Pride and Papercuts
Page 28
When I looked up, the most unladylike snort ripped out of me at the sight of my brother.
Jett cut me a look, his blue eyes hard, but always glinting with humor. “Don’t,” he warned.
I circled him when he approached, eyeing his studded leather boots. “Are you supposed to be Viking Fabio?”
“Stop making it sound like I’m a Barbie doll.”
“Oh, I’d always insist you were a Ken.” I flicked the leather belt that criss-crossed his chest, eyeing his wig, which covered the inky black hair all the Bennets possessed. “I don’t think I like you as a blonde. It’s unnerving.”
“You’re dressed like Fabio, and I’m the one who’s unnerving?”
“Well, listen, Jett—if you can’t get a date in this, I don’t know that you ever will. Any hetero woman who doesn’t swoon at your vitality in this is either crazy or dead inside.”
He made a face. “I’d say thank you if you weren’t my sister.”
“Ha, ha.” I nailed him in the bicep hard enough that he winced. Or at least pretended to.
“Here they come!” Cam called over her shoulder as the line began to form at the door.
“Seriously. It’s singles night, and I’m making Cam find you a lady,” I insisted.
But Jett rolled his eyes so hard I couldn’t even see the irises for a second. “I don’t need help finding a lady, especially not from Cam. A match made by Cam is the kiss of death. It always turns out the exact opposite from what she intends. The last girl I let Cam hook me up with ended up engaged halfway through the night. To another guy.”
“Ouch.”
He laid a hard look on me. “I mean it. Don’t.”
I put my hands up. “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll do it myself.”
With a laugh, I dodged him when he tried to grab me, spinning away.
See, Jett was the last of my brothers to pair off. The other three were well on their way—one married even—and worse than that, Jett and I were the oldest. Dusty old spinsters, if our mother was to be believed. If Mrs. Bennet desired anything, it was seeing her children married and breeding. I think she would have happily taken breeding alone, if given the choice between that and the alternative.
Thankfully Jett and I had escaped her designs by moving a hundred blocks away.
Either way, Jett had been unlucky in love. I didn’t quite understand why—the guy was smart, funny, and cut like granite. He was well over six feet tall and handsome, with the sharp jaw, Roman nose, and brilliant blue eyes all of us had. He was handsome, and I didn’t just say that because we were twins. By anyone’s standards, even a sister who got a little urpy at the sight of his nipples, he was straight out of the oven. But he’d always had trouble picking the right girl. He’d been railroaded and run around, too kind and honorable for anything less than trust as a given. And as such, he’d been through a string of girls that I’d like to have gouged the eyeballs out of.
Tonight would be the perfect night to change that. Everyone was ridiculous in a Fabio wig. And any girl who would happily make a fool out of herself for the sake of a good time had an automatic foot in the door, in my book.
And if I knew my brother at all, in his book too.
* * *
Within an hour, Wasted Words was stuffed to the gills.
Cam and I stood on the stage where a DJ played Tina Turner’s “Simply The Best” as a nod to the theme of the night—cheesy 80s romance.
Before us stretched a sea of luscious Fabios with drinks in their hands. Enough of the men had stripped shirts for their free drinks that there was also a healthy amount of skin, and they wore it well. The line at the bar was insane and three-quarters full of women who took their turns with the beefy bartenders and their dark smiles. The party was a success as our singles nights usually were. Cam’s knack for bringing the comic book nerds and the romance lovers was uncanny, and she’d done it for three wildly successful years. Enough that I was sure there were at least a couple of toddlers named after her.
She elbowed me in the ribs and pointed at the door. “There he is,” she yelled over Tina. “See for yourself.”
I followed her finger across the crowded room to the door, and I think the entire universe leaned in the same direction.
Toward him.
He was a vast darkness, a vacuum of power, and every molecule in the room raced toward him as if they were all his simply by means of his presence. Tall and square-shouldered, his face was lined by a jaw of stone, a thick crop of dark hair to match authoritative brows of burnished brawn. He was an anomaly in a suit. An impassive animal confined by a suit of depthless black, eyeing the wig in Ruby’s hand with such quiet disdain, you’d think he was politely refusing a plate of fried bugs.
The girl at his side—a small thing with a wide smile and hair the color of sunshine—laughed with a playful air, tugging on her wig before chasing after him to hook her arm in his. They were night and day, the light and the dark. The cheer and the sobriety. A juxtaposition, but somehow a whole. When he laughed at something she said, it was there in the corners of his smiling lips, that thread that connected him.
His sister, I realized. Or hoped.
Jett nudged me, and I jolted in surprise. “What are you gawking at?”
“Nothing, what are you gawking at?” I asked.
“At you gawking.”
Cam laughed and grabbed my hand. “Come on, let me introduce you.”
As she pulled me away, I snagged Jett’s hand and towed him along. Because if I was going to face whatever beast waited for me, Jett was coming with me.
We wound our way through the crowd and to the outer edges where they stood watching the crowd, her with a bright, smiling face and him with narrowed, suspicious eyes. Both looked wildly out of place in their expensive businesswear among the Fabio wigs and naked beer guts. I tried to imagine Darcy in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and couldn’t fathom it. The whole of him just stood in my mind like a paper doll in its skivvies with nothing to wear but a suit or nothing at all.
When we came to a stop before them, their gazes turned to us. Well, hers skipped. His sort of slid.
“Laney, Jett,” Cam started, “I’d like you to meet Miss and Mr. Darcy.”
“Oh, please—call me Georgie,” she said with a smile, sticking out her hand enthusiastically for a shake.
I instantly loved her, and wondered if Cam would be mad if I asked her to be my best friend too.
Smiling back, I took that hand and gave it a good shake, mentally complimenting, her solid and honest grip “Laney Bennet. Nice to finally meet you.”
“I was so disappointed not to get to meet you at the big dinner, but—” Georgie paused, her eyes shifting behind me and sticking there. Her face slackening, her eyes widening. “And who is this again?” She said it as if in a daze, and confused, I glanced over my shoulder to follow her gaze.
Which was locked on Jett.
I moved out of the way, a slow smile spreading across my face as I realized finding a lady for Jett might be easier than I thought. “This is my brother, Jett.” Who wore an equal look of utter stupefaction on his face.
“Hello,” he said in a velvety voice I didn’t recognize. He offered a strong square hand, and hers slipped into his palm, nearly disappearing when he closed his fingers.
“Jett,” she said, testing the word on her tongue. “Yes, of course. Cam just said that, didn’t she?”
He smirked. ”She did. Nice wig.”
A nervous laugh tittered out of her, and she brought her small hand to her head as if she’d forgotten about it. “Quite a party you throw.”
“Any excuse to break out my loincloth.”
Another laugh, this one more relaxed, and with that, the two of them took a step closer to each other, then another, and with the last, we had been excluded from the conversation they continued to have.
Suspicion wafted off of Darcy as he watched our siblings, and the realization raised my hackles by increment. But he didn’t intervene, just
stood there with narrowed eyes and his hands clasped behind his back.
I tried to ignore the beauty and strength in the breadth of his shoulders by noting the line of elite pride they made, sharp as a knife. Something about him made me feel silly, and the desire to take off my wig to even the playing ground made me feel even sillier.
Cam pulled her phone out of her pocket, frowning. “That’s Tyler—he’s got the baby at home alone. I’ll be right back,” she promised to no one in particular as she scuttled off.
And Jett took Georgie’s hand and dragged her onto the dance floor, and I watched them go, smiling.
Leaving me alone with him.
It was then I noticed the tingling of my nerves, gathering at my cheeks, one in particular, the one closest to him. Instinctively, I turned toward the feeling and found myself pinned beneath the weight of his gaze.
This must be what a rabbit feels before the wolf devours it.
Everything about him was imposing, as if he took up more space than his mass alone required. As if somehow he consumed all the nearby air to power the rise and fall of his broad chest. I was unable to determine if he was disapproving or just bored. If he was judging me or simply indifferent. All I knew was that the intensity of his observance had disconnected several wires in my brain.
I blinked, flashing a smile before breaking the connection, turning to search for Jett and Georgie in the crowd, finding them bouncing around to “Sudio”.
“Well, they seem to have hit it off.”
“Seems so.”
A hot sensation bloomed in my chest at two little words. Words that, unlike his demeanor, I could instantly tell were disapproving.
“I can’t remember the last time I saw Jett dance. He’s better at it than I remember.”
He made a noncommittal noise.
And we fell into an awkward, fumbling silence.
I grappled for something to say, anything to fill the noiseless void between us. “And how about you, Mr. Darcy? Do you dance?”
“Not if I can help it.”
I cast him a look, a disbelieving laugh puffing out of me, but he stood there, stoic and stern, watching the dance floor like if he concentrated hard enough, he could conjure up the great secrets of the universe. But before I could respond, Cam was back, grabbing at my arm.
“The baby has a fever,” she said, and I thought she might be about to cry. “Tyler’s got it, I mean it’s just a little low grade fever, but I just want to talk to him for a minute longer, and Fabio just got here. Will you make the announcement so I don’t cry like a crazy person all over the microphone?”
I chuckled, pulling her into a hug. “Of course, and don’t worry. She’ll be fine.”
Cam sniffled. ”God I’m the worst. Thank you, Laney.”
The second I let her go, she hurried off again.
Eager to get away from my uncooperative companion, I turned back to excuse myself.
But he was gone.
I brushed away an unexpected streak of disappointment and headed to the stage with my chin up, which might have raised my nose in snobbery.
If Liam Darcy didn’t want to talk to me, then I would happily oblige.
* * *
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About the Author
Staci has been a lot of things up to this point in her life: a graphic designer, an entrepreneur, a seamstress, a clothing and handbag designer, a waitress. Can’t forget that. She’s also been a mom to three little girls who are sure to grow up to break a number of hearts. She’s been a wife, even though she’s certainly not the cleanest, or the best cook. She’s also super, duper fun at a party, especially if she’s been drinking whiskey, and her favorite word starts with f, ends with k.
From roots in Houston, to a seven year stint in Southern California, Staci and her family ended up settling somewhere in between and equally north in Denver, until they grew a wild hair and moved to Holland. It’s the perfect place to overdose on cheese and ride bicycles, especially along the canals, and especially in summertime. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, g
aming, or designing graphics.
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www.stacihartnovels.com
staci@stacihartnovels.com