“This isn’t about me. The locals aren’t here for your entertainment. I bet you sleep with a different woman every night since…”
He lifts a finger, his jaw clenches as he speaks, “You don’t know me. You’re right, it’s not you. It’s me and my lack of judgment. I saw a cute redhead who seemed fun swaying her hips while singing to Sinners of Seattle and I thought, ‘She knows her music.’ My mistake.”
He salutes me. “Have a good night, Sage.”
14
Sage
I have zero experience with weddings or party planning. Mom planned mine because I wouldn’t do it right. My only job was arriving on time to my fittings and making sure I kept my fiancé happy.
It didn’t take me long after the big day to learn that Douglas’s happiness included fucking with other people’s minds.
The divorce, that was all me. I took charge of the entire ordeal without anyone’s help. The whole process brought back some of my self-esteem. I still had to work hard afterward, but I healed.
Why did I agree to help Sienna with her engagement party?
Because that’s what sisters do for each other. I only hope this marriage lasts, and it’s not another Jared. Or was it Jordan?
I can’t remember her ex-fiancé’s name.
There’s no way I can declare myself an experienced party and wedding planner, but I think I’m prepared this one time. According to the lists I downloaded, I have everything ready. My grandparents are excited about this party. I think they’re hoping Dad will come to visit them. Not a chance since my parents avoid this town.
Overall, I’m ready to take on everything. That’s a lie. All those wedding websites didn’t warn me about undesired guests.
Dean is here.
The hot New York mogul. I should’ve known. My sister brought her friends to her small town, chic, engagement party.
He’s probably one of the forty uber rich guys, never settling because they can have any woman they desire. Maybe her boyfriend isn’t the down-to-earth, sensible soul she presumes.
Today, Dean isn’t wearing a suit but a dress shirt, a pair of worn out jeans, and industrial boots. His hair is unruly. Like he just woke up and rolled out of bed—the question is … whose bed did he sleep in last night?
If I make a few calls, I could find out. You can’t hide anything in Baker’s Creek. I won’t because I don’t care. I shouldn’t give a fucking shit about the woman or women he slept with last night—or ever.
“Are you here for the engagement party?” I ask the obvious question.
Maybe I’m wrong and he’s here to deliver … what is in the box he’s holding? A present or…
“Is that allowed?” he asks in a low, amused voice. “Unless there’s some decree from Queen Sage of Baker’s Field.”
“Seriously, Queen? And it’s Baker’s Creek.” I stare at him with a bored face, a great disguise for the smirk I’m trying to suppress.
Can you blame me?
He’s kind of funny.
“This town is anything but normal. One tries to make friends and…” He gives me a long, considering glance. “Well, you know what happened last night. I’m surprised I didn’t get attacked by gnomes or an evil leprechaun.”
Those steel eyes stare at me with humor, and it’s hard to concentrate on what I’m supposed to do. I order my heart not to skip or jolt.
Just because he’s strikingly hot and his dusted jaw makes my knees weak, I shouldn’t react.
“We’re normal. No leprechauns or gnomes—unless it’s St. Patrick’s. Our security guards, the police, and most of the bouncers are tall enough, like you. What are you? Six-two?”
“Six-four,” he corrects me. “May I come in?”
“The party starts in half an hour,” I say and look at my list.
“And not a minute later,” he says mockingly, and the smirk on his face is making it hard for me to breathe.
I’m sure he thinks I’m this crazy organized woman who has all her shit together. If he only knew. This is a sham. I’m as organized as a curious dog. We just dig around, and we never have time to look back.
“Are you always such an asshole?”
“Mostly during Spring,” says a guy walking toward us. “Or is it Fall?”
This tall, blond guy with flirty blue eyes has an easy smile … and where did they come from? GQ or Men’s Health?
I look at him twice because, honestly, he’s not making me tingle. I don’t feel frazzled as I do with his friend.
“Ethan,” he introduces himself, extending a hand. “We’re here for Rocco.”
“Who’s Rocco?” I frown, because I don’t think I’ve ever heard that name before in my life.
Ethan produces an invitation and hands it over.
“We’re here for the engagement party,” he informs me and taps the name, Patrick. “That’s Rocco. Whoever is in charge of this party misspelled his name.”
“That’s impossible,” I say, pulling my phone and making sure my sister gave me the correct name. “Patrick Rokus, I repeat out loud. She never mentioned a … what did you say again?”
“Rocco,” hot as sin answers. “As in Sinners of Seattle, Rocco.”
I frown and shake my head and laugh. “You’re right, there’s that Rocco. How could I forget? My sister had such a big crush on him.”
“Most likely, you had a crush on Deck,” Ethan answers. “Every chick did. What with that sultry, brooding look, hiding his face with his hair and having all those women falling at his feet.”
I wiggle my nose. “Not me.”
“Z?” Ethan continues. “You wanted the drummer.”
This is the most bizarre conversation I’ve had in my adult life. Sure, if I was fifteen, I’d be all over telling them how I had a crush on some singer or rock God.
“The Sinners of Seattle were good. I like their music but didn’t have a crush on any of them.” I look at both and ask, “So, you’re here with Patrick?”
I look at my watch and say, “They should be here soon. They’re driving from Costa Mesa with all their stuff. From what I understand, they’re moving to Seattle.”
They both frown and shake their heads.
“Nana mentioned they’d helped them move next week,” Ethan says.
The other guy shrugs. “Where’s Zeke?”
“I tried to convince him to come but … at least I’m here.”
“Whoa,” I say, because they’re actually using names of the band members. “Are you telling me that Patrick is Rocco?”
“Sweetheart, you have to get those ears checked. I clearly stated Rocco from Sinners of Seattle,” Ethan clarifies.
In that moment, a truck pulls in the driveway, and I see my sister’s wide smile. “They’re here,” I state.
“Clearly,” the gravelly masculine voice that has some kind of power to arouse my body says.
I turn around to see his gaze lingering unapologetically on me. Narrowing my eyes, I give him a once-over. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who gives a shit about an engagement party or family. Why even bother?”
“Girl from the bar?” Ethan asks.
“Sage,” I clarify and walk away.
“Sissy,” Sienna greets me. “Thank you for doing this for us.”
I look at her guests. “They’re here to see Rocco.”
She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Patrick. His name is Patrick. He stopped being Rocco long ago.”
“Okay, then,” I answer, not understanding why she was all bent out of shape due to a simple name.
“Pat,” she calls him out. “Meet Sage, my sister.”
“Patrick Rokus,” he says, extending his hand.
“Sage Heywood, it’s great to finally meet you.”
“Please, don’t be so formal. We’re going to be family.”
“Umm, some of your friends are already here,” I say, turning toward the porch.
The happy couple walks away hand in hand. I don’t move, only watch them from afar. Dean gaze
s at my sister, the same way I watched his friend: with confusion and distrust. Why are they together?
They don’t make sense. He’s too tall; she’s petite. Among the three of us, my sister is the one who inherited my grandmother’s height. Barely five feet tall.
She’s the pretty one of us. The one with blonde hair, slim hips, and blue eyes. I have a full figure, auburn hair, and my eyes are the color of cinnamon. Nothing special.
Ethan seems to warm up to my sister, but bar guy isn’t easy to convince. His cold gaze studies her. As if she’s not good enough for his friend. What gives him the right to judge her? Then those eyes move toward me. His gaze makes me shiver. It’s not in fear of him, but of the way he looks at me. As though he knows my secrets.
I lift my chin, whip my head away, and walk toward the house. He’s just some guy passing by who I’ll never see again. The problem is that he intrigues me in a way no man has intrigued me since … ever. The guests are about to arrive, and it doesn’t hurt to double check my list and make sure there’s nothing missing.
The party runs smoothly. Patrick or Rocco remains close to my sister unless his two friends are around. Thank goodness my parents sent their apologies. They’ll be at the wedding.
It’s past nine when the crowd begins to thin. The caterer and the cleaning crew are bustling around, making sure things remain tidy.
The door of the kitchen swings open. I’m expecting to see Grams who was going to help Gramps go upstairs. Instead, it’s him.
My cells buzz with excitement, which I don't quite understand. He’s not my type. I like clean shaven, laid back, trustworthy guys.
“Need any help?” he asks.
“Why would you ask? Is this some kind of outreach program? One kind act to make up for your daily shit?”
He lifts his eyebrows and studies me.
“What is it?” I ask. “You keep watching me.”
He smiles, extending his hand. “Let’s start again, Tucker Dean Decker.”
The contact of his skin against mine sends a fluttering sensation along my extremities and my stomach. My breath quickens. I have the need to run away from him.
Those eyes have turned warm, and for some reason, he prolongs the grip longer than he should. I feel the warmth of his skin. Suddenly, I’m too aware of his closeness. For a moment, I look at his big calloused hand, swallowing mine. I enjoy the electric pulses that his touch creates.
Scared of how I feel, I tug my hand out of his grasp, taking a step back.
“Is it the haircut or the five-thousand-dollar suit?” he asks. “There has to be a good reason why you don’t like me.”
“Maybe both,” I reply. “Tell me, Dean, is that name strictly to pick up women?”
He shakes his head. “It’s a way to keep undesired attention. Introducing myself as Tucker Decker is … something I stopped doing a long time ago.”
I laugh. “Your ego has been pumped that much that you think women will throw themselves at your feet?”
“Baby, I don’t need a bunch of women to stroke my ego to know when a woman is attracted to me. The question is, why are you fighting it?” he says boldly.
“You’re full of shit,” I say, blowing out some air, before I smack him.
“Tuck, the jet is ready. We promised to meet Nana for brunch,” Ethan says.
“Is Rocco coming?”
Ethan steps inside, shaking his head. “Nope, and it’s for the best. Zeke isn’t going to take the new Patrick well. At least the fiancée is sweet.”
“You’re judging her without knowing her,” I declare.
“If you knew Rocco, you’d know why we’re cautious,” Ethan says. “I can’t apologize for watching over my friend. Aren’t you concerned that your sister is dating a rock star?”
A pit of hopelessness opens in my stomach, should I be concerned? “I…”
“He’s a good guy,” Tucker says. “Trust takes time, and I’m sure it’s both ways. We don’t expect you to welcome him with open arms.”
“I trust my sister,” I say.
“Maybe we don’t trust Rocco and that’s the root of it all,” he tells me and winks, leaving without letting me ask any questions.
Who are you marrying, Sienna Heywood?
15
Tucker
I pull up outside the hotel where they’re having the rehearsal dinner. The valet parking attendant opens the door of the car. I take my luggage out of the trunk and let myself inside the building.
Spending my Friday at a fancy party isn’t my thing. It’s for Rocco, I repeat to myself.
Still, I’m trying to understand why one of my best friends—one of my brothers—disappeared for three years and suddenly is back pretending nothing happened.
Expecting me to be the same guy I was three years ago. I stopped partying for the sake of just doing something over the weekend. I prefer to spend them with my friends, or my siblings.
Life is more about enjoying and giving back, not just taking from everyone as we used to do.
Our relationship changed. How am I supposed to act now?
You don’t leave your family without a word.
Fuck, even after the big fight I had with my parents, I haven’t stopped visiting the rest of the family and sending them presents on their birthdays.
The Sinners, our special family, has always been something different to him. We’re what he never had.
He grew up with a woman who by name was his mother but never looked after him. She always chose drugs and men over him and his sister, Brooke.
At least until he was ten and the system placed them into foster care. He jumped from one family to another. It wasn’t until he arrived at my parents’ shelter, that he found a place where he could feel safe. Then, through the program, he found us—his family.
Now, he found Sienna Heywood who we just met, and I’ve no idea if she understands him—and loves him. They’re getting married tomorrow.
Why is everything happening too quick?
The happy couple chose not to have a bridal party.
Why even bother to have this dinner then? I have so many questions, and being alone without anyone to talk to makes me think.
I check in and send a silent thank you to Nana for getting us the penthouse floor for the weekend. She promised this would be easy and painless. She wouldn’t make me drive to her house or make me wear a tie for the rehearsal dinner.
Once I drop my things in the suite, I shower and change into a tailored black suit and a crisp white shirt. I run a hand through my damp hair and head to the ballroom. When I arrive, I text Nana because she’s running late, and she knows how much I hate stuffy parties.
Tuck: Where are you?
Nana: Denver, I told you my mother-in-law had surgery yesterday.
Fuck, I knew that. Emmeline told me she wouldn’t be available today or next week. I should send flowers to Mrs. Spearman.
Tuck: How is Ari doing?
Nana: She’s doing well. They removed her gall bladder. She should be out of the hospital by Monday. I’ll be there for the wedding.
Tuck: How about Alex?
Nana: He needs to stay with his mom. You’re my plus one.
Tuck: Good to know I won’t be alone. Maybe she-devil won’t try to poison me.
Nana: I can’t wait to meet Bar Girl. Ethan swears she has your nuts tied.
Tuck: Can we not talk about my balls?
It doesn’t take long to spot Rocco. I text Nana that I’ll see her tomorrow and put away my phone.
“Hey,” I greet Rocco when I spot him. “It’s busy.”
He nods.
“What happened to the small gathering?”
He huffs. “Her parents had to invite some of their business partners, colleagues, or clients. Who the fuck knows?”
“Don’t you get along with the parents?”
“I just met them,” he says, and he looks at his tattooed hands, opening and closing them into fists. “I didn’t pass the son-in-law test.”
“Who is the guy with your woman?”
“Some dude named Jerome. Her ex-fiancé. The asshole cheated on her.”
Usually he’s pretty good at wearing his feelings on his sleeve. This time, he’s not giving away anything. So I ask, “Do you love her?”
“Love is nothing compared to what I feel for her. She’s everything. I don’t know what I’d do without her. She’s my life.”
It sounds intense, and maybe that’s what people are supposed to feel for their significant others. Who knows? I’m yet to meet someone who might make me feel something other than attraction.
“You haven’t told me what the fuck happened to you,” I finally say, and I’m about to order a scotch when I remember what Zeke told me.
“It’s hard to stay sober when you see your friends drinking all the fucking time. In the meantime, I’m drooling for just one drink, just one smoke, just some sex. Something to shut the thoughts fucking me up inside my head.”
“Nothing happened. I lived my life,” he answers, and I’m not satisfied with his response.
Not sure about the others, but I need a lot more than what he’s giving me.
“You disappeared for years. Not a fucking word from you or about you. You left the program without finishing it.”
“I fell in love,” he says. “She does that.”
“Who?”
“Sienna,” he explains. “She got under my skin, claimed my heart. I had to protect her and leave the center for her own good. You know what it is to protect those you love.”
Scratching my cheek, I stare at him at a loss. I narrow my eyes and tap my foot against the floor. “Come again?”
“Can we not talk about it?”
My jaw clenches. “Was she in the program? Did you leave and couldn’t stay clean?”
His gaze searches around the room.
“Rocco,” I say, trying to keep my tone low.
“I slipped a little, but she saved me again. This time, she cured me,” he stops, looking out at the horizon, before continuing, “We’re meant for each other. After her, I understood why life had no meaning, because she wasn’t part of it.”
Us After You Page 9
