The Best Man Problem (Mile High Happiness)

by Mariah Ankenman

  “Hey.” Mo pushed her way through the office door, glancing into the plastic bag in her hands. “They didn’t have any salt and vinegar chips left, so I got you BBQ. I hope that’s—”

  “Lincoln was here!” Okay then, apparently all it took to bring her out of her funk into full flip-out mode was her best friend giving a non-threatening colloquial greeting.

  Mo stopped short, long bohemian skirt swishing back and forth with the abruptness of her motion. Her head tilted up, blond and blue curls bouncing off her shoulders with the movement. Two pale eyebrows rose as light, honey-colored eyes widened.

  “Okay…who’s Lincoln?”

  “My one-night stand!” Was she shouting? She felt like she was shouting. Why couldn’t she stop shouting?

  Mo placed the hand not holding the food to her heart. “Aww, he found you. That’s either super romantic or supremely creepy.” Her best friend took a moment to think it over. “I’m going to vote for romantic.”

  Of course she would. Because Mo thought everything in life was sunshine and rainbows. Even villains had a heart of gold if you dug deep enough, and everyone had a soul mate they eventually found and lived happily ever after with, according to Moira Rossi. Her childlike optimism was sweet but could be slightly frustrating at times. Times like this, when the situation was neither romantic nor creepy but simply one on the precipice of utter ruin.

  “It’s fate.” Her friend and business partner hurried forward, setting the bag of food on Lilly’s desk, a wide grin dominating her small, round face. “He’s your one. Your soul mate.”

  Nonsense. Lilly didn’t believe in soul mates. Good matches, sure. Partners in life, absolutely, but something as silly as fated loves? No. Lasting love was built on respect and common ground. Not fairy tales.

  “No, Moira, he’s not my soul mate, and he didn’t come looking for me. He’s Marie and Kenneth’s best man.”

  “Huh, small world.”

  When the short woman said nothing more, Lilly lifted her hands to emphasize her point.

  “Their best man. As in a member of the wedding party.”

  “I know what a best man is, Lil,” she said, pulling out a bag of sour cream and onion chips and opening them.

  How could she casually eat chips at a time like this? When the figurative sky could come crashing down on their heads at any moment? Again!

  “And I slept with him.”

  Mo stared at her, crunching the chip she’d just placed in her mouth before sliding her hand in the bag and pulling out another, offering it to Lilly.

  “Chip?”

  “How can you eat at a time like this?”

  Mo glanced at the clock on the wall. “You mean lunchtime?”

  That’s it. She really was going to kill her roommate. She’d have to take up ride-share driving or work nights at a bar making enough tips to cover the entire rent, because Mo was being intentionally obtuse about this very real, very serious situation. The woman drove her mad sometimes. If she didn’t love her so much—

  “Did he forget your name or act like he didn’t remember you?”

  “No.”

  She shifted on her feet. Quite the opposite, in fact. The moment they locked eyes, Lilly saw the surprise and happiness light up those green-and-golden-hazel depths. She’d been the one to quash any and all admittance of former acquaintance. Lincoln had acquiesced to her silent plea, but the happy spark in his eyes dimmed the moment she pretended not to know him.

  And now she felt guilty. Perfect.

  “Was his wife or girlfriend with him?”

  She shook her head. “He said he was single when I met him at the bar.”

  But she’d been lied to before by a man. A best man.

  “Oh, sweetie.” Mo, the amazing friend she was, picked up on Lilly’s thoughts and rushed around the desk to her side. “What happened before wasn’t your fault.”

  “I had a relationship with a married man.” The words fell out of her on a shamed whisper. She feared that if she spoke them loud enough, the whole world would hear and judge her for her foolish mistake. “And almost ruined our business.”

  “No, you dated a lying slimeball who told you he was single and whose slimeball family took his side when he claimed you seduced him because all they could see was a charming prince when we all know him for the toad he really was.”

  None of that changed the fact that he had been married. Which made Lilly the other woman, the homewrecker, the tart. She’d been sick for months over what she’d inadvertently done. The damage it caused, not only to her business and a poor woman’s marriage but also to her heart. Trust wasn’t something Lilly gave easily, now even doubly so.

  “I have a…difficult time letting go of mistakes. I admit that.”

  “Really.” Mo raised a single eyebrow, a sardonic smile tilting her lips. “I wonder why that is.”

  Though the women had only met in college, she, Mo, and Pru had shared everything about their childhoods over many late-night study sessions and mountains of cheesecake. Her friends knew Lilly grew up watching her mother move from one bad mistake to another. Always flitting from man to man in hopes that this one would be the real deal. But they never were. And eventually her mother would dump the guy’s ass or be left heartbroken—and occasionally broke, the few times a con man had grifted them.

  “Look.” Mo tilted her head. “All I’m saying is, if you like this guy, if you had a connection that might turn into something more, why not go for it?”

  Because last time she “went for it,” she made a huge judgment error, and they got sued and almost lost everything. Lincoln was supposed to be a one-time thing. One wild night she could look back on in her old age and say to herself, See, Lilly, you stepped out of the box a time or two. You were adventurous and passionate once. She could be that woman; she simply chose not to because she knew what passion did.

  It died.

  A horrible, ugly death that usually resulted in screaming, crying, divorce, being packed up to move to yet another crappy apartment, and starting at a new school in the middle of the year again.

  “He’s a client, Mo. He’s off-limits.”

  “He’s a friend of the client.”

  Lilly ignored Mo, reaching across the desk for her sandwich. She wasn’t particularly hungry—not with her stomach still flip-flopping like a fish out of water—but she needed something besides her starry-eyed, sentimental roommate to focus on.

  “And isn’t off-limits code for forbidden fruit?”

  “It’s forbidden for a reason, Mo.”

  “Yeah, because it’s hot.”

  Taking her seat, she glanced up. “How can fruit be hot?”

  Mo let out a long-suffering sigh, the kind Lilly usually made when regarding the other woman. She had to say: it did not feel good to be on the receiving end.

  “We’re not talking about fruit, and you know it, Lilly Walsh.” Mo leaned back against the desk. “So, tell me. Is Lincoln hot?”

  “Hot” would be an understatement for the pure magnetic power of that man.

  “We have work to do, Moira.”

  “Ha! He is hot. Smoking hot, I bet.”

  And then some. Taking her silence as confirmation, Mo grabbed her own sandwich out of the plastic bag and headed to her small desk at the far end of the office. Lilly scarfed down her ham and cheese in less than ten minutes. She tended to stress eat, which was why she also finished off her entire bag of chips and four squares of chocolate from her emergency stash hidden in the bottom drawer of her desk.

  Damn Lincoln and his stupid, sexy face. Everything had been fine an hour ago, when all she had of him were fond memories and a tiny bit of regretful longing. Now she had to deal with keeping their liaison a secret lest it upset her clients and find some way to tell her stupid, horny body to calm down. Because whenever the man got within two feet of h
er, all her good parts screamed out for a second time.

  Nope. Not happening.

  Thankfully, Mo let the subject drop. For now. Lilly would put money on her nosy roomie asking about Lincoln before the week was through. But for now, they finished the workday in relative peace.

  After they shared dinner in their apartment just one floor above their office—best commute in the city—Mo went to her weekly pub quiz at City Tavern, and Lilly spent the night bingeing her favorite cooking show, in which the contestants tried to recreate top-chef desserts and failed—hard. It always put her in a good mood, because the host was hilarious and Lilly baked about as well as the poor people on the show.

  Lucky for her and her habit of stress eating, her business gave her access to all the best bakeries in Denver. Mile High Happiness was always receiving sample cakes and desserts from local bakeries that wanted to get in the wedding business. If a business owner dropped off a red velvet cake, chocolate-dipped strawberries, and berry whipped parfaits, she had to sample the goods. It was her job. She couldn’t very well recommend a bakery to a client if she didn’t fully support their products.

  That was just bad business.

  Ten o’clock rolled around. Did it make her old if she went to bed now? Used to be, the evening wouldn’t even get started until ten thirty. But for a woman soon to celebrate the one-year anniversary of her twenty-ninth birthday, staying up until two in the morning held little appeal anymore. Let Mo the night owl do that. Lilly preferred her beauty sleep.

  After stuffing the last of the fluffy and heavenly sweet red velvet cake in her mouth, Lilly placed her dirty plate and empty glass of milk in the dishwasher and headed to her room to get ready for bed. But even her calming nightly routine of a soothing facemask, fifteen minutes of meditation, and her ultra-cozy fleece jammies couldn’t settle her whirling brain. With no TV as a distraction, the stupid thing kept circling back to today and Lincoln.

  How the hell was she going to get through the next month until Marie and Kenneth’s wedding if she had to be around her far-too-tempting one-night stand? Maybe she’d get lucky and wouldn’t have to see much of him. After all, there were only a few more meetings and things she had to work on with the couple. Perhaps Lincoln wouldn’t be at every one. And the ones he did attend, she simply had to remain professional. She could do that.

  Is it professional to want to strip him and eat wedding cake off his naked body?

  Crap!

  She was in so much trouble. There had to be something she could do to squash this ridiculous attraction she felt for the man. But what? Tossing and turning in her bed, she knew sleep would elude her until she came up with a solution. She threw back her fluffy Sherpa blanket and she sat up in bed, reaching for the notebook and pen on her nightstand. Since solutions to problems often hit her in the middle of the night, she kept the pair by her bedside at all times. Saved her ass more than once.

  “Okay,” she spoke out loud in the silent room. “Let’s make a list.”

  A siren sounded outside her window, but, having lived in the city for most of her life, she’d learned to block the noise out as she wrote. She made two columns, one with her name and one with Lincoln’s. Under her name she filled out her likes, dislikes, goals in life, dreams for the future. Under Lincoln’s name…huh. Honestly, beyond his name and friendship with Marie and Kenneth, she didn’t know much about the man.

  “Likes?” She knew he liked it when she took charge in the bedroom and he groaned in pleasure when she— Whoa. Back that train of thought up right now. She was trying to dissuade herself from any further sexy-time thoughts of the man, not prime herself for another night of naughty dreams starring Lincoln Reid.

  She could do this. There had to be something. Racking her brain, she remembered one small detail Marie had said. The woman had mentioned Lincoln coming out to help, and she had met the man at a hotel. From that information, she could infer he didn’t live in Denver or anywhere within close driving distance.

  “Ha!”

  Something—not a lot, but big enough to put a halt to any thoughts of continuing a relationship with him. Lilly wanted a partner in life, someone to come home to every night. Couldn’t do that with a man who lived…wherever he lived.

  “Long distance,” she wrote under Lincoln’s name. She glanced at the paper. Her column filled all the way down the page, and his had only one thing written. “One fact, but an important fact.”

  “I never said anything about a relationship. It’s just dinner.”

  Lincoln’s earlier words rang in her memory. The man clearly had an issue with commitment. The way he’d grimaced just saying the word “relationship”…he had to be a short-term-type guy.

  Strike two!

  Lilly may not believe in true love, but she did believe in lasting, committed partnerships. Contrary to what Lincoln might think of her from their one night together, she was not a one-and-done-type woman. Opposite relationship goals was going on the list.

  There. They didn’t match on paper, so he couldn’t be a good match for her. Satisfied with her logic, she placed the notebook and pen back on the bedside table and slipped under the covers again. Frantic brain sated, she slipped into a peaceful slumber. And if she had naughty dreams about Lincoln, that was fine, because dreams were not reality. And in real life, Lincoln Reid was all wrong for her.

  Chapter Four

  “Dude.” Kenneth shot Lincoln a skeptical glance as he readjusted the moving box in his arms. “This is the fourth box labeled computer parts. Are you building Skynet or something?”

  Lincoln hefted his own box, also labeled computer parts—dammit—and pushed past his friend. “That doesn’t even make sense. Skynet is a self-aware worldwide neural network. I’d need more than a few boxes of hard drives and RAM.”

  “You are such a nerd.”

  “Whatever, hipster.”

  Kenneth glanced quickly over his shoulder as the two men carefully maneuvered their hauls down the stairs. “Just because I own a coffee shop doesn’t make me a hipster.”

  “Dude.” Lincoln shook his head. “You own a coffee shop that only uses fair-trade beans, you only sell organic pastries, you play the banjo, and you have a unicycle.”

  “The unicycle is an heirloom from my grandfather. I can’t actually ride the thing. And banjos are awesome.”

  He chuckled at his friend’s indignation. “Still a hipster.”

  “Hey, Marie!” Kenneth called out as the men entered the basement apartment. “Can we call the landlord and take back our recommendation of Lincoln?”

  “Boys, stop fighting or I’m not making my famous margaritas tonight,” Marie answered from the depths of the apartment.

  “We’re sorry,” they answered in unison.

  Giving his best friend shit was a luxury he hadn’t had in years, since Kenneth and Marie moved from Nebraska to Colorado, but he wasn’t willing to risk missing out on Marie’s delicious—and potent—margaritas. Her promise to make them weekly was half the reason he decided to move out here. Okay, not really, but it had been a plus.

  The forces of sheer luck and utter frustration had combined to push Lincoln to make the move. His job had been going nowhere, and Nebraska held nothing but bad memories. As a software engineer, he could pretty much find work anywhere, but Silicon Valley and San Francisco—where the mega-high-paying work was—were too expensive, even for his skill set. Over the past decade, Denver had become the new hot spot for up-and-coming tech companies, so when an opportunity in the Mile High City presented itself, he’d jumped on it. Lucky for him, his best buds knew of a place to rent that wouldn’t blow his budget—Denver might not be the City by the Bay, but rent was still pricey, as he’d come to find out—and it happened to be close to his friends.

  Very close.

  “How thick is this ceiling?” Lincoln placed his box on the floor, eyeing his friend. “And please t
ell me your bedroom isn’t right above mine.”

  Kenneth and Marie lived in a charming two-bedroom Craftsman-style bungalow right by Wash Park. The basement of the house was a one bedroom complete with tiny kitchen and three-quarter bath. Perfect for a lone person. That lone person being him. The previous tenant was supposed to move out last week, but due to a delay of paperwork on his new place, he had to stay a few days. Lincoln, being the laid-back guy he was, decided to crash in a hotel while the sweet older gentleman settled his affairs. His friends had offered to let him stay with them in the interim, but one night in college still haunted his dreams.

  In his defense, there hadn’t been a sock or tie or anything on the door—hell, it hadn’t even been locked. How was he supposed to know if he went into his room that his eyes would be subjected to sights he could never unsee? Namely the naked, bronzed, hairy ass of his best friend. Thank God Marie had been obscured by Kenneth and the sorry excuse for sheets they’d tried to cover themselves with. He didn’t know if he could have ever looked her in the eye again if he’d accidently seen her naked. As it was, he still had to wash the image of Kenneth’s butt out with a good strong drink every now and then.

  After that night, they instilled a strict policy. No nookie without warning the roommate. And he never intended to have that problem again. No roommates? No accidental ass viewings.

  Besides, if he hadn’t chosen to stay in a hotel, he never would have met Lilly.

  Not true, dumbass. You met her yesterday.

  Yeah, and she wanted to pretend they didn’t know each other. Ouch.

  “Mr. Stottlemire never complained about any noises.” Kenneth shrugged.

  Marie came into the room from the small bathroom. “Mr. Stottlemire was fifty percent deaf in both ears. He wore hearing aids that didn’t work and loved us because we always brought him leftover apple turnovers from the shop. He wouldn’t have complained even if we had stomped around like a herd of elephants.”

  Lincoln didn’t care about loud feet. His friends could tap dance for all he cared. As long as they kept other activities from drifting down to his poor ears.