “Huh.” Edric scratched his beard. “When is it again?”

  “Next Saturday. And bruh, your beard game is strong, but I don’t think Mom will appreciate you showing up to her wedding looking like Christ Jesus our Savior.”

  “Hey, Jesus of Nazareth rocked that facial hair. Besides, I like looking like the Messiah.”

  “I don’t think Lucy likes it.”

  “I don’t,” I confirmed.

  “Fine,” he finally conceded. “I’ll shave before Bianca’s wedding.”

  “Thank you!” Molly sighed with relief. “Mom will be pleased.”

  “Is this Bianca’s fifth or sixth marriage now?” he asked.

  “Fifth,” McKenzie supplied. “We’re from her fourth marriage and you’re from her third.”

  “Don’t you think Mom is too old?” Molly said with a slightly put-off expression on her face.

  “Too old for what?”

  “To be falling in love again?”

  Too old for love? I had to bite my tongue. I marched for this?

  Hearing that, it was sad. Disheartening. But I was willing to cut Molly some slack since she was so young.

  Thankfully, she had an older brother who took it upon himself to show her the light. “Listen up, girls.” He adopted a more paternal tone. “Women do not expire like milk and you need to stop buying into that bullshit. Bianca is out there living her best life and I’m here for it.”

  Look at him, dropping nuggets of wisdom and fighting the patriarchy. My panties dropped, my vagina sang.

  “Your brother’s right,” I said, silencing my singing vagina. It was sad to see young girls perpetuating these negative stereotypes about their own futures. “One day, you’re going to be as old as your mom. We all will be, if we’re so lucky, and we’re all deserving of love.”

  “We know, we know,” they groaned. “Old is gold.”

  “Aren’t you excited for your mom?”

  “Well...” Molly hedged. “I guess I am. But I’m more excited for the party.”

  “Me, too!” her sister exclaimed. “I can’t wait to bust some moves on the dance floor. It’s gonna be lit! Lucy, you’re coming, right?”

  “Erm...” I worried my lower lip between my teeth.

  Meeting his sisters is one thing, but meeting his entire family?

  “Lucy, you must come,” Molly insisted. “Why wouldn’t you be his plus-one? You love my brother, don’t you?”

  As my hesitation stretched, Edric’s arms came around my waist and his hands slipped inside the back pockets of my denim shorts.

  Mmmm. This actually feels kind of nice... his palms pressing down on my ass.

  As we stood facing one another, he searched my face. “Well?” he prompted, forcing me to examine my feelings for him head-on.

  At that precise moment, the ride conductor opened the gate and everyone swarmed into the Full Throttle. Giddy with excitement, I darted forward and hopped into my seat, dropping the padded bar over my shoulders.

  Moments later, the conductor checked the safety bar twice and asked everyone sitting up front for a ‘thumbs up’ before pushing the magic button.

  Here we go. There’s no getting off this ride now.

  As we slowly chugged up to that first hill, jerking and clinking skyward, I realized I was in this rollercoaster with Edric and there was no turning back.

  We were in this crazy ride together and it just kept on going and going.

  There was so much momentum, so much force behind us that there was no stopping this ride.

  Soon, my heart was pounding with the strength of a hundred drums, as it always did on that first ascent, drowning out the clackity-clack of the metal tracks filling the air.

  Gravity stockpiled behind us as we crested the peak and I held my breath.

  As if sensing my nerves, Edric turned to me, his lips curving upward in a semi-grin. “We got this,” he said. It was such a small gesture, yet it lightened the weight on my chest for what was to come... my mastectomy, this ‘thing’ that was budding between us, this ride that might kill us all.

  Then the demon machine flung us downhill at full throttle and we zipped through the air like a flash of light. When we hit that first run, I screamed into the wind as the coaster flung us round a sharp curve.

  Now we were going faster and faster. There was a palpable sense of acceleration into the oblivion and I finally allowed myself to let go.

  How Edric will fit into my life in the long run remains to be seen.

  For now, I’m going to enjoy this crazy ride, I decided.

  It’s going to be wild but we’re gonna have the time of our lives.

  Chapter Twelve

  Edric

  “HUAAAAAAAAGH! HUAAAAAAAAGH!”

  What the actual fuck? Lucy sounded like she was being stabbed to death. “AAAARGH ACHOOO!”

  Cue me clinging to the ceiling.

  Her sneezes were cataclysmic. Terrifying. I’d been startled to near death so many times. “Here I thought I’d be dating a girl with a dainty sneeze. Someone who lets out a cute, tiny little ‘choo’ and—”

  “And instead you got me.” Her smile was all teeth.

  “Lucky me,” I said dryly. “Do you do that on purpose?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The preemptive scream followed by the violent explosion and then a long relieved sigh? I think it’s semi-intentional.”

  “It’s not,” she said sharply.

  “And sometimes there’s no lead-up to your sneezes, just a booming AAAARGHCHOOO that shakes the whole goddamn house.”

  “Lies,” she hissed.

  “Facts,” I retorted. “I’m sure you can sneeze quietly if you want to.”

  “See, the thing is I can’t. If I try to hold it in, I risk a nosebleed.”

  “Sure,” I said tonelessly.

  “Seriously, I can’t help it. It’s like this overwhelming, overpowering force working its way out of me and I just let it take over.”

  “Is it painful?”

  “Yes, and it’s knocked me over a couple times.”

  “Does it ever happen to you while you’re driving?”

  “Sometimes and it’s a bit scary, but I’m usually able to pull over before one erupts.”

  “Baby,” I said. “That’s dangerous.”

  Shrugging with purposed nonchalance, she said, “I’m a dangerous woman. Sorry if you’re used to dating girls who let out itty-bitty sneezes. But that ain’t me, mister.”

  “I know,” I said. “Why do you think I randomly text you ‘bless you’ when you’re at work?”

  “Oh, by the way, one of your ‘bless you’ texts came right after I sneezed and it totally freaked me out.”

  “That was the plan,” I said with a smile.

  “Oii!” She craned her neck and caught my eyes briefly. “How it’s going back there?”

  “Just dandy.”

  “Are you done yet?”

  “No,” I said, grunting as I looped a lace through an eye, tugging on the bones of her corset to pull in her ample bosom.

  She sucked in a breath and began reminiscing. “When I was a kid, I used to sneeze in church when everyone was bowing heads to observe a moment of silence. Then I’d look around to catch their reactions.”

  “What were their reactions?”

  “Some were offended. They thought I was sneezing extra-loud to be annoying. Others would simply smile and nod at me.”

  “Hah! I wish I had a gif for that.”

  “It was definitely a giffable moment,” she acknowledged.

  “Erm, this is a giffable moment.” I reined in a laugh as I reined in the laces of her corset. “I’m like a lady-in-waiting for Marie fuckin’ Antoinette.”

  Facing the
full-length mirror, she used her hands to hold the corset tight around her midriff. “How do I look?”

  “Sensational.” I looped another lace through an eye and tugged hard.

  “Look, I know this is a pain.” She inhaled deeply as I tightened the laces.

  “It is.”

  “And I know this evokes an image of Victorian women clutching their bedposts while their maids pulled and pulled at their corset strings. Doomed and cossetted by society, they battled against the restrictions of their undergarments to no avail,” she said morosely. “Ah, those poor Victorian women.”

  “Poor me,” I said, equally morosely. “I’m the fuckin’ maid-in-waiting here.”

  She sighed with heavy resignation. “What do you think would’ve happened if I was born during the Victorian era?”

  “You would have been beheaded so fast.”

  “You’re probably right. Now where was I going with this?”

  “Corsets are a pain,” I said helpfully.

  “Oh yes, I know this is a pain for both you and me, but I need to rein in these double D’s. I can’t have these bazongas knocking you out when we cut up a rug tonight.” She did a cute little shake and shimmy for me. “See! I’ve still got it.”

  “Lucy, it would be an absolute fuckin’ pleasure to be knocked out by your sandbags. Even if they give me a concussion, I don’t care. Bring it on, baby! It’ll be worth it.”

  “Hah!” She gave a short, hiccupping laugh. “Now that would be a giffable moment.”

  I knotted the lace at the very bottom and then spun her around to face me.

  “Do I look like a snack?” she asked, canting her head and striking a little pose.

  I swallowed with a dry throat. Lucy was a vision in her burlesque corset, the sight of her like a hard punch to my chest, driving the air from my lungs. “You don’t look like a snack.”

  “Humph.” Her mouth lifted into a stiff smile. “I don’t?”

  “You look like a whole buffet.”

  Her stiff smile turned into a full-fledged grin. “Much better.”

  “Baby,” I said, “you’re so strikingly beautiful that my heart stopped beating. It cannot be resuscitated with a defibrillator.”

  That elicited a little laugh from her. “Maybe I should dress like a burlesque dancer more often.”

  But it wasn’t just the corset. It was the way she unashamedly checked herself in the mirror, the way she carried herself like a queen.

  Looking at her reflection, she turned sideways to get a better view of her butt. “Even my bum looks great. A nice change from my nurse scrubs, huh?”

  “I like your nurse scrubs.”

  “What about when I’m dressed for the barn? I bet you love seeing my mucky boots tracking mud across your pristine wood floors.”

  “I like seeing your muddy boots.” I ran a knuckle along her cheekbone. “It means you’re home.”

  For a brief moment, our eyes met in perfect understanding.

  In the next breath, she began sifting her fingers through my hair like I was her plaything. “Look at you, all suited up and looking mighty sharp. Boiii, you look so hot I just got a tan.”

  “Well, obviously,” I stated. “And are you sure it’s a tan and not a sunburn?”

  Chuckling softly, she ran her fingers through my luscious locks. “You look very dashing tonight.”

  “I even put some product in my hair.”

  “I can tell.”

  “You like?”

  “I like,” she said with a coy inflection in her voice. “Very Justin Trudeau-esque.”

  “I’m not mad about the comparison. The dude looks like he was baptized in a pool of pure argan oil.”

  “From Morocco,” she added.

  “Of course,” I said. “Only the best essential oils are from Morocco.”

  After a quiet moment, she pursed her lips, considering. “Are you sure it’s okay I come to this wedding?”

  “Lucy, you’re not backing out now. I was encouraged to bring a date. Told to, as a matter of fact. And you know Molls and Kenz are expecting you.”

  “I know. And I think it’s great that you have such a great relationship with your sisters. Not everyone does. Did you know that Meghan Markle’s half-siblings weren’t invited to the royal wedding?”

  “No, but I know her half-sister compared Harry to a hamster on his birthday. That was priceless.”

  “It was.” A pause. “Will your dad be at the reception?”

  “No. He and Bianca didn’t exactly have an amicable divorce.”

  “What about your brother?”

  “Ender’s still touring at the moment; he made it into the semifinals at Roland Garros.”

  “Oh, so that’s why Adelaide’s in Paris right now.”

  “Yep. She wants to be right there in the stands, supporting my brother.”

  “I get that,” she said. “I just feel like I hardly ever see her around the house.”

  “Don’t take it personally. She’s not avoiding you, I promise. Adelaide’s just crazy obsessed with her research. Her lab is in the basement and that’s where she spends all her time. That’s just how it is with Adelaide; her workspace is her natural habitat. But you’ll see more of her once my brother’s home.” I checked my watch. “Hey, we should probably get going soon.”

  “Okay.” She stopped playing with my hair and patted my head as if I were Beethoven—the dog. “Good boy.”

  Stalking across the room, I poured myself a shot of tequila and tossed it back. “You ready to party?”

  “Like it’s nineteen ninety-nine.”

  “You want something to drink to take the edge off?”

  “Yes, please. Now what’s that rule again? Is it beer then liquor, never been sicker? Or is it liquor then beer, have no fear?”

  “I believe it’s liquor before beer, you’re in the clear. Beer before liquor, you’ve never been sicker.” I paused. “Or is it beer before liquor, get drunk quicker?”

  “Beer before liquor....” Her brows were furrowed in concentration. “You’ve never puked quicker?”

  “Some variation of that.”

  “I’m going with liquor.” Lucy knocked back a shot of tequila. “You wanna do another one?” She began refilling our glasses.

  “Why not?” I raised my glass and we slammed down our shots.

  “Hey,” she said. “We’re taking an Uber, right?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Since we don’t have to drive, we don’t have to drink responsibly. And you know what that means?”

  “What?”

  “We can play shots roulette!” she cheered. “Wahooooooooooo!”

  Right. I simply sent her a look that said, You make no sense at all, but I still love you.

  “All right,” she said with gusto. “Let’s do this!”

  And so we arranged six shot glasses in a row and filled three of them with tequila and three of them with water.

  Then we rolled the dice.

  “ARE YOU OKAY?” I TUCKED her arm through mine as we stepped through the veranda and into the lavish banquet hall.

  “I’m pfffine,” she said, slurring her words. “One tequila. Two tequila. Three tequila. Floor!” She swayed on her feet and I caught her right before she face-planted.

  Shots roulette? Bad idea. “Next time, I have a fun idea for a drinking game: take a shot of water every thirty minutes to make sure you’re healthy and hydrated.”

  “Pffffft!” she pooh-poohed. “That is no fun!

  “And this is?” A muscle flexed in my jaw. “You’ve had way too much to drink. I should take you home now.”

  “No, no, no.” She fixed her blurry-eyed gaze on me. “Liquor before beer, you’re in the clear, remember? So I am clearly in the clear!”

  “You’re clearly smashed,” I said tonelessly. Snaking an arm around her waist, I drew her closer to my side and looked for our place cards.

  “Don’t worry, Big Sexy.” She wrapped herself around me like a baby chimpanz
ee riding her mama. “I just need to sit somewhere and I’ll be pfffine. Just pfffiiinnne.”

  Before long, I found our table, which so happened to be tucked away in a corner.

  Thank God for small mercies. Hopefully we won’t draw too much attention over here.

  I pulled out a chair for Lucy and she collapsed onto it with the grace of a mountain gorilla.

  A waiter magically appeared as I sat down. “What would you like to drink, sir?”

  “I’ll just have some water, please.” I smiled my thanks.

  “And for you, ma’am?”

  She opened her mouth to speak but I immediately cut her off, “She’ll have water, too.”

  “I don’t just want water.” Lucy pouted profusely. “Do you have coke by any chance, kind sir?” She was staring at the waiter with soft, hopeful eyes.

  “Why, yes.” He gave a crisp nod. “We do.”

  “Wonderful.” She hiccupped. “Simply wonderful. I’ll have two lines, please.”

  The table went deadly silent. All eyes were fixed tightly on Lucy.

  “Ha ha.” I choked on a laugh as everyone looked on with abject horror. “Isn’t she something? Such a laugh, isn’t she? I call her Lucy the Laugh because as you can see, she is quite the laugh. Yes, yes, she is... this one, what a laugh she is. Isn’t she a right laugh?” My voice was strained and I trailed off on a hearty chuckle.

  What the fuck was I even saying?

  Lucy blinked as though she were in some sort of fog. “Why are you saying ‘laugh’ so many times? It’s not funny, Edric.”

  Everyone was now looking at us like we were cute but definitely not all there, the kind of look you gave a small child who was eating dirt at a playground.

  I noticed the waiter was still standing there, shell-shocked. “Sorry,” I said too quickly. “She’ll have a Coke or Pepsi—whichever you have. Thank you.”

  “Of course,” the waiter said somberly before swiftly departing on his errand.

  “He thinks I’m dating a cokehead,” I hissed under my breath. “Why the hell did you ask him for a line?”

  “His-hisss mustache,” she slurred. “I took one look at that stache and I wanted to buy a gram of booger sugar.”