“Well?” Brek asked.
She sighed. “Nine. And attraction is at a big ol’ zero.”
“His name’s Paul. You should deduct points for that.” Brek pointed at her screen with his spoon.
“Why would I deduct points for that?”
“It lacks creativity. A name like Breckenridge. That’s creative.” He nodded along with his assessment.
“Where’d your mom come up with it anyway?” She continued adding numbers in the columns.
“She named both of us after where we were conceived. A condo in Breckenridge for me and Aspen…well, you get the idea.”
Velma giggled. “You’re serious?”
“Not something I’d lie about,” he said, deadpan.
She picked up the other spoon and scooped a small amount onto it, licking off the hazelnutty chocolate.
His gaze fell to her lips.
“What?” she asked around the bite.
“I don’t get it,” he announced.
“Get what?”
“Why you don’t have a guy.” His eyes didn’t move from her mouth.
“I’m not exactly tons of fun, Brek.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. It’s official. I’m gonna teach you the hokeypokey.” The light in his eyes twinkled dangerously.
“Is that a kinky handcuff game?” Knowing him, that was exactly what it’d be.
“Nah. I’m just gonna help you turn yourself around. Your life, anyway.”
She caught his gaze. He was serious. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m fine.”
“Nah. But you will be. Especially once you help me with all these damn brides.” He rubbed a hand down his face.
“What are you talking about?”
“I need help. I’m glad to tell you, you’re gonna be that helper.” He was totally serious.
“Are you insane?” She knew next to nothing about planning weddings.
“Possibly. But I still need help, and I’m hoping since you like me, and I like you, you might take pity. Don’t you plan things all day, Ms. Financial Planner Lady?”
“I move stocks and set up individual retirement accounts. That’s not the same thing.” Not even close.
“Maybe you could make me a spreadsheet? Run interference with Bride Number One?”
The whole room held his scent—the one that made her mouth go dry.
Funny, when she was around Brek, she didn’t think about her quest to find a man like Dean. And when she was around Brek, even things that had never made sense before started to make sense. Like Nutella in bed. Who would’ve thought?
“How about I teach you how to make your own spreadsheet?” she asked.
They could start with that.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. “Hang tight. It’s Aspen. She’s been harassing me all day.” He held the phone to his ear. “Hey, Aspen. You’re not supposed to call me. Jacob said—” He leaned away from Velma and squinted. “Whoa. Calm down… I didn’t know they had special stamps for that. Does it matter?”
Uh-oh. Those stamps were a horrible idea. Everybody knew to use the special wedding stamps when sending wedding invitations. You didn’t shove them in the envelopes and affix the ribbon with an abundance of gold stickers. Some of the ones he’d put together had so much gold foil stuck to them, they looked like they should be dancing over at Pistol Polly’s strip club. She’d confiscated those.
Brek flinched at something his sister said. “Tell her to chill, it’s not like—”
Velma could hear Aspen all the way on her side of the bed. And Aspen did not sound happy about those invitations. Velma’s phone beeped with a new text. She glanced at it. Claire. Velma’s heart dropped. Oh no. Brek had found the invitations Velma pulled—and he’d sent them.
“They weren’t all like that. Velma tied some… The stickers held the bows on… I improvised… I know this is a big deal… I’ll apologize… I won’t fuck it up… Right.”
Aspen apparently hung up. He stared at the phone in his hand. “I’m fucked.”
“Claire’s really upset.” Velma ran her thumb through the messages bouncing back and forth between Claire and their mother.
“That’s the understatement of the year,” he growled.
He had the look of a guy caught in the headlights of one of those Ford Super Duty trucks. “What’s it gonna take for you to help me?”
“I did help you.” Not that it had worked.
“Long term through these weddings. You know things about stamps.” His expression was one of total seriousness.
Velma shifted on the bed. “Brek, I have a job.”
“I need your help so I don’t screw up Claire’s wedding.”
Well…when he put it like that. Gah. “Fine. I’m in.”
He nodded. “What’s it gonna take to get your help with Brides One and Two?”
She sized him up. He really was worried.
“Please.” His eyes were the embodiment of sincerity.
Apparently, she was powerless against needy bikers with Nutella. “You have to wear pants when you’re home.”
“Agreed.” He inched closer to her and gestured to her laptop. “You gonna see this guy again?”
She stared at the numbers on the screen. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Great.” Brek closed her computer and moved it to her nightstand. “Now that we’re working together, I propose you drop the spreadsheet and we hash out a friends-with-benefits situation.”
Her belly went all fluttery. He couldn’t mean those benefits. Not the bedroom kind. Except they were on her bed, in her bedroom.
“Are we friends?” The words came out breathy.
He gestured his spoon to the jar between them. “We sittin’ on your bed eatin’ Nutella?”
She moved to lie on her side so they were face-to-face. “We’re friends, then. No need to ruin that with…benefits.”
“As your friend, I feel it’s my duty to inform you that you’re high-strung.”
Well, that wasn’t very nice. “That’s not kind.”
“You need to chill. Lucky for you, I have a certain skill set to help with that.” He put the lid on the Nutella, took her spoon with his, and set it all on the nightstand with her laptop. He scooted closer to her.
She resisted the urge to move backward, because she would end up on the floor. Besides, he only scared her a little bit with this whole conversation. And it wasn’t like he had touched her or anything.
He rested a hand on her waist and moved his head closer to hers. Her heart hammered loudly in her chest. Surely, he could hear it, too.
“What do you say, V?”
“You want to be friends who sleep with each other?” That couldn’t possibly be what he meant.
“I want to be friends who have sex with each other. Sleeping is optional.”
Okay, so that was what he meant.
“Way I see it, you need to relax. I can help with that. I won’t be in town long, so no long-term expectations. No weirdness when it’s over.”
Wow. That sounded super rational.
“Really, I’m flattered. I…we’re so different. I’m…me. And you’re…you know…you.”
He grinned right up close to her, and, Holy Hannah, the wattage of his smile. “Feel that between us? It’s called chemistry.”
“I don’t like rock music. There. I said it. I think it’s loud and obnoxious,” she declared.
His eyebrows dropped together. “What music do you like, then?”
“Country, mostly. A little Justin Timberlake…” Her voice trailed off as his eyes sparked with humor.
“Won’t listen to music while we do it, that’s fine.” The edges of his lips twitched.
“You have tattoos and I wear sweaters,” she continued.
“What’s wrong with tattoos?” he asked, moving his hand away.
“Nothing. No, it’s just we’re different. I haven’t even seen them all. What if you have one that I really don’t like, you know?”
&nbs
p; “Take off your top.” He tugged at the hem of the pink-striped sweater she had paired with the skirt.
He wasn’t making any sense. “What?”
“You take off your top. I’ll take off mine. You can check out my tattoos, make sure you like ’em. I’ll check out your girls, make sure I like ’em. Tit for tat.”
“You’re such a pig.” She crossed her arm across her chest and tried to stand, but he caught her and pulled her back to him.
He ran a hand through her hair and pressed her to him so their foreheads touched. She shivered—in a good way. In a maybe-I-should-reconsider-my-stance-on-this-proposal way.
“Oink.”
She laughed, pretty much against her will, and shoved him away.
“Holler if you change your mind about our situation.” His thumb grazed her bottom lip. For a moment, only a moment, she seriously considered allowing him to have his way with her right there in her bedroom while his buddies played video games in the other room.
Luckily, she came to her senses.
“Clean up the living room before you go to bed,” she whispered instead.
He chuckled as he stood. “Next time Ma sets you up, tell her to be sure the guy’s schedule is clear for the evening. You deserve his full attention.”
He left. She glanced out the window at the clouds that covered the stars before she hauled herself out of bed to finally take that bubble bath.
Chapter Seven
Countdown to Claire & Dean’s Wedding: 6 Weeks
Velma had slathered on makeup and, at Claire’s insistence, slipped into a pair of tight jeans. Their friend Heather had picked the girls’ night location. Heather rocked the pinup look with her red lipstick and cleavage-baring vintage top. Hank’s Bar, she promised Velma and Claire, had an amazing band on tap for the night. The place was a dive, but clean—sealed concrete floor, long wooden bar top, and a scattering of tables throughout the room. The tables along the wall were countertop height, so patrons could watch the band. Standard neon alcohol signs lit the wall alongside triangle pennants declaring the various beers on tap. They were quite festive.
“Another?” Heather asked, tipping her forehead toward Velma’s nearly empty Shirley Temple.
Velma rested her elbow on the table and propped her palm against the side of her head. “That’d be great.”
Heather headed toward the counter.
“Thank you for dealing with Brek on the invitations,” Claire said.
Velma had helped smooth everything over. She’d promised Claire she’d be involved with the rest of the details, and she’d report any issues immediately. After a chat with Aspen, she’d made Brek a spreadsheet of all that still needed to be done.
“Okay. Dish. You’re overthinking something.” Claire took a sip of her drink.
Velma was overthinking Brek. And his proposal. And her refusal. Which she was now questioning on an hourly basis.
“Brek propositioned me.”
“Again?”
“He wants to be friends with benefits.” Velma stirred her drink—the swirling cubes of ice matching the feeling in her chest.
“Yeah. And?” Claire stared at Velma with an absurd amount of interest.
“And I said no.” Velma’s hand fell on something sticky along the edge of the table.
Claire raised an eyebrow and Velma flinched. That look. The one that told her Claire was ready to pounce for information. “But you thought about saying yes?”
Velma nodded.
“Oh my God, Velvet. This is crazy.”
Gah. Velma had done more than think about saying yes—she’d nearly brought it up to him twice. Nearly. Both times she’d caught herself. Nowhere in any of her plans did a short-term fling with a guitar-playing biker come into play.
“I can’t blame you. I mean, have you seen him?” Claire licked her lips. “The other day when he was with Jase showing me options for our flowers... I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love Dean, but, you know, Brek’s not hard to look at.”
Velma squirmed. She shouldn’t care that her sister checked out Brek. Not when she, herself, had admired Dean. Still, though, it felt wrong. “I want a guy like Dean. Like what you two have.”
Heather hopped back onto her barstool. “They’re bringing our drinks over. What are we talking about?”
“Velma wants to hook up with Brek.” Claire grinned like she’d won the lottery. “And the feeling is mutual.”
“Get out.” Heather smacked Velma’s shoulder. “You totally should. I would. You could use a little of Brek’s brand of fun.”
Claire sat taller. “Agreed. It’s like a reset button. To help you get over the whole Tommy thing.”
Velma’s heart dropped at the mention of Tommy. The last guy she’d seriously dated forever ago. The last guy she’d gone to bed with.
He’d told her she was boring.
In bed.
The hit to her pride pierced a lasting sting.
“I want a relationship. A husband. Not just a roll in the sheets with Brek. I want what Claire has with Dean.” Velma dropped her head to the table. Her forehead fell into the stickiness. Regret immediately followed the move.
She was midwipe with her napkin on her forehead when the door to the joint opened and—fudge, Brek had found her bar.
Her heart tripped over her ribs. She glanced to Heather. Then to Claire.
Heather looked to the door. She rubbed her hands together. “Tonight just got so fun. You’re gonna go press the reset button.”
The waitress pushed two new Shirley Temples in front of Velma. “A regular Shirley Temple and a vodka Shirley Temple.”
“Oh, Velvet, I fixed your drink order. You’re welcome.” Heather beamed.
Velma was going to need vodka to get through the night. She took a long sip from the straw.
Her gaze slid back to Brek in time to see a look of shock pass over his features.
She focused on her spiked Shirley Temple.
“You should go over there,” Claire encouraged.
“Say hello.” Heather was practically bouncing on her barstool.
“Tell him you changed your mind,” Claire continued as though this conversation were totally normal.
Velma wasn’t going to do that. But it was probably better to just say hello and move along than to stare at each other across the bar. That’d be awkward. She trudged to the table Brek had claimed.
He fixed his eyes on the cleavage peeking out from her black V-neck T-shirt. Slowly, he raised his gaze to her face.
Her toes curled in her high heels at the way his eyes ate her up.
“What’re you doing here?” He glanced to the door and back her way.
“Girls’ night. What’re you doing here?”
“Drinking.” He nodded to the bar, the movement causing his hair to brush against the collar of the leather biker jacket. “Scouting the band.” He glanced again at the door and rubbed the back of his neck. “And meeting a friend.”
Oh geez. He was on a date. Velma’s heart plunked straight down to her patent leather Jessica Simpson sling-back heels. Apparently, she had a jealous bone (or ten) in her body, because the idea of Brek with another woman made her stomach hurt. Of course he was with a woman. A guy like him didn’t spend quality time alone with his hand on a Friday night.
She scraped her heart back up to her chest and flashed her most sincere you’re-my-roommate-and-everything-is-fine smile.
“We’ll go somewhere else.” His apologetic gaze landed on Velma. He began to stand, but she didn’t budge.
“No. You’re here to have a good time. So am I.” She cocked her hip and tried to look sassy. She was pretty certain she failed.
A piece of hair escaped the tight bun at the nape of her neck, but she didn’t fix it. He stared, fixated on the chunk of escaped in-desperate-need-of-highlights blonde.
Her ovaries practically sighed.
That’s when the world turned topsy-turvy. A gorgeous biker babe hit the bar wearing a tube top under
her leather jacket that matched her tight pants. And by tight, the pants were painted on. She definitely was wearing a thong, because there was no panty line. Either that or she was going commando. But that couldn’t be comfortable in leather.
Still, the look worked on her. Or she worked the look. Either way. Lordy, the amount of hair spray to tease hair that big must’ve raised Denver’s emissions to hazardous levels. Sheesh.
Velma was wrong. She hadn’t plastered on makeup. Nope. This chick had the market cornered on that.
Biker girl’s painted lips ticked into a full grin as she stalked toward Brek.
He stood but he didn’t smile. Not until Tight Pants said something in his ear. Then he gave her a half grin and a side squeeze.
Velma hadn’t moved at all since Brek’s date had walked in. She should’ve moved, though. Should’ve gone back to her table. Or to Minnesota. Anywhere but there.
“Who’s this?” Biker chick gave Velma a once-over that would’ve chilled the entirety of the Breyers Ice Cream factory.
“Velma. Chelsea. Chelsea. Velma.” Brek shifted uncomfortably, but his hand still rested on Chelsea’s waist.
“Nice to meet you.” Velma infused her tone with warmth to counter Chelsea’s winter blast.
“Hey, Brek.” Claire hooked her arm through Velma’s. “You crashing girls’ night?”
Velma warmed with her sister beside her. Taking her back. Well, her side, in this case.
Chelsea kept her expression neutral. The kind Velma knew well from her high school days when the pretty, popular girl was dismissing her.
“Not tonight. Another time.” Brek glanced to Chelsea, his intentions for the evening absolutely clear.
Which was totally fine, because Velma had her friends. “We’re just going to ah…go back to our table.”
Head high, Velma looked Chelsea straight in the mascaraed eye before heading back to her barstool. She didn’t even glance back as the band began to set up on the small stage.
“I don’t think any of us saw that coming.” Heather squeezed Velma’s forearm. “It’ll be my personal goal to find you a guy tonight. Ignore Brek. Don’t look over there.”
She didn’t need to, because she was a confident woman. A confident woman who studied a chip missing from the tabletop. Except, one last look and then she’d be done.
Just the Tip of the Iceberg: Mile High Matched Books 1-3 Page 7
