by Julie Kriss
His voice was low. “Megan.”
“I’m not doing this.” I forced the words out as I stepped into the dress and pulled it up. “I’m not.”
“Doing what?”
“Whatever it is that you want.” I motioned between us. “This.” I managed to raise my eyes to his throat, but no higher. Even the sight of his white dress shirt, the knot of his tie, made my chest hurt. I glimpsed his mouth, pressed softly in unhappy confusion, and had to look away again, yanking at the zipper of the dress and grabbing the belt from the floor. “All this talk about serious stuff. About us.”
“Look,” he said. “Don’t worry. After we get back, we can—”
“We’re not doing anything after we get back.” I looked up again, making myself look into his handsome face. Something inside me cracked painfully, so hard I could almost hear it. “Don’t you see?”
He was watching me from those deep brown eyes below their slashes of brows, something flickering in the depths of his gaze. Uncertainty, perhaps. Hurt. “No, he said softly, with a note of coolness. “I don’t see.”
That note of coolness made it easier. “Jason, I’m not doing this,” I said. “It’s just a stupid wedding. A bad idea in the first place. But that’s all it is.” I motioned to the window, where the sounds of the orchestra came through. “It’s a favor. One weekend. Some sex. A blow job. That’s all.”
The room fell quiet. Jason went very, very still.
I could hear my own breathing, harsh and rasping.
We’re not anything.
We can’t be anything.
I couldn’t be anything with Jason, because something with Jason would inevitably be something big. Something that would matter. I would screw it up. I had no practice with a man like him, nothing he could want, no kind of life, maybe no life at all. And for all my brave words when I’d told him my story at that roadside picnic table, in my panic it all felt very real, closing in on me, suffocating me. I looked at him and my body still hummed from what he’d done to me, and I knew that if I couldn’t have everything with him, I didn’t want anything.
“I have to go,” I said, grabbing my handbag. He said nothing, just watched me as I walked to the door. He had shut down, quietly and subtly in that moment of silence, and it sliced through me. Congratulations, I told myself. You did it. You hurt Jason Carsleigh’s feelings harder than he ever hurt yours.
Still I walked out, leaving him behind. I stopped in the bathroom and fixed my makeup, my hair. There was no sound from the room behind me. Jason did not come out. I looked at my face in the mirror.
For a second, I thought the fear would crush me. I couldn’t breathe.
I was the spitting image of my mother. I could have been her twin.
I took a breath. Then I left the bathroom and went down to the reception, where all of the guests were waiting.
Twenty-Four
Jason
I’d freaked her out. I’d sent her straight back into her own head, straight back into the worry and the fear. Straight to the place she didn’t want to be, offering her things she’d never said she wanted. Because I wanted them, and I was a selfish ass.
It had been so fucking intense, so wild and amazing. I hadn’t even been inside her, and it had still been the best sex I’d had in my life. The best encounter I’d ever had with a woman, period. My first blow job in five years, which she had to have figured out. Five years. And she’d given it to me without asking, like a gift. It was hot and fun and grown-up in the best possible way.
I’d pushed it. Of course I’d pushed it. I didn’t know any other thing to do in that moment, any other way to be. I’d wanted her. Not just to fuck her—I’d wanted her. I’d forgotten that the last thing she wanted out of this weekend was me.
Unless you’re fucking her, a voice inside my head reminded me.
And Megan’s voice: One weekend some sex. A blow job. That’s all.
I ran a hand through my hair and picked up my vest, buttoning it.
Charlotte had never wanted sex. Megan wanted nothing else.
And suddenly, I was pissed off. And done.
I shrugged on my jacket, checked myself in the mirror, fixed my hair. Sex usually put me in a good mood, but I was tense, my expression tight. I felt a chill snake through the heat of hurt that was squeezing my lungs. There’s a wedding reception outside, I told myself. Just do it. Easy. And then you’re done.
This was who I was, after all. Why I was here. The fake date. It was the only reason I was here.
I left Megan’s room and walked down the hall to the stairs. She was gone, likely already at the reception. Outside, the sun was high in the sky, the wind crisp from the ocean. It was only early afternoon.
As I crossed the complex toward the reception hall, I pulled out my phone and called Dean.
“Carsleigh,” Dean said when he answered. “How’s the wedding? You drunk and doing a conga yet?”
“God help me, no,” I replied.
“Jeez,” Dean said. “That bad? What’s the ex-boyfriend like?”
“About what you’d expect from a guy who makes apps and gets married in Cape Cod.”
He understood immediately. “Oh, fuck. Goatee?”
“Plus earring.”
He grunted. “Megan could do better.”
She could. Even through my anger and hurt, I knew that. I was silent for a second, and here’s how well Dean knew me: He said into the silence over the line, “Oh, man, you’re fucking her.”
“No. I’m not.”
“Jason.”
“I’m not fucking her,” I said. “That’s not what it is.”
“Hmm,” Dean said, which meant he was thinking. I’m fucking her, in guy-speak, means it’s meaningless sex; I don’t care. I was telling him that wasn’t the case, regardless of any actual fucking. “Okay,” he said, getting my drift. “So you like her.”
“It’s one-sided,” I said. “She just made that clear.”
“Maybe she’s lying.”
I stopped outside the reception hall and shifted on my feet, scratched my chin, looked up at the sky. “Okay, I’m going to tell you something,” I said. “We went to a party before I met Charlotte. Megan has been mad at me ever since.”
“What party? What did you do?”
So I told him.
He was quiet when I finished. “Shit, I don’t even remember that party,” he said finally. “What a fucking mess. That’s not like you, man. That sounds like something I would have done, not you.”
“It’s true. You were the hookup guy, not me,” I said. “Remember that time we got into a strip club with fake ID’s? And then you—”
“Oh, shit, that was years ago,” Dean said. “I was a different guy. Holly will never know that story. Never. I might have to kill you if you say another word.”
I laughed despite myself. Needling my best friend was cheering me up a little. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Correction,” Dean said. “I was an asshole. I’m not anymore. And you never were. Except that one time, I guess.”
“Taking her to this wedding was supposed to be my apology,” I said. A bridesmaid passed me, wobbling on her heels, and gave me a smile as she disappeared into the reception hall. “Things got… out of hand, and now she’s panicked, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Carsleigh,” Dean said, “are you seriously asking me for advice on your love life?”
“You must know something,” I said. “You’ve managed to keep my sister as your girlfriend. And my sister is pretty awesome.”
“I don’t know anything about women,” Dean said simply. “I only know about one woman.”
That made me pause. “Shit, you really do love her,” I said.
“Since you haven’t sliced my balls off yet, you already knew that.”
I did. It was weird for me, having my best friend and my sister as a couple, but the longer they were together, the more I trusted him with her. Dean didn’t fake things, and he didn’t fuck a
round. When he was all in on something, he was all in. Like me.
“Then tell me something,” I said. “What if it was Holly who was shutting you out right now? What if it was Holly who was telling you she didn’t want you?”
“I’d give her space,” Dean said. “I’d have no choice. Okay, I’d break things. Maybe a lot of things. But I’d do that in private. And then I’d settle in and wait, because she’s worth it.”
“Fuck,” I said. “I pushed her. I always go too far, too fast. I keep fucking this up.”
“There’s something else to think about,” Dean said. “There’s you. You just got out of that shit show with Charlotte, which was four years of your life. You need to get your own shit together, Jason. Maybe she has to wait.”
I stared down at my shoes. He was right. Maybe I needed some time, some space. I had things to figure out. “Okay,” I said. “Got it.”
“Good. And don’t ever ask me about this shit again. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go find my dick and put it back on.”
“Fuck you, Madden,” I said, and hung up.
That was what passed for affection between Dean and me.
The reception was noisy, with the orchestra playing and the guests milling around, drinks in hand. Megan was talking to her aunt Janice, though her eyes stayed on me as I walked into the room, pocketing my phone. She looked tense and pale, her arms crossed over her chest. I didn’t go to her; I couldn’t do the pretend-date thing, not right now, while I was too raw. I had walked to the bar and ordered a beer when a hand clapped me on the shoulder.
“Hey, man,” Kyle said.
Of course. I’d have to talk to this guy. “Hey,” I managed back. “Congratulations.”
“I feel like we’re bros now,” Kyle said. He was holding a tumbler with something clear in it, and I realized he was drunk. “You know, bros,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder again. “Because of Megan.”
I took my beer, trying not to puke in my mouth. “Yeah, not really,” I said.
“She’s a fantastic girl. Amazing.” He leaned in. “I was her first. Maybe she told you.”
I looked into his bleary eyes. “No, because she doesn’t make creepy conversations like this,” I said. “But thanks anyway.”
“You guys should come visit us when we get the new house,” Kyle said, as if I hadn’t spoken. “I’d love to get to know Megan again. I mean, look at her. Man, oh man.” He shook his head. “What a great summer that was. I have good memories.”
“Yeah?” I sipped my beer. “You tell your wife about those good memories?” His pained expression was almost comical, so I added, “She’d probably love to hear how you screwed a seventeen-year-old girl who had just lost her mother, then dumped her for her cousin. It’s a great story.” I clapped him on the shoulder, just like he’d clapped me, but harder. “You’re a champ.”
“Kyle?”
Stephanie was coming toward us, her expression polite, but her gaze searching. She was still wearing her simple white wedding dress, though she’d removed the veil.
“We were just reminiscing,” I said to her. I smiled. “Congratulations.”
That made her smile back at me, a genuine smile. This guy didn’t deserve her. “Thank you.” She took Kyle’s arm. “Let’s go get you a glass of water. It isn’t even two o’clock.”
They walked away. I watched them, sipping my beer. I felt Megan approach at my elbow before I saw her, like she gave off an electric force. I looked down to see her following my gaze. “The happy couple,” she said.
“Yeah,” I said, looking at her and not them. She had fixed her makeup and her hair, and she was starkly beautiful, her white skin flawless next to the blue satin dress, her dark hair tied up with its unruly curls escaping. She had lip gloss on.
She knew I was looking at her, but she kept her gaze straight ahead. “Are you mad?” she asked me.
I’d break things, Dean had said. And then I’d settle in and wait.
Maybe she has to wait.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Maybe a little. I don’t know. Feelings aren’t my strong suit. Are you?”
She shrugged, the motion tight, and for a second her expression wavered. “I don’t want you to be mad.”
She had that same brittle vulnerability on her face that she’d had when she confessed to me what had happened at that party. Like her walls were up, but just barely. I sighed. It was hard to be pissed at her when she looked like that. “Look, we’ll just talk about it some other time, all right?”
“I shouldn’t…” She cleared her throat as if the words were hard. “I shouldn’t have said those things.”
“I’ll deal.”
“That isn’t what I mean. I’m not saying it right.”
“Megan. I’ll just shut up and deal, all right? It’s what I do. I don’t want to talk about it right now. What’s got you so upset, anyway?”
Her expression shut off, went blank again. “My aunt knows about what happened between me and Kyle.”
I felt my eyebrows rise. “How?”
“She figured it out at the time. I guess I wasn’t as secretive as I thought I was.” She looked around the room. “It’s why I haven’t been part of this family since. Why they’ve shut me out.”
“Because you dated Kyle for a month when you were a teenager?”
“And because Stephanie doesn’t know.” She crossed her arms again and sighed. “I’m the scarlet woman. It was Stephanie who invited me to the wedding, because she’s oblivious. Otherwise I wouldn’t be on the list. Funny, huh?”
She finally looked up at me, and I caught her gaze with mine. We locked there for a minute. I could see everything—her pain, her uncertainty.
“Yeah,” I said. “Real funny.”
She looked at me for a moment longer, as if she was searching for something, and then she looked away. “The speeches are coming next,” she said, “and then dinner, and then the music and dancing. This thing is going to go on for hours.”
I shrugged. “Not necessarily.”
She frowned at me. “What does that mean?”
“Think about it, Megan.”
Her spine went straight, her shoulders back. “There’s nothing to think about,” she snapped. “I’m getting a drink, and then we have to go back to playing nice.”
“Right,” I said. “Have fun.”
She shot me a look that was part glare and part wariness, and then she stalked off toward the bar.
I watched her go, and I made a decision.
She wouldn’t decide for herself. Not right now, in the head space she was in. But I could. I could decide for both of us.
I turned and walked out the door.
Twenty-Five
Megan
An announcement was made that the speeches were starting, and everyone moved over to the tables, looking for their labeled places. I turned from the bar and looked around the room.
Jason was gone.
I looked again. Yes, definitely gone.
My first reaction wasn’t anger, but a flash of panic. I didn’t like that blank space where he’d just been. It made me feel unmoored and alone.
I did a circuit of the room, looking. I checked the hall with the bathrooms, loitered there for a minute. When I’d been there long enough for people to give me odd looks, I moved on and did a circuit of the room again.
He wasn’t there. The panic faded and the anger seeped in. Did he think he was punishing me? Was this some kind of snit? That didn’t seem like him. Where the fuck did you go, Jason?
Everyone was sitting down, chairs scraping, silverware clinking. The wedding party had assembled on the dais at the front of the room, where they’d sit while the speeches went on. There would be those endless “kiss the bride” toasts, and joking speeches from the best man and the maid of honor, and a tearful speech from Aunt Janice about how happy they made each other. In a second, everyone would be sitting and the room would be quiet. Still no Jason.
I saw the places se
t for us at one of the tables, empty. People were starting to give me looks again.
Damn it. I put down my drink and slipped out the door just as the orchestra stopped and a round of applause began. I walked back to the B & B, thinking I’d try his room. I knocked on his door to no answer.
He wasn’t in his room. He was in mine.
He’d taken off the three-piece suit; he was back to wearing worn jeans and his Thunderbird shirt, his hair tousled, the sexy watch on his wrist. My suitcase was open on my bed, and he was pulling the clothes I’d left strewn around the room and folding them. “Hey,” he said casually when he saw me.
“Hey?” I nearly shouted. “What are you doing? How the hell did you get in here?”
“You took the key with you when you left. I had to leave it open.”
He was right. I’d taken the key with me when I’d walked out of here, after having wild sex with him, and then insulting him. I kept my gaze away from the dressing table in the corner where he’d made me come. “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing with my things?”
He straightened and looked at me. His gaze was dark, implacable, unlike Jason’s usual cocky expression. “We’re leaving,” he said. “In fifteen minutes.”
“What? We can’t leave now.”
“Sure we can,” he said, putting my pajama t-shirt in my suitcase. “We just walk out and go.”
“The speeches are starting,” I said. “Everyone will know. And that’s my bra.”
He had my rattiest bra in his hand, the one that no woman ever lets a man see, no matter how dire the situation. I had the urge to tackle him and wrestle it out of his hand, but that would only draw his attention to it.
“Well, I hope it’s yours,” he said, throwing it in the suitcase without noticing. “Otherwise that would be weird, since it’s in this pile with your underwear.”
