Save the Date (Wild Wedding Series Book 3)

by Ann Marie Walker

“Of course you do,” Cassie said, smiling and shaking her head.

  “Actually, we do,” he corrected. “My kingdom is half yours.”

  Cassie inhaled a slow, deep breath through her nose. Rebecca knew from many late-night chats over far too many glasses of Merlot just how uncomfortable Cassie was with the concept of “what’s mine is yours.” While that sounded great in theory, it was a bit hard to swallow when half of the pair brought so much more to the table. Which was why Cassie had broached the subject of a prenup with Hank. The suggestion had gone over like the proverbial lead balloon, but Rebecca could certainly understand Cassie’s motivation. Marrying a man with great wealth wasn’t that different from discovering you have a half-brother with a bank account to rival that of any royal family. The way Cole threw money around, Rebecca sometimes pictured him as Scrooge McDuck, diving into a pool of gold coins. She’d shared that imagery with Olivia one night, and they’d laughed until their stomachs ached. Of course, that could have also been due to the fact that they’d split a pint of ice cream, but still, it was a rather apt comparison.

  “Well I, for one, am hoping to relieve you of a portion of that kingdom tonight,” Conor said. He threaded his fingers and cracked his knuckles. “So, if you ladies will excuse us, we men have some cigars to smoke and some poker to play.”

  Cassie and Olivia stood, but Rebecca stayed right where she was. She took a hefty gulp of her frothy cocktail and waited for one of the men to notice. It didn’t take long.

  “What?” she asked her brother’s raised brows. “I can play poker just as well as you lot.”

  “Yeah, right,” Cole snorted. He began passing out the stogies but paused at the sight of Olivia, standing behind Rebecca with a carousel of brightly colored poker chips in her hands.

  Rebecca lifted her chin and fixed her brother with a hard stare. “I’m sure your wife would like to hear you explain why I need a dick to play poker.”

  Olivia laughed at the horrified look on her husband’s face. It was fifty-fifty whether it was from the thought of Rebecca playing poker with a cigar-smoking group of Neanderthals or her use of the word dick. Either way, it was clear that she was thoroughly enjoying seeing him in the hot seat. “Don’t look at me,” she said. “You dug this hole, you can shovel your way out.” With that, Olivia set the chips on the table. “Take him for all he’s got, Becs.” Her sister-in-law gave her a playful wink before planting a kiss on Cole’s cheek. “Good luck, baby. Something tells me you’re going to need it.”

  “This is going to be even better than I hoped,” Conor said. He grinned around the unlit cigar he held between his teeth.

  “Don’t worry,” Rebecca said as the group moved to a smaller table closer to the fire pit. “I’ll go easy on you.” She smiled sweetly. “At first.”

  Brody settled into the chair across from her while Conor, Hank, and Cole filled in the seats between them at the round table. “No need to go easy on me,” Brody said. Holding her gaze, he took a slow drink from his beer. “I’m feeling lucky tonight.”

  Hank shuffled the cards while Cole exchanged everyone’s cash for chips.

  “What do you do for a living, Brody?” Rebecca asked in an effort to fill the awkward silence.

  The men all stilled. It was Conor who finally spoke. “You’re joking, right?”

  “Well, I know he doesn’t work with Cole, and I assume he’s not in the royalty biz. So, unless he does—” she paused “—whatever it is you do all day, Conor, then I honestly have no idea.”

  “I play football,” Brody said. There was a hint of amusement in his voice.

  “For a living?” she asked him.

  His broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It pays the bills.”

  Conor erupted in a fit of laughter. When he finally quieted, he shook his head. “Dude’s being modest.” He glanced at Brody’s hand as he reached for the cards Hank had dealt him. “And he’s not even wearing his ring.”

  Ring? Rebecca’s heart flipped inside her chest. Surely this guy wasn’t married?

  “Rings. Plural,” Cole corrected as he slid his cards closer.

  Each of the guys tossed their opening bets into the middle of the table. Rebecca stole another glance at her cards, then upped the ante.

  “Believe it or not, Conor,” Brody said. “Most guys don’t wear their Super Bowl rings around. They tend to be a little gaudy.”

  Conor shook his head. “Who cares, man? I can’t imagine a better pussy magnet.”

  Cole kicked Conor under the table. “Watch your language, dipshit. There’s a lady at the table.”

  But Rebecca couldn’t have cared less about Conor’s colorful language. She was just so damned relieved to hear they weren’t talking about a wedding ring.

  “Brody just signed a contract with the Bears,” Hank explained.

  “That’s great,” Rebecca said. She took a sip of her margarita then slowly licked a bit of sugar off her bottom lip. “Now I don’t have to feel guilty about taking all your money tonight.”

  His gaze lingered on her mouth before his green eyes met her blue. “Guess we’ll have to see about that.” A knowing grin curved his lips as he matched her bet. “Lady Luck.”

  But for all her talk, it was Brody who had all the luck. Over the course of the next hour, the guys folded one by one, until only Cole, Brody, and Rebecca remained in the game.

  Cole didn’t last long. “I’m out,” he huffed on the next round. He tossed his cards facedown on the table and stood. “Think I’ll go check on my wife. See if maybe I can convince her to put her feet up.”

  Rebecca wanted to roll her eyes. If he was this neurotic when she was only three months along, he’d give himself a stroke when she was waddling around as big as a house. But a part of her also thought it was incredibly sweet. Seeing her hard-as-nails brother reduced to a giant marshmallow puff made her feel all warm and fuzzy. Of course, that could have also been the tequila.

  “I’m not far off,” she said, eyeing her dwindling stack of chips. But hell if she was folding. Her pride wouldn’t let her. No, she’d see this through to the bitter end.

  The next hand was dealt just as Cole made his way into the penthouse. Hank and Conor remained, adding their own commentary as Brody continued to raise the stakes. Rebecca matched him chip for chip until her small stack was gone. She glanced at her hand. Her cards were decent enough, but if he upped the ante again she’d have no choice but to fold.

  She watched him, his eyes darting from his hand to hers and then to the pile of chips that remained in front of him. He lifted his hand, but instead of reaching for another stack, he simply rubbed the stubble on his jaw.

  “How about we make this a little more interesting?” he said.

  Rebecca stilled, but beneath the calm exterior, her pulse raced wildly. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Instead of cash, what if we each write something we want down on a piece of paper. Winner takes all.”

  “Something we want from the other?” Rebecca swallowed hard. “Personally?”

  “Yup.”

  Beside her, Conor’s head was doing that tennis match swivel again.

  Her interest was definitely piqued, but she kept her poker face intact. “What could I possibly want from you?”

  “He could teach you how to play American football,” Hank said, hiding his smile behind his beer.

  “Tempting, but I think I could manage to live the rest of my life without that particular skill.”

  Brody’s voice dropped to a low, husky drawl. “There must be something you want from me. Some desire I could fulfill.” He paused for a beat, holding her gaze until she thought she might spontaneously combust, then casually leaned back in his chair. “All you have to do is write it down.”

  Rebecca stroked the stem of her glass then lifted it to down the last bit of margarita number who-can-remember, letting her mind wander as the tequila coursed through her veins. Something she wanted…something she needed…

  Alcohol-fueled in
spiration struck, and she had to bite back the giggle that bubbled up inside her. Without saying a word, she reached for one of the cactus-covered cocktail napkins. “You don’t by any chance have a pen in those flip-flops, do you, Con?”

  He laughed. “No, but for this, I’ll find one.” He hurried through the doors and returned a moment later with a ballpoint pen. Rebecca took it from him and scribbled her heart’s desire on the napkin before folding it into a tiny square and adding it to the pile. When she was done, she passed the pen to Brody and watched as he did the same.

  “Now for the moment of truth,” he said. “Ladies first.”

  Rebecca flipped over her cards to reveal three tens and a pair of nines.

  Brody whistled through his teeth. “Full house. Not too shabby.” He turned over his cards and smiled. “But I’m afraid that doesn’t beat a straight flush.” It sure didn’t. In fact, the only hand that could have topped the one he had would have been a royal flush, which meant he’d been nearly assured of a win when he’d proposed their little wager. She had to hand it to him, he’d played her—and the cards—well.

  But while his victory might have won him the pile of chips and whatever he’d written on his napkin, there was nothing in their wager that said he was entitled to read her heart’s desire. She’d no sooner had the thought when she saw him begin to reach for her note. “Oh no, you don’t,” she said, snatching the folded napkin from the pile.

  “No fair,” he said, looking all at once like a small boy who’d just dropped his ice cream.

  Rebecca couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes fair,” she replied, sounding every bit as juvenile. “You might have won, but we didn’t say anything about reading the loser’s wager.”

  “She’s got you there, mate,” Hank said.

  “What fun is that?” Conor complained as Rebecca crammed the napkin into the front pocket of her jeans.

  The look of disappointment faded from Brody’s face, and in its place was an expression of arrogant satisfaction. “Might as well grab the other one while you’re at it.” He winked. “Learn your fate.”

  Rebecca reached back into the pile for the second napkin. She tried her best to remain impassive, but once she’d unfolded it, her eyes grew wide. Slowly she lifted her gaze to meet Brody’s. “You want me to have dinner with you?”

  “What the fuck?” Cole said from behind them. Rebecca turned to find her brother glaring at Brody from the doorway of the terrace. “Tell me you did not just ask my sister out on a date.”

  Chapter Seven

  “I can’t believe you asked my sister out on a date,” Cole said. Brody had known it was only a matter of time until he brought it up. Cole had been glaring at him since the moment he’d walked into the Grant Industries skybox. He glanced at his watch. Twenty-nine minutes. If anything, he was surprised it had taken that long.

  When Cole invited him to watch the Bulls play-off game in his corporate box, Brody had jumped at the chance. It wasn’t often he had the opportunity to enjoy a sporting event as a spectator, and the privacy of the skybox meant he could do so without constantly being inundated with autograph and selfie requests. He’d even hoped that having Conor and Hank there would work as a buffer, giving Cole the opportunity to cool down before the inevitable conversation. No such luck.

  “You’ve got some big cojones, my new friend,” Conor said. He slapped Brody on the back, then turned his attention to Cole. “If you’re going to have him killed, can you at least wait until after the play-offs? I put down some serious change on this season.”

  Cole shot him a look that was clearly a double what-the-fuck. “You’re such an asshole. And a hundred bucks is not serious change.”

  “Hey, don’t take it out on me. I’m not the one banging your little sister.”

  Great. Nothing like tossing a little kerosene on the flames. “First of all,” Brody said, attempting to dial back the color of Cole’s face from purple to merely red. “No one is banging anyone. It’s just dinner. Second, I had no idea she was your sister.” While it was true that they both had the same dark hair and blue eyes, their last names were different. Brody was sure there was a story behind that, one he’d be curious to know, but it was definitely neither the time nor place to go down that road.

  “He’s got you there, bro,” Conor said. His face split into a wide grin. “Plus, technically he didn’t ask her out. He won her.”

  A muscle in Cole’s jaw ticked. “Right,” he said between clenched teeth. “Because that sounds so much better.”

  For the life of him, Brody still had no idea what had prompted him to suggest their wager. The hand of cards he’d held had all but guaranteed him a win, which made the bet a near sure thing. But he was Brody Dixon. He didn’t have to resort to games in order to score a date. Bottom line: Brody wasn’t used to hearing the word no. Not in his professional life and certainly not in his personal one. But this girl was different, and something told him the only chance he had of spending quality time with the fair Rebecca Halstead was if she had no choice but to say yes. Too bad her brother was putting the kibosh on his perfect plan.

  “Look,” Cole added. “Rebecca is a grown woman and can choose to date whomever she wants. But I can also choose to kick your ass.”

  Conor laughed at Cole. “Only if Rebecca doesn’t kick yours first.”

  “I’m serious,” Cole said, ignoring Conor while keeping his steely gaze locked on Brody.

  Brody held up his hands, palms out. “I swear, I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

  “I’m not worried about your manners, dickwad. What I mean is keep it clean. Take her to dinner, show her a good time, but it ends there.” It was a statement, not a request.

  Brody might have been a first-class player, but even he respected the code. You didn’t mess with a buddy’s ex or his sister without the green light, something Cole was clearly not inclined to grant. “You have my word.”

  A sex-free date? Guess there was a first time for everything. Christ, between his publicist and his friend, Brody was destined to have blue balls for the rest of the season. But much to his surprise, it wasn’t fear of discoloring the family jewels that sat front and center in his mind. No, the stab of disappointment that settled in Brody’s gut had nothing to do with celibacy in general, and everything to do with celibacy when it came to Rebecca. She’d occupied his nearly every thought for the last twelve days, not that he was counting, and thanks to a lucky deal, he’d scored a date. Lot of good it did him now.

  Conor reached for one of the sub rolls on the small buffet that had been assembled in the rear of the luxury suite and began to fill it with piles of shredded beef. Brody watched in amazement as he added a link of Italian sausage and a heap of green peppers before dunking the entire monstrosity into the hot gravy. “Look at it this way,” he said, “at least she’ll have a great story to tell.”

  A frown knit Cole’s brows. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  Conor chuckled. “Never mind.” He took his heart-attack-on-a-plate and made his way to the padded seats overlooking the United Center. But not before asking the waitress to “hook him up with a brewski.” Once he was settled into the second row, he kicked back in his chair, crossing his Air Jordans on the back of the seat in front of him. The dude might have been an expert when it came to avoiding chores or hoarding snack food, but his wardrobe needed some serious work. Least he could do was wear shoes from Brody’s Nike line. He made a mental note to have a pair sent over first thing tomorrow.

  “I believe he’s referring to the recent tabloid exclusives,” Hank said, rolling his eyes on the last word. As if the stalkerazzi weren’t bad enough, some of the more well-funded tabloids were in the habit of paying for stories about the rich and famous, and lately, the life of Brody Dixon was high on their list. Everything from what breakfast food he ate to the size of his dick. And while most women weren’t around long enough to discover his secret weakness for Frosted Flakes, plenty had told tales of his endowment. The latter
didn’t bother him much. Hell, if you got it, why not let someone else flaunt it?

  “You of all people should know better than to believe what you read in those rags,” Brody said as the three men made their way into the row just in front of Conor, who begrudgingly lowered his feet. Halftime was ending, and while the cheerleaders had been entertaining enough, random ticket holders attempting to make full-court shots in an effort to win a car had been their cue to take a piss and grab some food. “And besides, I seem to recall a certain undercover prince dating the sister of one of his best friends.”

  Conor leaned forward and poked his head between Brody and Hank. “Pot,” he said, “I’d like to introduce you to the kettle.”

  “Be that as it may,” Hank said, defending himself against an irrefutable charge. “Eventually, I did tell her the truth—”

  “After half the state of Georgia showed up on your doorstep,” Conor said around a mouthful of food.

  Hank ignored him and pressed on. “And now I’m marrying her.” He took two beers from the waitress and passed one to Brody. “I’d say that more than absolves me of my sins.”

  “Jury is still out on that,” Cole said. He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees as he watched the Bulls’ latest draft pick drive for the basket. The jury was still out on that poor guy as well. The team had shelled out big bucks to sign the supposed phenom, which left some big expectations to live up to. It was a scenario Brody had come to know quite well, which was why he breathed a sigh of relief for the kid when the ball fell squarely into the net.

  “If you break her heart,” Cole told Hank once the crowd quieted. “Her brother will break your legs.”

  “I’d like to see him try,” Hank said. He nodded over his shoulder to his ever-present security detail. Although his expression remained impassive as always, the man in the dark suit lifted one brow.

  “Bloody hell.” Hank groaned. “Don’t tell me I’ve lost you too, Clayton?”

  “All due respect, but I think I’d be with Miss Miller’s brother on that one.” He cleared his throat then offered a deferential, “Sir.’”