“It would be good to see each other.”
She hedged, knowing he was right, but still not sure this was the best idea. “It would...”
“Is it Emma that’s keeping you from accepting my offer?”
“What? No,” she said immediately. She didn’t think so, anyway. Her initial hesitation was simply because his suggestion had caught her off guard.
Her gaze wandered to the calendar hanging on her wall and to the big red circle around Saturday’s date. It wasn’t that she couldn’t go to a wedding dateless. God knew she’d done that plenty. But apparently she’d reached the age (since when had thirty-two become the oh my God, you’re destined to be a cat lady! age?) where people stopped accepting her lack of a date and instead started looking at her with pitying stares. And that was something she didn’t want to see.
“Liv?”
“I’m here.” She looked once more at the red circle and chewed on her fingernail before sighing. “Are you busy this Saturday?”
Instead of answering her question, he asked his own, a smile in his voice. “What should I wear?”
* * *
Ian hung up the phone and stared at it, unable to believe what had just happened. After spending most of his adolescence in love with a woman who would never see him as more than the younger brother to her best friend, he thought he’d moved on from that part of his life. He was an adult now, a man. He certainly didn’t go around pining for women he couldn’t have.
So then why, exactly, did he ask her out? True, they wouldn’t be real dates—he’d just be helping her out. Even so, he didn’t know what this would do to his resolve. Since he’d left Minneapolis, he’d been able to move on with that part of his life. He’d had his fair share of women. He’d even had a couple long-term relationships. But none—not one—had hit him in the gut like Olivia did.
Ever since she’d befriended his older sister, he’d felt drawn to her. At first it had been nothing more than adolescent affection; she’d always been nice to him, even when his sister hadn’t been. Then it had turned into pubescent infatuation, in which she’d starred in each and every one of his wet dreams—much to his mortification when he’d had to face her the next day. Once she and Emma had gone to college, though they’d still been close, he’d gotten some much-needed space from her.
Except then he’d gone and decided to attend the same university as Emma and Olivia. Being around her as an adult, he’d eventually developed feelings for her that were so intense, he’d felt like he either needed to be with her, or remove himself from her life on a daily basis. There’d been no way that she would ever return his feelings—she’d always only seen him as Emma’s younger brother. He’d known he’d go crazy if he had to be around her day in and day out, watching the no-good-for-her men traipse in and out of her life.
So he’d left. Packed up his whole life and moved two hours away, trying to eradicate her from his mind.
And while seven years and a hundred miles separating them had done him good, had allowed him to move on with his life, now he feared he was back to square one.
Chapter Three
Ian smoothed down the front of his tie as he rode the elevator up to Olivia’s floor. He’d been there countless times before, but this time was different. His sweaty palms told him so.
With two knocks against her door, he waited for her to answer, holding his breath in anticipation of what she might be wearing. It had been a long time since they’d seen each other, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about being in her presence again. She was a bridesmaid in this wedding, and he only hoped the bride had picked something slim and sexy. Maybe something strapless that showed off her shoulders and the freckles he knew dusted them. Or something that plunged deep in the middle of her chest, letting him surreptitiously sneak glances at her breasts all day and night.
Just after he reached down to adjust himself, the door flew open, and there she stood—an orange monstrosity. His bark of laughter echoing down the hallway probably wasn’t how she wanted him to greet her.
“Shut up,” she grumbled and turned around to grab her purse, a ball of tulle fluffing out behind her.
He watched her poufy, tangerine-fabric-covered ass walk away from him. Her tall, curvy figure was completely swallowed by her dress, and a snort slipped out without his permission.
“Do you see why I couldn’t go to this without a date?” she asked as she walked back to him, gesturing to her hideous dress. “Like this isn’t humiliating enough. I swear, the brides pick this shit just to rub it in our faces that they’re the ones starting their happily ever after, and we’re just the poor schmucks that have to stand by and watch.”
Once she reached him, she leaned in to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She might have been dressed like a giant orange, but she still smelled the same. He breathed in the sweet, familiar scent and returned the embrace.
“It’s a good thing I’m here then, isn’t it?” he murmured against her ear, a few strands of her caramel-colored hair getting caught in his scruff.
She pulled back and gave him a genuine smile. “Very.”
Leading him out, she locked the door behind them, then hooked her arm in the crook of his elbow.
“All right, Date. Let’s do this.”
With a blinding smile that hit him right in the gut, she began walking toward the elevator and toward the rest of the day with him as her date. One where they’d touch and dance, laugh and talk.
He couldn’t help but wonder just what in the hell he’d gotten himself into.
* * *
As the photographer clicked away, Olivia kept a forced smile on her face. Her thoughts were actually a mile away. Or at least a few feet away, focused on the man standing by the gift table looking just as scrumptious as he had when he’d first picked her up.
Jesus. He certainly wasn’t the knobby-kneed kid she used to chase around the neighborhood. He was a genuine grown-up man, complete with a man’s body. How she managed to forget that in the months since they’d last seen each other, she didn’t know. When she’d opened the door to find him standing there, all tall, lean lines and broad shoulders, she almost couldn’t breathe. In all the times she’d seen him, he’d never looked quite like this. He’d always been in jeans and a T-shirt, or something equally casual. Today, however, he was confident and put together in a dark charcoal suit, but the day-old stubble on his jaw and his disheveled hair showed that he could be just a little wild, too.
She wondered if he was confident and just a little wild in bed, as well.
And that thought knocked her right on her figurative ass. She’d never—not once—thought of him sexually. Of course, she’d always known he was a good-looking guy; she’d have to have been blind not to. But picturing sweaty limbs tangled together—their sweaty limbs—her head tossed back in pleasure?
Yeah, that was definitely new.
It was probably just the shock of seeing him all dressed up; that was why her mouth was dry and her tummy fluttered whenever she caught his eye. Or maybe it was just that he was such a welcome change after the complete losers she’d filled her dating calendar with lately.
Once the photographer dismissed the bridal party, she hefted up her orange ball of tulle and headed to the bar, not caring that it was only four in the afternoon. She needed a drink, damn it, and she needed one badly. After getting her martini from the bartender, she turned around and almost face-planted straight into Ian.
His warm hands came up to steady her, settling on her bare arms.
“Whoa, drunk already? It’s a little early, even for you.”
She laughed, relaxing infinitesimally. “Nah, I figured I’d save the drunken table dances for when this place is packed.”
This she could do—this easy banter, back and forth. It was what they’d always done, and one of the things she loved most about their relationship. It was light and fun, and made him the perfect wedding date. She’d have a great time with him.
As I
an led her over to a table, talking and teasing her along the way, she didn’t know why she’d never thought to ask him to be her date at these weddings. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She did know why she hadn’t entertained the idea before. For one thing, last she knew, he had been involved in a serious, long-term relationship.
For another, she wasn’t exactly sure what Emma would think about Olivia dating her brother, even in the platonic sense. In their twenty-plus years as friends, it was a subject that had never once come up. Considering how much Emma looked after her little brother, Olivia knew it might pose a problem. She just hoped that Emma would be okay with her and Ian’s non-dating dates.
Olivia certainly didn’t want to dip her toe into the fungus-infected dating pool again—at least for a long while. For now, she was perfectly content bringing Ian to these weddings, despite the fact that it would never go anywhere. Sure, she wanted marriage and kids and the whole shebang, but she was tired of chasing it. Maybe if she took some time off, had a little fun with a great friend, something would magically land in her lap.
“Are you going to actually get out on the dance floor tonight?” Ian asked as he pulled a chair out for her, a teasing note in his tone.
Shooting him a playful glare, she sat down. “Don’t remind me. Ugh. I swear, at my wedding, we’re just going to stuff our faces with amazing food and booze and that’s it. Then, instead of dancing, everyone will go off to have fabulous, wild, monkey sex.”
Olivia froze, her martini halfway to her mouth, her eyes wide. She couldn’t believe she’d just said that, especially after the lustful thoughts that happened to include fabulous, wild, monkey sex with the very person sitting next to her. Sliding her eyes over to Ian, she noticed the flush inching its way up his neck, splotching his cheeks under his stubble.
He cleared his throat. “Well, I think, uh, I think you’d probably win some points with your guests.”
She laughed, forced as it was, and took a large gulp from her glass. Though getting drunk might not be the best thing—she’d been known to let her mouth run off after a few drinks. And after what had just come out of it sober, who knew what she might have the guts to say when she was tipsy.
She just hoped it wouldn’t be anything too embarrassing, like how she’d thought about Ian taking her hard and fast in the coat closet...
Chapter Four
Mere hours into his first “date” with Olivia, Ian knew this was, quite possibly, the dumbest suggestion he’d ever made. Being that close to her, laughing and talking with her, had crashed into him like a freight train.
He scanned the full reception hall, locating her talking with the other bridesmaids. They were laughing about something, Olivia’s head thrown back and a vibrant smile on her face. Strands of her light brown hair had come loose from where they had been pinned up. And it didn’t matter that she was engulfed in a gigantic dress threatening to swallow her whole; she was the most beautiful person in the room. She took his breath away, and that she could do it while looking like a huge tangerine was a testament to how much he cared for her.
When he first had the idea to go to these weddings with her, he didn’t think much about his potential reaction to it all. Now, he worried he was going to fall in as deep as he had been all those years before. He honestly didn’t know what he thought he’d accomplish with this whole thing. He didn’t want to listen to the little voice in the back of his head that said he did it because he was secretly hoping Liv would come to her senses and fall into his arms. Or his bed. Though, to be honest, if he was aiming high, he’d like both.
After getting her favorite drink from the bar and a beer for himself, he headed in her direction, knowing that she’d need a little liquid courage for what was coming next. As long as he’d known her, she’d hated dancing, though he couldn’t understand why. She had a natural grace that made her movements on the dance floor hypnotizing and mesmerizing. More than once, especially during college, he’d been ensnared in the sight of her smooth, gyrating body.
But every single one of those instances had one thing in common: a very happy Livvy. The kind of happy only alcohol could get you.
He got to her just as the deejay made an announcement for the wedding party dance. A dejected pout marred her face, but her mouth lifted in the corners as he handed her the martini.
“You, sir, are my favorite person.”
He smiled, chuckling softly. “Sure. You’d probably say that if Maurine’s uncle Frank gave you one of those.”
Her eyes grew wide with seriousness. “I would not,” she said adamantly with a shake of her head. “Do you know that pervert tried to cop a feel already? I never thought I’d see the day that I was actually thankful for thirty pounds of tulle surrounding my ass.”
He laughed and watched, amused, as she downed almost the entirety of her drink before setting it on the nearest table. Holding her hand out to him, she raised an eyebrow in silent invitation.
Like he would say no.
Taking a swig of his beer, he set his drink down next to hers, then reached for her hand. The smooth, mellow beats of the music had already started, and the dance floor was filled with the wedding party and their respective dates swaying slowly.
Once they stepped on the floor, Ian tugged her to him, pressing against the small of her back and guiding her body close to his while his other hand loosely held hers. She fit against him perfectly, the top of her head coming to just above his chin thanks to the heels she was wearing. The material between them didn’t allow them to be as close as he’d like, though he figured that was probably a good thing. If he had her exquisite body pressed against his, from her toned thighs to her perfect breasts, he’d be hard as a rock and wouldn’t be able to hide it from her.
“This is nice,” she said as she absentmindedly played with the hair at the back of his neck. “I usually hide out in the bathroom for this part of the night so I’m not that loser they have to find a dancing partner for.”
Ian gave her hand a light squeeze. “I doubt it would be hard to find someone to dance with you, Liv. You’re gorgeous.”
He froze, his steps faltering slightly. Those three beers he’d had in the past hour must’ve kicked in, because he hadn’t exactly meant to let that slip.
Averting his focus, he glanced at the other couples dancing rather than into her eyes. After a few moments, he looked back to find her gaze still locked on his face. She stared at him in silence, her eyes darting back and forth between his.
Finally, quietly, she said, “You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Donnelly.” The hand she had gripping his neck slowly slipped down, smoothing the length of his tie, her eyes dropping to follow the movement.
His body reacted to her hand moving against it, his muscles contracting under her touch. He stared intently at her face, noticing her lips part briefly before she tucked the bottom one between her teeth. Pressing his hand against the small of her back, he pulled her even closer to him. She dragged her eyes away from her hand, her fingers pressing lightly against his abdomen, and brought them back to his face. With their eyes locked, suddenly the air between them grew thick. He wanted, needed, to kiss her. To pull her closer and feel her lips finally on his. His eyes dropped to stare at her parted mouth, and he slowly brought his head closer to hers.
When their lips were a mere breath apart, he paused—something that he would later kick himself for. Because, in that pause, the song came to an end, the deejay’s voice ringing through the reception hall, and the spell between them snapped like a rubber band.
She jerked her head to the side, looking around as if she’d forgotten where she was. He could understand that—the past few minutes had seemed like it was just the two of them.
Olivia stepped back from his arms, a nervous chuckle coming from her. “I should...” She trailed off, gesturing vaguely behind her. Not finishing her sentence, she shook her head slightly and turned abruptly, walking away from him without another word.
Great. One date into the nine
he’d promised, and he’d already fucked it up.
* * *
Alone in the restroom, Olivia locked herself in a stall, glad for a moment of reprieve. The cool door she leaned against was a pleasant contrast to the flush she felt working its way through her body. Reaching up, she touched her fingertips to her heated cheeks. Her breathing was constricted, her entire body felt warm, and her pulse raced, as if she’d just run a marathon.
If she didn’t know better, she’d say she was aroused.
But she did know better, and knew that couldn’t possibly be the cause. Because that would mean Ian had aroused her. And, well, she just wasn’t quite ready to look into that possibility.
She’d been so sure that her sudden attraction to him was circumstantial, fleeting at best. Yet here she was, hours after he’d shown up at her doorstep, trapped in the women’s restroom because she was too chicken-shit to face what she’d been feeling out on the dance floor with him. Thank God the deejay had interrupted the moment, because, unless she was mistaken, Ian had been about two-point-four seconds away from kissing her.
And, God help her, but she’d wanted him to. More than she’d wanted her skinny vanilla latte that morning, she’d wanted to feel his lips on hers. She’d wondered if they were as soft as they looked. If he’d be as good of a kisser as he was a dancer. If he’d be slow and sweet, unassuming, or if he’d take what he wanted, fast and aggressive.
Jesus, it was getting hot in here.
She took a deep breath and moved out of the bathroom stall, then grabbed a couple of paper towels from the dispenser and soaked them under the cool water. After she wrung them out, she pressed them to her heated cheeks.
She needed to get a grip. She didn’t want to—couldn’t—jeopardize two decades of friendship with Ian simply because it’d been too long since she’d had a real, live man fulfill her needs as opposed to the battery-operated friend she’d come to rely on. Ian meant far more to her than a quick roll in the hay, and she wasn’t going to cheapen what they had with a one-night stand. She wasn’t sure their friendship could survive it, and that was what it all boiled down to. Their relationship wasn’t something she was willing to gamble on.
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