The Heartbreaker

by Lili Valente

  Tristan: Thanks.

  Deacon: You’re welcome.

  Oh, and make sure to get her something special for the ring, just in case.

  Tristan: Now who’s crazy?

  Deacon: I am. But I’m also right more often than people like to give me credit for. Especially the people I helped raise into almost grown people. The twins are both refusing to put part of their paycheck into the retirement plans I’ve started for them. They think they’re too young to think about retirement. But you’re never too young to think about retirement.

  Tristan: I hear you, brother, but I’m not a college kid who wants to spend my money on gas, beer, and taking my girlfriend to Six Flags every other weekend.

  Deacon: Rollercoasters. Jesus. What a waste. It causes me physical pain to see them flushing their hard-earned money away like that.

  But…at least they’re happy.

  Tristan: And doing great in school and in their relationships and still coming home to visit their obnoxious family once a month. I call that winning big. You’ve got two great boys, and they’re going to keep growing into great men. No doubt in my mind.

  Deacon: And there’s no doubt in mine that you’re going to find someone a hundred times better than Kim. Maybe very, very soon…

  Tristan: You’re listening skills are for shit, but thanks.

  Love you, man. Glad you’re home for good.

  Deacon: Me, too, brother. Me, too.

  Chapter 4

  Tristan

  Get her something special for the ring…just in case…

  Deacon’s words float around in my brain all night, taunting me in a sing-song voice, making sleep hard to come by.

  He’s a good man, my brother, but he’s also out of his damned mind. I was engaged once before, and the woman I thought was going to be my forever dumped me because she couldn’t imagine being with just one guy for the rest of her life.

  A rousing endorsement of my irresistibility to the opposite sex, it was not.

  And even if Zoey and I ended up being as good a fit romantically as we are professionally, I’m not sure where I stand on long-term love anymore.

  Sure, I used to be a shameless romantic, a smug, happily-coupled person who thought he had love all figured out. But I clearly didn’t know my ass from a hole in the ground. The woman I thought was my perfect match turned out to be a heart-breaking asshole.

  And a bully, to boot, judging by Zoey’s meltdown last night.

  I’m not buying the “kid stuff” excuse for a second. Zoey isn’t the kind to beg to be hidden from someone because they had a falling out about who was going to be president of the debate team. No, I’m guessing Zoey softened the story to spare me sordid tales of my ex’s shitty behavior. That’s exactly what I would expect from a sweetheart like her, and yet another reason it would be a bad idea for us to be anything but friends.

  I don’t like hurting people—anyone, ever, if I can help it—but it would be especially miserable to hurt someone like Zoey.

  The woman doesn’t have a mean bone in her body or much in the way of an emotional support system. Her dad ran off when she was a kid, her mom died when she was a freshman in college, and she doesn’t have any other family in the picture as far as I can tell. Yes, she has good friends, but she spends most of her life at the shelter—either working or at her on-site apartment, serving as our go-to in case of animal-related emergencies. If she and I started dating and it ended badly, it would be like Daryl the Doberman with the bad bladder took a piss all over her life.

  And I don’t want Zoey’s life to be pissed on.

  Especially not because of something I’ve done.

  “This is a bad idea, Luke,” I mutter as I pull into my parking space in front of the shelter and shut off the engine. But beside me, my eternally optimistic golden retriever is as blissed out as he always is to be arriving at work, where he knows he’ll have at least nine quality hours with the object of his undying affection.

  Luke’s been in love with Zoey since we rescued him and his littermates from a puppy farm two years ago. He lives to lie at her feet, gobble the treats she keeps in a jar on her desk, and break into her apartment while Zoey and I are busy elsewhere and eat her socks.

  And occasionally, her panties, when he can find a pair lying around…

  On our last emergency trip to the vet, Luke vomited up a skimpy pink lace thong on the waiting room floor while we were waiting for an exam room, making Zoey blush so red I wasn’t sure her cheeks would ever return to their normal color.

  At the time, I’d simply been mortified by my dog’s bad behavior and how deeply it had embarrassed her. Now, I can’t help thinking about what Zoey would look like in a pair of skimpy lace panties and nothing else…

  My stupid brother was right.

  The toothpaste is out of the tube, and it’s not going back in.

  I’m having all kind of never-before-entertained thoughts about Zoey, and when I see her sitting at her desk—wearing a pair of jeans and a snug long-sleeved tee that molds so tightly to her chest I have to rip my gaze away from her curves—my heart stutters and my palms start to sweat. And then she looks up and smiles, and suddenly all I want to do is kiss her—to pull her into my office, shut the door, and have my way with her on my desk.

  Or on the floor…

  Or up against the—

  “No, bad dog,” I shout as Luke jumps into her lap, reverting to a puppy habit we thought we’d broken him of months ago and nearly knocking Zoey’s chair over in the process. “Get down, Luke. You don’t weigh twelve pounds anymore, man. You’re going to crush her.” I grab Luke by the collar and guide him back down to the floor. “Sorry about that.”

  Zoey laughs. “It’s fine. At least I know someone’s always happy to see me.”

  I pause, weirdly nervous. I thought I’d talked myself away from the ledge over breakfast this morning and was ready to make the best of a sticky situation. But as my gaze meets hers, my mind goes blank and my sweaty palms begin to itch.

  “I mean, I know you’re happy to see me, too,” Zoey says with another laugh and a shake of her head, making her ponytail swish.

  God, she’s cute in a ponytail. Dangerously cute…

  “I just meant…” Her breath rushes out as she motions toward me. “You know, after last night… I just don’t want things to be awkward.”

  “They aren’t, and they won’t be,” I lie, the jewelry box in my pocket suddenly feeling like an embarrassing growth digging into my ass. “But if you’ve changed your mind, that’s fine. I totally get it. We don’t have to go through with it.”

  “No, no, I’m still in,” she says, rubbing Luke’s head as he pants appreciatively. “I’m just not sure how one goes about being engaged, you know? I’ve never been engaged. The closest I got was when my high school boyfriend gave me his class ring before spring break and then wanted it back again a week later because he’d accidentally slept with someone while he was in Cancun.”

  I arch a brow. “Accidentally?”

  Zoey nods as she scratches Luke behind the ears. “Yeah, apparently it’s a thing that happens in Cancun. You’re walking around, innocently drinking a beer, and all of a sudden you trip in the sand and your penis falls into a stranger’s vagina.”

  I snort in surprise—I’ve never heard Zoey use the word “penis” or “vagina” before this morning—and she blushes bright pink.

  “Sorry,” she says. “I’m nervous. My mouth does weird things when I’m nervous.”

  “Don’t be nervous. And your mouth is fine,” I say, blood pumping faster as I remember how good her mouth felt pressed to mine. “It’s perfect.”

  Jesus. Shut the fuck up, Tristan! Stop talking about her mouth. Stop looking at her mouth and pull your shit together, man.

  Clearing my throat, I reach into my pocket and pull out the jewelry box. “And I can help you with the engaged learning curve. First thing on the agenda, of course, is the ring.”

  Zoey’s eyes go wid
e as I open the case. “Oh my God, Tristan. It’s beautiful. Like something from a fairy tale.”

  “It was my grandmother’s,” I say, ridiculously pleased that she likes it. I’ve always thought the vine-and-flower detailing around the stone was something special, but Kim had said the rose gold setting was “tacky” and the diamond too small for a modern bride. “I was going to pick something up at the jewelry store, but then I remembered this and thought it would be perfect. Classy, but fun. Like you.”

  Zoey blinks faster, looking flustered. “Well, crap. If I’d known you thought I was classy, I wouldn’t have made Cancun penis jokes. Now I’ve ruined the illusion.”

  “I like your jokes,” I say, holding up the box. “Try it on, let’s see if it fits.”

  She reaches for the ring, only to pull her hands back to her chest with a shake of her head. “No, I can’t, Tristan. What if it slips off and I lose it in the bulk cat food? Or I break or bend it while I’m cleaning cages or something? I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “It’s not going to bend or break. And if it’s too big, we’ll get it sized.” Plucking the ring from the stiff velvet, I reach for her hand. The moment my fingers brush hers, electricity pulses across my skin, assuring me the chemistry from last night is still in full effect. I look up, catching her gaze and holding it as I slide the ring onto her slim finger. “Just like I thought,” I say, “a perfect fit.”

  Zoey’s blue eyes glitter and her lips part, but she doesn’t speak. She steps closer, until the spring rain and strawberry smell of her fills my head. She smells so fucking good I want to bury my face in her neck and inhale her, memorize the exact notes that make up Eau de Zoey, then kiss my way up her throat to claim her pretty mouth.

  I’m half a heartbeat away from giving in—from kissing her while stone-cold sober and proving this is way more complicated than a little pretend between friends—when Luke barks. A second later, one of his paws lands on my shoulder, the other on Zoey’s, and he shoves his grinning face between ours with an excited whimper.

  “Hey, buddy,” Zoey says, laughing. “You like the ring, too?”

  Luke responds by licking Zoey’s cheek—shamelessly kiss-blocking the man who feeds him. But this time, I owe him one. Kissing Zoey isn’t on my agenda, at least not in private, purely for pleasure.

  I’ve been saved by dog slobber in the nick of time. Now to get to my office, get myself under control, and establish some ground rules before this goes any further.

  “Aw, thanks, big guy, I love your kisses.” Zoey scratches Luke’s ears before lifting his paws off our shoulders. “But you know better than to jump up. Now go lie down on your bed. Go, or we’re going to have to take you back to obedience class. Again.”

  With a tucked tail and a shamed look in his melted-chocolate eyes, Luke trots over to the bed in the corner of the office and curls up with his head mournfully propped on his paws.

  Zoey clucks her tongue. “Such a sad face. I would feel sorry for him if he weren’t an absolute rascal.”

  “He really is,” I say with a smile. “He’s not stupid. He just has zero interest in following the rules.”

  “Reminds me of your brother.” Zoey snaps her fingers as she turns back to me. “Which reminds me—I feel terrible about leaving the reception last night without telling Carrie and Rafe goodbye and thanking them for including me in their special day.”

  “Don’t worry about it. They won’t care. They’re not stand-on-ceremony people.”

  “I know, but I still feel bad. I like to remember my manners and prove I wasn’t raised by wolves.” She glances down at the ring as she lifts her hand, making the stone catch the light and flare like a tiny star. “Are you absolutely sure you want me to wear this? It’s a family heirloom, Tristan. Even if it isn’t important to you, your brother or your mom might want it, right?”

  “Who said it isn’t important to me?” I brush a loose curl behind her ear, unable to keep my fingers from lingering on the soft, warm skin of her neck. “And I trust you with my family heirloom. Completely.”

  She looks up, and I swear I can feel her pulse beat faster, throbbing softly beneath my fingertips. “I… I don’t know what to say.” Her breath rushes out. “And that doesn’t happen to me, Tristan. I always have something to say. This fake engagement is already making me weird, and it’s just the two of us alone in the office. What am I going to do when we’re in front of other people?”

  Before I can assure her it’s going to be fine, she rushes on.

  “And what about Violet?” She darts a panicked look over my shoulder toward the entrance. “She’ll be here any minute! What are we going to tell her? I can’t lie to her. Not only would it make me feel terrible, but she would see through me in a freaking heartbeat. She’s raised three daughters. She’s trained in the art of unraveling girl lies. And I’m sure even her youngest is a thousand times better at bending the truth than I am, and she’s still in high school. Truly, I have zero experience in deceiving people.”

  “Hey, relax. It’s going to be fine.” I place what I hope will be a calming hand on her shoulder, but the touch only makes Zoey’s panicked eyes open wider.

  “And I got a D in acting in high school.” She bites her bottom lip, the tips of her teeth digging in until the flesh goes white. “How could I have forgotten that? Oh my God, I was the worst. I forgot my lines during our ‘Say No to Drugs’ performance in front of the entire school. Just froze up like a deer in the headlights. One of the stagehands finally had to come out from behind the curtain and physically escort me offstage. It was a nightmare. I was so mortified I wore a bag over my head to school the next day.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it.

  Her lips quirk, but she remains pale and panicked-looking. “Seriously. A paper bag with eyeholes cut out in front. I don’t know what I was thinking. It only made it worse, of course. People called me Baghead for the rest of freshman year.”

  “No wonder you blocked that out,” I say, still grinning. I know she’s sincerely worried, but I can’t help but love that story. And the goofy kid she used to be. “But this isn’t going to be a Baghead situation,” I promise. “First up, there’s no need to lie to the people we trust. I told my brother Deacon the truth last night. We’ll tell Violet the truth, too. She might think we’re crazy, but at least our reputations as honest, upstanding citizens will remain intact.”

  Zoey nods slowly, but I can tell she’s not completely convinced. “Okay. But we still have my crappy acting skills to contend with. The only reason I did okay last night was—A, I was a little tipsy and going with the flow. B, we didn’t talk to Kim for very long. And C, I didn’t have time to overthink things and worry them to death. But I can’t stay drunk from now until New Year’s Day, we may run into a situation where we have to talk to our exes for longer than a minute, and clearly I’ve now had lots of time to worry.”

  “Then we’ll practice before we take our act on the road,” I say, with a shrug. “No big deal.”

  Zoey arches a skeptical brow. “Practice…being engaged?”

  “Practice being a couple. Practice being comfortable with each other in couple-type situations.” I force a breezy note into my voice, refusing to think of all the ways couple practice could go horribly awry.

  We can do this. We’re not strangers, after all—we’re close friends, and as long as we keep our focus on fooling Kim and Bear and our eyes on the prize, we’ll be fine.

  “We’ve been friends for a long time, Zoey,” I continue. “I’m more comfortable with you than I am almost anyone. And I think you would say the same, right?”

  She presses her lips together, hesitating a second before she inclines her head in agreement. “Yes.”

  “So, we just need to focus on our friendship and let the other stuff come from a natural place. I mean, kids hold hands with their friends. Europeans kiss their friends on the cheek to say hello. With a little practice, we can make the couple stuff look and feel natural without worrying about
a big dramatic performance.”

  “I guess that sounds doable,” she says, the tension easing from her shoulders as she rocks back on her heels. “So you want to practice after work today? If I can get Violet to stay late and do the evening feeding?”

  “Sounds perfect,” I agree. My heart skips a beat as I catch a glimpse of the clock on her desk. “Shit, it’s already ten till seven. The people from Mendocino are going to be here any minute to pick up Buckley.”

  We’ve been trying to find this buffalo a home for months, and we need the transfer to go smoothly. Feeding a one-ton buffalo for another month isn’t in our budget—at least not without cutting other programs.

  I’m about to send Zoey on a paperwork finding mission while I get Buckley into the loading paddock, when Zoey holds up a palm. “No worries, boss. I’ve got the paperwork all ready and I put Buckley to bed in the solo paddock last night. Everything’s ready to go, and there’s already coffee in the break room. Why don’t you grab a cup and I’ll bring the Swansons to your office to finalize the documents as soon as they arrive.”

  The moment of panic vanishes as quickly as it arrived, and a rush of gratitude and relief reminds me why this woman is worth her weight in gold. “Thank you, Zoey. You’re the best.”

  She grins. “Just remember that later when we’re practicing holding hands and my palm is sweaty and I’m smiling like a creepy serial killer because I’m so bad at pretending to be in love.”

  I shake my head. “No way. You couldn’t be creepy if you tried.”

  It’s true. Zoey doesn’t have a creepy bone in her body. But if I’m not careful, I could find myself in sketchy territory so fast it will make my head spin.