Three Simple Words (Kingston Ale House)

by A. J. Pine

  Annie shrugged, wondering if he believed her nonchalance. She balled her hands into fists, then spread her palms flat against the skirt of her dress, making sure they were dry.

  “I’d say that question is a bit too loaded to answer. How about we cross that bridge when we get to it?”

  He held out his elbow, and she hooked her arm through it.

  “Cross it, jump right off it, burn it. None of it really matters.”

  Annie grabbed her jacket and led him toward the apartment’s front door, down the steps, and out to where his bike was parked at the curb.

  “You were going to drive me there on that?” she asked but didn’t wait for a response. “In this dress and the heels I should have had on and—”

  He was doing it again. The smiling and the looking sexy and— Stop having thoughts you shouldn’t be having about people you shouldn’t be thinking about.

  But it was too late. In the span of ten minutes, she’d gone from cursing the day to a feeling of lightness she hadn’t expected.

  Wes was unexpected, too.

  “I would have been fine going to this thing on my own,” she said.

  “I know.” He grinned. “But now you might actually have a good time.”

  She snorted. “You have a very high opinion of yourself. Don’t you?”

  He shrugged as they stopped in front of a small sedan parked a few spots down.

  “You will, too…eventually,” he said, and she laughed.

  “Is that the happy ending to your story tonight, Mr. Hartley?”

  She opened the passenger side and ushered for him to climb in.

  “You already know I don’t believe in those,” he said as he sank into the seat.

  She closed the door and made her way to the driver’s side.

  No, she reminded herself. He didn’t.

  Chapter Seven

  “So,” Wes said, deciding conversation was the best distraction for the hour-long drive. “How are we going to play this?”

  Annie’s eyes narrowed. “Explain yourself, please.”

  He shifted in his seat to face her and took a steadying breath. Even her profile was beautiful, her red hair against her milk-white skin. He had the sudden urge to tuck her hair behind her ear, but he kept himself in check by fidgeting with the radio controls.

  “I mean, Doug and Dan know this is an impromptu date—situation—whatever you want to call it. But they sorta seemed like it would have been awkward for you to come alone?”

  She groaned. “I thought you said you didn’t pity me.”

  He laughed. “I don’t. I was just wondering who you wanted to say I was. A friend? Your new boyfriend? Your little brother’s squirrely buddy who hitched a ride?”

  She backhanded him on the shoulder.

  “Celebrity guest?”

  She laughed hard and loud. “Do you really think of yourself like that? I don’t know, Mr. Hartley. You’ve changed quite a bit since you were that squirrely freshman.”

  He leaned against the door and crossed his arms. “And you think you knew me then.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe not, but I know enough to know you weren’t…” She waved him off. “…this.”

  “Charming?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Talented?”

  “No.”

  “Ridiculously good looking?” He made his best attempt at a smolder.

  “No!” she yelled, but her pale cheeks grew pink, and he grinned.

  “Look, all I’m saying is that we should have a story if anyone asks. That way you can shut people down as soon as they start questioning why you’re not with—”

  “Brett,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

  “He’s an idiot,” Wes said, his eyes intent on her.

  But she shook her head. “You don’t know that. It just wasn’t—we weren’t right, is all. It’s fine.”

  Annie swerved to avoid the remnants of a blown-out tire on the highway, and Wes instinctively gripped the handle above the passenger door. Maybe he should have thought twice about an hour in a car with an unfamiliar driver.

  A soft thump sounded on the floor in the backseat.

  “Shit,” Annie said. “I probably lost my place.”

  Wes reached back and grabbed the fallen item off the floor—a hardcover book. He laughed softly.

  “What?”

  He could hear the defense in her tone.

  “Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “I just get it now.”

  She narrowed her eyes but, thankfully, kept them on the road. “Get what?”

  He held up the book, tapping his finger against the almost kissing couple on the cover.

  “This,” he said. “This is why you hated my book. You like fantasy. I like reality.”

  A muscle ticked in her jaw. “Let me guess. You’re going to mansplain romance to me now? Your book is not a romance.”

  “I know,” he said, matter-of-factly.

  “Yeah, but everyone thinks it is. Reviewers call it a love story, and critics refer to Ethan as a romantic hero, and I don’t hear you disparaging that.”

  He laughed and dropped the book onto his lap. “Publicity is publicity. If it sells my books, who am I to knock it?”

  Her jaw tightened again. “But you’ll knock it in private?”

  He lifted a boot onto the dash and clasped his hands behind his head. “I’m not knocking anything. You have a right to like what you like, and I have a right to write what I write. I’m just saying that one is make-believe and the other is real life.”

  She gritted her teeth. “You know what? I’ve got our story. For the wedding. I’m here alone. Doug and Dan invited you. I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

  “Annie,” he said, but he got distracted as she exited the highway. Wes’s eyes widened as they pulled into the Central Illinois town of Bliss. They moved slowly down the small town’s main street, The Aisle. And he finally felt in control enough to relax.

  “This is real, right?” Annie asked, the anger ebbing from her tone. “Like, we’re not on a movie set or anything?”

  He shook his head. The street was lined with bridal shops, some of them even still open on a Saturday evening.

  “Is that a—?”

  “Wedding cake? Uh, yeah. Doug and Dan were not kidding about this place,” Annie said as they neared the end of the street. “That is a ginormous statue of a wedding cake.”

  “Monument,” Wes corrected. “Sorry. It’s just, statues are usually people, and monuments are more symbolic to memorialize—”

  Her eyes were back on the road, but Annie’s lips were pursed like she was keeping herself from saying something.

  “Sorry,” Wes said. “About that—and the book stuff, too. I kind of turn into an asshole when I’m nervous,” he admitted.

  She smiled. “You’re nervous?” she asked, turning down a side street before she plowed right into the mammoth wedding cake.

  He nodded, then chuckled as they passed a bar called Suckers. “Yeah. I get that way when I’m with a beautiful woman surrounded by bridal shops and giant wedding cakes.” He said this just as they pulled up to the valet of a quaint five-story hotel with whitewashed brick and arched windows called Blissful Nights.

  Annie lowered her window as a parking attendant came to the door.

  “Will you be staying overnight, miss?” the young man asked.

  “Overnight?” Annie asked, then paused.

  Wes froze midway from stepping out of the passenger side. He didn’t dare look her way, though. The drive was long enough to warrant it yet short enough to make it back to the city if they wanted. Annie hadn’t mentioned an overnight stay, and he hadn’t noticed a bag or suitcase or any indication that she’d planned on it, either.

  “Un…decided,” she said, and he heard her open her door.

  He exited the vehicle and tried not to grin.

  Jeremy was going to kill him.

  His gut twisted.

  When he’d told him abo
ut Doug and Dan’s wedding invitation, his friend had laughed.

  “God, you must be hard-up for a night out,” he’d said. “But hey, all the power to ya if Annie agreed to take you. She was pretty let down about going alone, so despite her intense dislike of your New York Times bestseller, I’m glad Doug and Dan convinced her to say yes. Sometimes my sister lets her pride get in the way of other people’s good intentions, but that’s exactly what she needs right now. Just, you know, keep your researching hands off her.”

  Wes scratched the back of his neck and made eye contact with the guy behind the reception’s open bar.

  “Two red wines,” he said, then turned to look over his shoulder to where Annie was talking to some friends. She stood out from the crowd, and not just because of the boots or her beautiful, coppery hair. Annie had this energy about her that brightened the room. She felt things passionately, even if what she felt was intense dislike for his book. He laughed. Maybe he’d been in the dark too long. Or maybe he’d just never known a light like hers existed, but all he wanted was for her to shine some of it his way.

  He’d told Jeremy he was escorting Annie with only the best of intentions, but what did it say that he was already thinking about kissing her? He couldn’t decide where this urge was coming from. Was it teenage him wanting to realize some fantasy he thought would never come true? Achieve the unattainable and prove to fourteen-year-old Wes that someday he would be something more? Or was it the usual—a challenge that he willed himself to conquer? In this case, charm the pants off a woman who wasn’t a fan of his work.

  He watched as Annie slipped her clutch under her arm so she could give a friend a hug. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, and her smile lit up her entire face. It was like her physical features weren’t enough to contain the unbridled affection she had for those who meant something to her.

  No. Kissing her wouldn’t be proving anything to the past. It would be all about now—about doing what it took to make a girl smile like that for him. To make that girl smile for him.

  “Your wines, sir.”

  But when he returned to her side, her smile was gone and her eyes no longer crinkled. The clutch was back in her hand, but her arms were crossed over her chest now as she pressed her mouth into a thin line, one he could tell she was trying to pass off as a smile to the guy facing her.

  Wes had enough exes to guess that Annie was most likely in the midst of an encounter with one of her own. He took a chance on his hunch.

  “Hey, babe,” he said, nudging her shoulder with his. “Got your favorite.” He hoped she’d play along.

  “Thanks, sweetheart,” she said as he handed her the wine, her expression relaxing. He wasn’t sure yet if she was rolling with it or if she was pissed. But he decided to keep going.

  The guy opposite Annie scoffed and glared at Wes.

  “Right. If you knew her, you’d have a White Russian in your hand right now.”

  Wes stifled another laugh, but a small snort escaped. “Right,” he said. “Because Annie’s The Dude. Good thing I made her swap the bathrobe for the dress.”

  Annie tipped the glass against her lips and took a long, slow sip.

  “That was your favorite drink, Brett. I drank it because you liked it. I don’t think you ever asked me what my favorite drink was.”

  Her tone was even, no hint of anger. She was just telling it like it was, but Wes’s jaw tightened nonetheless. How could someone not care what Annie liked?

  The guy—Brett—sputtered, but before he could say anything, a woman sidled up next to him. Wes thought he might have recognized her from the bookstore the other night, but she hadn’t been in his signing line. He would have remembered someone who bounced on her toes while everyone else stood still. She beamed at Brett but seemed to avoid looking Annie in the eye.

  “What are you doing here?” Annie asked under her breath.

  He shrugged. “Tabby and I are sort of seeing each other now. Doug and Dan invited her, so—”

  The blond woman tugged at Brett’s arm. Annie whirled to face her.

  “You’re seeing Brett?”

  Wes put a hand on Annie’s arm. “Hey,” he said softly. “What am I missing here?”

  She squared her shoulders. “What you’re missing is a proper introduction. Wes, this is Brett, my very recent ex, and this is Tabitha. My employee.”

  Tabitha held her head high and looked Annie square in the eyes. “I was invited to the wedding, too.”

  Annie opened her mouth to say something but no words came out. Wes guessed there’d probably been some overlap between Brett’s relationship with Annie and whatever he was doing with Tabitha. Annie, most likely, was thinking the same thing.

  “I want to try a White Russian,” Tabitha said, then pulled hard enough that Brett lost his footing and stumbled in the direction of the bar.

  “We’ll catch up later, Annie? We should talk.” His voice held a hint of pleading.

  Wes’s gaze volleyed between the two of them until he couldn’t take it anymore. He cradled the back of her head in his palm and whispered, “Slap me or play along. Either way it’ll be worth it.”

  He dipped his head toward hers, and when she didn’t pull away, he turned a high school fantasy into reality. It was just a small kiss, his lips softly brushing hers, but there was no mistaking the hitch in Annie’s breath when he pulled away. Or the way his heart threatened to burst free from his rib cage if he didn’t get his shit together.

  He turned toward Brett and the blonde staring at him and Annie, their mouths hanging open in small Os.

  “I think she’s gonna be busy later,” Wes said, then turned to Annie to see if the act was still going.

  She nodded and cleared her throat. “Yeah. Busy. I’m busy, but I hope you and Tabitha have a great night.” She drained the rest of her wine and set the glass on a passing server’s tray. Then she grabbed Wes by the hand and led him into the ballroom. “Let’s find our table, sweetheart.”

  He raised a brow and pushed back any thoughts of how he ended up here. Jeremy had entrusted him to be a good friend tonight, and Wes could argue that by kissing her he had done exactly that. Jeremy would most likely win the argument, probably with a fist to Wes’s face, but it would be worth it. If that kiss was all he ever got from Annie Denning, he’d risk the fallout just for the memory of it.

  “What is your favorite drink?” he asked once the other couple had gone.

  She took a sip from her glass. “This is really good, actually. I’m usually with Brynn, which means Kingston’s, which means my only choices are what Jamie has on tap. And I like beer. Don’t get me wrong. But this is nice. Being asked what I like is—well, it’s new to me, I guess.”

  “No one should ever take what you want for granted, Annie. A man who’d do that sure as hell doesn’t deserve someone like you.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “You’re not changing my mind about your book through flattery.”

  He laughed quietly to himself. He’d almost forgotten about the book. And her hating it.

  Almost.

  Annie checked their table card and weaved through the room until they found table #14. Wes narrowed his eyes and cocked his head.

  “Is that an ice sculpture of—?”

  Annie nodded. “The happy couple? Yeah, Doug and Dan go all out.”

  Wes marveled at the ice couple. Each table seemed to have them in a different pose. Theirs had one groom dipping the other as if they were Fred and Ginger. One table over had the two grooms bowling, of all things.

  “They’re in a super competitive league,” Annie said, following his gaze. She dropped her clutch onto one of the chairs and spun to face him, her hand covering her mouth as she giggled.

  “So, I guess we’ve got our story, huh?” she asked.

  The corner of his mouth quirked into a grin.

  “Depends. Does this story include me getting to kiss you again?”

  “That sounds like a line from your book.”

  He untwined
his fingers from hers, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “You mean the book you hated, right? Yeah, maybe it is, but I can’t help it. I write those lines. Sometimes reality bleeds into fiction. Sometimes it’s the opposite. Either way, I’ll try to keep it from happening again.”

  Shit. Talk about poking a festering wound. He hadn’t realized her thoughts on his book had mattered that much to him until now. Convincing her otherwise seemed like a fun game at first, but the more he realized he enjoyed being in Annie Denning’s presence, the more her opinion of him took effect.

  “So, that would be me being an asshole again. This is the part where I apologize. Again.”

  But she didn’t give him a chance to explain further.

  “Look,” she said. “There’s a speech somewhere in here about starting off on the wrong foot or whatever, but the truth is quite simple. Despite my feelings about your book—and your skewed opinion of the romance genre in general—I had a fun drive. And that kiss back there?” She blushed, and the sight made his chest tighten. “I like you, Wes. I don’t mean I want a relationship or anything. I mean, shit. I just showed up to a wedding to find out my ex was probably messing around with my employee when he decided coming here with me was too much of a commitment. I’d say my own date would be smart to sneak away and ditch this craziness when I’m not looking.” She paused for a couple of long breaths, then shrugged. “I come with way more baggage than someone needs for one date. Not that this is a date. Because it’s not. A date, I mean.”

  He smiled. Nope. This wasn’t a date. But it was pretty damn adorable that she was worried he’d want to bail, especially after letting his bruised ego butt into the conversation.

  He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his pants.

  “This isn’t a date,” he said. “Because your brother would probably murder me if it was.”

  She snorted, her auburn waves bouncing against her chin, a few strands sticking to her ruby red lips—lips he was dying to kiss again.

  He snuck his hand behind those strands, skimming his fingers across her cheek in order to tuck them behind her ear.