HOW DOES SHE DO IT?
How does she become the center of attention without becoming the center of attention?
Her conversation skills are unmatched. Her ability to charm is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. Yes, I can admit she’s charming as fuck.
And that smile. Everyone is captivated by it…even me.
She has taken center stage at this mimosa party and yet, she’s still able to make it all about Haisley and Jude.
Not sure I’ll ever understand it.
Maggie leans into me as we rest on a lounger together. That’s another thing. She makes it so easy to be friendly with her when all eyes are on us. In the bungalow, when she’s swatting my hand away, that’s a different story, but this girl must have been an actress in a former life because even her body language is breathing truth into the false story we’re projecting.
Still leaning in, she places her hand on my thigh and tilts her head onto my shoulder. She’s total girlfriend material right now and I’m relieved that she’s so fucking good at this that no suspicions are raised—but it also freaks me the fuck out, because I like it.
I like the way she smiles up at me.
I like when she casually drapes her hand on my leg.
I like when she leans into my chest and uses me as her own backrest.
Because I get to smell the sweet scent of her hair and be the recipient of the smile that did capture me on her twenty-first birthday. The very day I decided there was no way I’d ever let myself get close to her, because she was danger. She was addictive. And I wasn’t going to fall for that addiction. There’s the unwritten code that you don’t go after your best friend’s sister, mainly because if that relationship goes sour, how are you supposed to be friends after that? You can’t. And Gary is my man, so like I said, I wasn’t falling for that temptation.
But, fuck, Gary’s wedding was a weak moment for me, a slip of my resolve, but the moment I realized what I was doing, I backed away. I did everything possible to ensure I was never in close proximity to Maggie again. I fucked other women. Moved on from the attraction that could go fucking nowhere.
And I was doing pretty damn well, until she showed up at the same resort as me.
Now…fuck.
Nope, not going there. Keeping this completely platonic. Deflect, deflect, deflect.
“Ooh, you’re Bobbies fans?” Maggie says. “Uh-oh, did you hear that, Brody? The enemy is sitting across from you.”
Hardy, the easygoing one says, “Don’t tell me you’re a Rebels fan.”
“Guilty,” I say, lifting my champagne up to my lips.
“Come on.” Hardy tosses his hands up. “Here I thought you were going to be a good guy and you throw that down on us. How can you possibly like the Rebels when the Bobbies have the dynamic duo?”
“Two words.” I hold up two fingers. “Maddox Paige.”
Hardy rolls his eyes. “Jesus, that’s all you have?”
“Jason Orson,” I counter.
Hudson shakes his head. “The only thing Jason has going for him is his potato salad.”
“Potato salad?” Maggie asks next to me. “Oh wait…is that why you take potato salad to my brother’s house every time he hosts a party?”
“You take potato salad to parties?” Hardy asks. “Is it homemade?”
Before I can answer, Maggie says, “You have to understand something. Brody and my brother, Gary, bonded over the Rebels from the very beginning. They have rituals that they perform before every playoff season. The potato salad is just the tip of the iceberg.”
“Oh yeah?” Hardy says with a smile. “What else do you do?”
“Eh, we don’t need to get into—”
“They swap underwear,” Maggie answers.
Jesus Christ.
“What?” Hudson and Hardy say at the same time.
“Contract,” I mumble as I cough behind my mimosa. “Contract.”
But either she chooses to ignore me or doesn’t hear because she continues. “Oh yeah, they swap underwear. Sure, it’s clean, but they pick four different pairs and swap, and they’re only allowed to wear that underwear on game days. The tradition came when halfway through a playoff game in college, the Rebels were killing it, and Gary realized he was wearing Brody’s underwear. They shared a dorm. It was at that point that they established an underwear swapping ritual.”
Hardy turns to Hudson and elbows him. “How come we don’t swap underwear when the Bobbies are playing?”
“Because we don’t need to—the Bobbies always win.”
I’m about to protest when Haisley says, “I’ll swap underwear with you, Hardy.”
Hardy’s brow raises as he tilts his head, giving it some thought.
Jude pushes Hardy’s shoulder. “Don’t even think about it. I don’t need your balls on my wife’s underwear.”
That makes everyone laugh.
“What other rituals do you have?” Hudson asks, bringing it back to me.
I dismissively wave at him. “Oh, nothing really—”
“So many,” Maggie steps in once again, not getting my hint. “Where do we even begin? They hug three times before every inning. During the seventh inning stretch, they boop each other’s noses. And if the Rebels win, they each take a turn slapping each other’s butt while saying good game.”
So are we just throwing the contract right out the window?
“Not to mention what happens if they make it to the World Series.”
“Ooh, what happens?” Hardy asks, leaning forward with his mimosa.
“We don’t need to get into that,” I say, nudging Maggie this time.
But she seems to be on a roll of not giving a fuck. “If the Rebels make it to the World Series, Brody and Gary are required to perform the following rituals in this order. First game, both lying on their backs, pinkies linked.” Jesus, not the pinkies linked. “Second game, back-to-back, rotating every half inning so they don’t strain their necks.” That one just makes sense. “Third game, they feed each other potato salad every inning. That one’s disgusting to witness.” We keep a cooler to the side so it doesn’t get warm, not that you were asking. “Fourth game…hmm, what do they, oh yeah. They pretend their feet are phones and ring each other up every inning to call in the inning’s play.” That one we could have left out. “Fifth, sixth, and seventh, those are up for grabs. But if they do reach game seven, they have to wear their clothes backward with their underwear on the outside and sing ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ before every inning while holding hands and spinning around in circles.”
Well…fuck.
That’s pretty damning.
And for the record, I carry that song for the both of us. Gary has an awful voice, and I should be sainted for dealing with his off-pitch singing.
Hardy, Hudson, Jude, and Haisley are all crying-laughing, while Maggie smiles up at me, as if she has no idea what she just did. The twins are in the pool, completely oblivious to my undying embarrassment and thankfully, Reginald and Regina went for a walk.
But the damage has been done.
The Hopper siblings know and only time will tell when the news spreads. Fucking Gary and his traditions.
“That’s amazing.” Hardy wipes his eyes. “And that is why we’re not Rebels fans. Our boys just win without us having to sing ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.’” He laughs even harder.
Yup, I’m going to kill her.
“This slider is delicious. Oh my God, the beef is so juicy. Want to try a bite?”
I’m sitting across from Maggie as she dives into her lunch that we ordered while we were still hanging out with the Hoppers, but once it arrived, we all dispersed into our own corners of the pool area. I found a table far away so I could have a little chat with my girlfriend.
“Why do you look angry? You don’t have to try it if you don’t want to.”
I snatch the slider and shove the whole damn thing in my mouth.
“Hey, I said a bite, not the entire slider. Who does that?”
I chew, swallow, and then say, “Really, you’re going to complain? After the brutal beating you just handed me back there?” I thumb toward the Hoppers.
“Brutal beating?” Her brow creases in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“I thought we weren’t embarrassing each other in front of the Hoppers.”
“We aren’t,” she says and yup, she’s completely oblivious.
“Did you black out back there?” I ask. “Or are you playing dumb?”
“Why are you speaking in riddles?”
“I’m not,” I nearly shout. “I’m telling you, Maggie, that you embarrassed me.”
“What? How?”
“How?” I feel my brain nearly explode. “Talking about all the Rebels rituals Gary and I do.”
“How is that embarrassing?” she asks. “That’s like…locker-room talk.”
“First of all, girls are not part of locker-room talk, and second of all, Gary and I haven’t told anyone about those rituals. They’re sacred and thanks to you, they probably won’t work anymore, and the Rebels will always lose, and it’ll be your fault. I hope that’s a bitter cup of tea you’re ready to swallow.”
She presses her hand to her forehead, looking as exasperated as I feel. “Okay, first of all, those rituals barely work and the Rebels winning or losing has nothing to do with you booping my brother on the nose or feeding him subpar potato salad.”
I point at her and hiss, “That potato salad is made for heroes, and you know it. It has all the flavors of a cool summer day while posing thoughtful questions to your tastebuds like…is that dill?”
“You are deranged.” She shakes her head and reaches for another one of her sliders, but I steal it before she can. I bring it to my mouth, and she yelps, “Don’t.”
“Say you’re sorry.”
“Sorry for what? Were you really embarrassed?”
“Yes,” I say. “They were laughing at me.”
“Oh my God, Brody, it was a stupid story.”
“That made me look like an idiot.”
“Well, I’m glad you see it that way, because when you’re twirling around singing ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ as a grown-ass man with your clothes on backward, you sure do look like an idiot.”
I bring the slider closer to my mouth, and she holds her hand out.
“Stop, don’t. Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was embarrassing you. It won’t happen again.”
I study her for a second and then hand it back. “Thank you. Now…tell me something embarrassing so I can get even.”
“Do you really think I’m going to do that?”
“If you were half the woman you pretend to be, you would.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It did in my head,” I say as I pop one of her fries in my mouth.
“Excuse me.” She hovers her arms over her plate, as if that will protect it from my grabby hands. “You got a salad, deal with your choice.”
“I got a salad so I wasn’t bloated later on when you try to bury your head in my crotch again.”
Her nostrils flare.
Her eyes narrow.
And her face goes red.
“I told you we were done with that.”
“And you signed a contract that said you wouldn’t fondle me or embarrass me, and looks like you’ve done both in less than twenty-four hours, so…excuse me if I’m unclear if we’re keeping our promises or not.”
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Then, she sets her hands carefully on the table and says, “Do we need to press a reset button?”
“Huh?” I raise a quizzical brow.
“It seems we got off on the wrong foot this morning and it would behoove us if we let go of this animosity. So, if we press a reset button, maybe we can get back on track.”
“Not sure what kind of magical remote control you carry around with you, but I don’t have a reset button, unless…is your reset button your nipple? Every time I press mine, something tingles inside of me. Is that the reset?”
She pushes her hands over her hair and slowly, quietly says, “I resent you.”
“Same, princess,” I reply as I stab my salad with my fork, gathering some of the leaves and sticking them in my mouth.
After a few moments of silence, she says, “You know, it wasn’t my intention to embarrass you.” I prepare a retort to shame her but then I take in her expression. She looks…calm. Composed. Contrite. Somehow, she’s let go of her irritation with me and is speaking the truth. This girl never ceases to surprise me. “I just get caught up sometimes and forget to think before I speak. I’m sorry.”
Well, that was a heartfelt apology, and it’s one that I can accept.
“Thank you,” I say. “I appreciate it. Despite it being humiliating, it seemed like Hudson and Hardy got a good laugh in.”
“And Haisley as well.”
“Yeah, I guess it wasn’t that bad.”
I gather some more lettuce and when I look up at her, she’s smirking.
“What?” I ask her.
She holds a fry up to her mouth. “And that…is how you press the reset button.”
“Jesus Christ,” I murmur as I go back to my salad. This woman has to be fucking right about everything, doesn’t she?
Putting your clothes away in the hotel.
Eating bacon—yeah, we had an argument about that. I shoved the whole thing in my mouth, and she told me I needed to take little bites.
And now this—how to press the reset button.
She’s irritating.
“And you were wrong about the single thing.”
“Huh?” I ask as I reach for my water.
“There being no singles on this island. A quick Google search helped me find out that both Hardy and Hudson are single. Which means it looks like I have a chance at two of the most attractive billionaires on the island.”
My face falls flat as she beams with pride.
“I think you’re failing to realize one thing,” I say.
“What’s that?” she asks.
“You already attached yourself to me, so there is to be no flirting, no going after anyone else. You’re stuck with this hunk of a man sitting right in front of you. Remember, it’s one of the goddamn rules you insisted on.”
Now it’s her turn for her face to fall. Wait. What? She was actually considering going after Hardy or Hudson?
“And as long as you’re my pretend girlfriend, that means you belong to me,” I say, the thought of her flirting with Hudson or Hardy really grating on my nerves. “You’re not to even look at another man.”
“Okay, caveman. I can’t not look at them.”
“I mean not look at them in a way that you would look at me.”
“With disdain?” she asks, that smart mouth making its reappearance.
“With absolute adoration.”
“Oh, is that how you think I look at you?” She winces. “Sorry, for misleading you. You’re mistaking adoration for indigestion.”
Cute.
“You know what I mean. You’re mine while we’re here, remember that.”
She props her elbow up on the table and leans her chin on her hand. “Brody McFadden, are you jealous?”
I cringe. “No. Jealous of what? You being with another man? Not even close, princess. I’m just covering our asses here. The last thing we need is for you to flirt with Hudson—”
“I think Hardy is more my type.”
Why does that literally make me feel murderous?
“Either way,” I grind out. “You are not to make a move. If you feel yourself needing the attention, just come to me.”
“And what the hell are you going to do?” she asks.
“Allow you to practice your failed flirting attempts. What else?”
“They’re not failing.”
“Says the single girl,” I say, causing her jaw to nearly hit the table in outrage.
Yeah, that might have been a low blow, but Jesus, she brings it out of me.
“I will have you know I haven’t had time to flirt with anyone. Not that you’d understand, but running your own business takes up a lot of time, and when I do have some free moments to myself, they’re usually used up with self-pampering because I’m too tired to do anything else. I’m not single because I suck at flirting. I’m single because I’m a workaholic who has based her entire life and self-worth around her business.”
She sits back in her chair and presses her hands to the table, taking a few deep breaths and probably going over the words she just said.
They were pretty hefty.
A meaningful admission that I’m not sure she understood about herself up until now.
“Listen—”
“Forget about it.” She blows out another breath. “It’s fine. Okay. Let’s just move on.”
Seeing that I pushed her too far, I say, “Okay, yeah.”
I pick at my salad, popping bites in as she reclines her chair and crosses one leg over the other, casually picking up a fry here and there.
If you were looking at us from afar, you’d probably assume that we were having a lover’s spat. And maybe we are. Technically it’s a spat, not for lovers, more for enemies. But either way, we don’t look like the loving couple we were while holding mimosas.
After a few moments of silence, I say, “I know what it means to want something so bad that you will do anything to accomplish it.” I look up at her. “Like take an invite from my manager just for the possibility of getting closer to my boss who will ultimate decide if this idea I’ve been working on for over a year is viable or not.”
She looks up at me, those hazel eyes slightly watery. They clear up as she realizes what I’m trying to do.
“So then,” she clears her throat, “maybe you know a little bit about what I’m going through.”
“Yeah…just a little,” I say and then leave it at that.
I don’t want to make her feel bad about her admission, but I also don’t want to grow too close to her. Not when I’m already harboring feelings for her. Diving deep into who this beautiful woman is, unearthing the complexities of her personality—that would be my undoing.
Got to keep it surface level.
Because if there’s one thing that I do know. It’s that there’s no way in hell Gary would appreciate me going out with his sister. He didn’t want to sacrifice our relationship if something went wrong and I understood. I agreed with him.
But I think he saw it in my eyes. The attraction.
The unintentional yearning.
Because the night before his wedding, he reiterated his concerns, his demands, when he caught me staring at her during the rehearsal dinner.
Leave her alone.
Not for you.
I love you, man…I don’t want to lose you.
Don’t do it.
And I’ve held on to those words. And I’ll keep holding on to them.
Because it’s better to lose out on an opportunity for something great that risk everything you already have.
“Are you ready?” Maggie says as she comes up behind the lounger where I’m sitting, looking out toward the lagoon.
I stand up and when I get my first look at her, I feel my stomach do a mini flip. She’s wearing a cute aqua and coral romper. The shorts are connected to the bodice, but the neckline is a deep V that reaches to her navel, giving me one hell of a view of her amazing cleavage. She put on a pair of high-heeled sandals that make her legs look impossibly long and toned, and she styled her hair up into a high ponytail, her natural waves adding dimension.
She’s so fucking gorgeous that it’s actually painful.
I stuff my hands in my pockets and offer her a curt smile. “Yup, ready.”
“Then let’s go,” she says, turning on her heel and heading toward the front door. I watch her pert ass sway, her shorts barely covering her backside. Yup, she certainly came here to meet a man and she brought all the clothes for it.
She has me fucking drooling, that’s for damn sure. I wonder if she has Hudson and Hardy feeling the same way.
In all honesty, I think at the drop of a hat, any woman would leave me for them. It would make sense if Maggie did. I doubt anyone would be surprised. If Maggie did decide to ditch me for a Hopper, at least I think the move would make me look like a chump and maybe they’d take pity on me and approve my proposal over Deanna’s. Wouldn’t that be a fucking way to do it.
Although, I don’t think I could suffer through the blow of my fake girlfriend moving on to someone else right in front of me. Our relationship might not be real, but I’m still a stupidly proud man.
Once we lock up, I sit in the golf cart but then pause and ask, “Want to walk?”
She glances down at her heels and then back at me. “Uh, maybe another time,” she answers. “I don’t think it would help Haisley if I roll an ankle on one of the planks.”
“Probably right,” I say as I pat the seat next to me. “Hop in.”
She pauses. “I can take my shoes off and walk along the bridge if you really want to.”
“Nah, it’s okay. The quicker we get to the bar, the better, right?”
“Yes,” she says as she takes a seat. “After that dress fitting, I feel like I need some alcohol.”
Maggie met up with Haisley shortly after lunch for a dress fitting to make sure she could fit into the best friend’s dress. Thankfully it was some sort of empire waist thing, whatever the hell that means. From what Maggie mumbled, it was really tight in the breast area, and they needed to make some serious adjustments. I can only imagine how much fun that was.
I wanted to see what Hudson, Hardy, and Jude were doing, but I didn’t want to impose on their time together, so I came back to the bungalow and skinny-dipped in the plunge pool.
It relaxed me just enough before we decided to get ready for dinner.
I drape my arm behind her and press the pedal of the golf cart.
“Haisley invited us to play some beach games tomorrow, if you’re interested. I told her I’d have to talk to you. I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do, this whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing excluded.”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” I say, realizing that she’s more subdued than normal. She’s been like that since lunch. I glance over, missing that fiery spirit. “You know, you’ve been sort of quiet. If you want to talk about the workaholic thing—”
“I don’t,” she says, looking in the other direction.
“Okay, but it just seems to be bothering—”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it, Brody. So just drop it,” she snaps.
Okay…she doesn’t want to talk about it, which means either her comment struck a nerve, and she doesn’t know how to process it, or she’s embarrassed about what she said. I’m guessing it’s the first thing, because I can still see the look of surprise on her face when she said it.
As we approach the golf cart parking lot, I try to change the subject and jokingly say, “Do we need a reminder of the rules of this engagement?” I put the cart in park.
“No,” she says as she steps out of the golf cart and starts walking away.
“Uh, hello,” I call, catching up to her. “You can’t storm off—people will think we’re fighting.”
“I’m not storming off. I just want to get a drink and you’re too slow.”
“Hey.” I tug on her hand, forcing her to face me. “Seriously, Maggie. I know you resent me, as you stated at lunch, but if there’s something on your mind, you can talk to me.”
“Brody.” She places her hand on my chest and whispers, “You’re the last person I’d want to talk to about this.” And then she takes my hand in hers and leads me down the path toward the bar.
Okay, so that’s how it’s going to be tonight. Got it. And to be honest, that’s fair. I’ve put several boundaries in place over the years to avoid showing my attraction to her. Indifference. Disdain. Warm and a good listener are two attributes she’d never associate with me. Fair call.
Together, we walk into the already crowded restaurant and head straight to the side of the bar where Maggie takes a seat on one of the stools. She straightens her shoulders, puffing her chest out and grabbing the attention of pretty much every man in the surrounding area, including the bartender.
“Good evening,” he says, setting a napkin down in front of Maggie. “What can I get you?”
“I’d love a mai tai,” Maggie says.
The bartender looks up at me, having the decency not to stare at Maggie as I say, “Whatever pale ale you have on tap.”
He nods and gets to work. That’s when Maggie turns on her stool to face me. She crosses one silky leg over the other and leans back against the bar, the neckline of her romper dangerously testing the power of her cleavage. I can actually see her sternum and the whole inner side of each breast. Gary would have a fit if he saw her in this.
“Tell me,” she says, looking me up and down. “What are your go-to moves?”
“Huh?” I ask as I shift in my sandals. I chose to wear a pair of gray chinos and a white, short-sleeved button up with the faintest print of palm leaves. Not something I’d wear normally, but it works for where we are.
“If I were at the bar and you saw me and found me attractive, how would you approach me?”
“Uh…I don’t know,” I say, confused. Where is this coming from?
“You don’t know?” she asks as she slips her finger into one of my front pockets and pulls me closer to her. “That seems unlike you. I’ve seen you at a bar before. Remember my twenty-first birthday? Who did you go home with again?”
I wished it was you.
“No one,” I answer.
“Yes, you did. Wasn’t it that girl with the long black hair and cat ears?”
“The girl dressed as a cat who kept purring in my ear? Uh, no, did a hard pass on that red flag.”
“I could have sworn you went home with someone.”
“Keeping tabs on me?” I ask as her hand drifts up my abdomen, confusing me again. What is she up to?
But also…I’m loving every second of it.
“Maybe.” She smirks up at me. “By the way, you didn’t even say anything about my necklace.”
She’s wearing a necklace?
Huh, didn’t notice…I wonder why.
She brings my attention down to her chest and she dances her fingers over her bronze skin next to a gold necklace.
“Do you like it?” she asks, dragging her fingers down her chest, right between her breasts and fuck, does my mouth water.
“Uh, yeah.” I gulp. “It’s nice.”
“I bought it for myself. I was shopping for some new lingerie sets and came across it. I couldn’t stop staring at it.” Yeah, I can’t stop staring either. “And I thought it would look beautiful on me. What do you think?”
I swallow and slowly nod, my head feeling heavy as I continue to stare at her chest, the image of her bare breast from this morning running through my mind. Christ…
“Yeah, it looks amazing.”
“I can make it longer if I wanted, but I don’t think you’d be able to see it when my boobs pushed together. What do you think?” she asks as she presses her breasts together.
Umm…what was the question?
“I was right, huh?” She sighs and squares her shoulders back, bringing the neckline of the romper dangerously close to her nipples. “I think I’ll keep it at this length.”
“Yeah.” I grip the back of my neck, feeling all kinds of woozy. “Probably a good idea.”
I stare at her chest for another two seconds before lifting my eyes up to hers where I find her smiling brightly.
Just then the bartender brings us our drinks, and she hands me my beer before leaning in. “And that’s how I flirt. I’m not single because of my flirting skills.” Her lips nearly brush against my ear. “I’m single because I’m dedicated to myself.”
And then she slips her straw in her mouth and sucks.
Motherfucker.
Bartender, I’m going to need at least two more of these.
“How was your dinner?” Haisley asks as she comes up to our table, Jude at her side.
Painfully uncomfortable thanks to my inability to stop staring at Maggie. I’ve been half hard the entire goddamn meal.
I pat my stomach. “Amazing. Got the steak. I swear it melted in my mouth.”
“That’s Daddy’s favorite dish,” Haisley says. “He doesn’t ever want anything else when he stays here, but Mom makes him break up his red meat binge with fresh seafood.”
“The salmon was so good,” Maggie says as she leans back, a mai tai in hand—her second—looking so fucking sexy with her legs crossed. It’s been a torturous night to say the least, especially after she had to prove her point about why she’s single.
I just kept telling myself I was staring at her necklace, nothing else, when I caught myself looking at her chest.
“Well, we’re headed down to one of the firepits, would you like to join us?”
“Would love it,” I say. “Just waiting for the check.”
Haisley waves me off. “We already took care of it.” We already took care of it. I’ll never get used to this level of wealth where meals, week-long accommodations, and resort life can simply be taken care of.
“Oh, well thank you,” I say as I stand from my chair. I walk over to Maggie and hold my hand out to her. She takes it, slipping her fingers across mine.
It might not be real, but hell does it feel like it.
We follow Jude and Haisley down the stairs to an open space near the pool. Tiki torches light the way as well as clusters of fire pits with seating all around them. Jude and Haisley lead us to one that’s closer to the beach and we all take a seat. Maggie and I land in a loveseat across from Jude and Haisley.
I drape my arm over Maggie and bring her in close. She curls her legs up behind her and leans into me, placing her arm on my leg, looking so casually comfortable that for a second, I almost believe we’re a couple.
“Have you been here a lot?” Maggie asks.
Haisley nods. “It’s one of my favorite places ever. I remember the first time we vacationed here—my brothers and I had the best time. They were getting practically teens, and getting too cool to play with me, but that summer, we all swam in the lagoon, road WaveRunners, played in the sand—and we all just had the best time ever. Since then, the Saint Hopper has had a special place in my heart. I knew it’s where I wanted to get married and I’m really lucky that Jude agreed.”
He kisses the side of her head. “As long as we’re married, that’s all I care about.”
Look at that giant sap over there. Wonder if I’ll ever be in a position where love makes me say things like that?
“Since you’re a wedding planner, do you have your perfect wedding laid out in your head?”
“Yes, I do.” Maggie says, leaning her head against my shoulder.
“Can we hear it? Unless it’s too much pressure for you two.”
“No, I’d like to hear it,” I say as I pick up a strand of her hair and start twirling it around my finger.
Her thumb drags over my leg in a soothing touch suited more for an intimate moment, but then again, maybe she’s making up for her rant about my Rebels rituals from earlier.
“I grew up in Northern California, in a small town about an hour outside of San Francisco. There wasn’t much to our small town, but we did have an old historic district, where we preserved buildings from the early settlers. It was our one claim to fame: come see the old Wild West. Well, there’s a little white chapel there that has been preserved over the years. It has beautiful stained-glass windows, almost floor to ceiling, carved wooden pews, and a beautiful, vaulted ceiling that makes the chapel seem so much bigger than it actually is. Capacity is about thirty people, but I’ve seen it decked out in green eucalyptus garlands and baby’s breath, and it’s so heart-stoppingly beautiful that I know there isn’t any other place I’d rather get married.”
“Sounds dreamy,” Haisley says.
“The white chapel next to the old schoolhouse?” I ask. Since Gary still lives in Butternut, their small town, I’ve walked those streets several times, especially when he was trying to train for a half-marathon. I ran with him on weekends.
“Yes, that one,” Maggie says in a far-off voice. “The very first wedding I ever saw was there. The town librarian was getting married, and my mom is dear friends with her. I was too old to be the flower girl, but I remember sitting in one of the pews, which honestly looked like a log straight from the forest, thinking I wanted this experience to last forever. I loved the white dress. The flowers. The tears of joy. Everything about weddings made me happy, and if it made me that happy, it had to make others happy. So, I needed to be a part of it.”
“That’s so beautiful,” Haisley says.
I didn’t know that about Maggie, what jumpstarted her passion for weddings. I don’t know, I guess I just assumed it was something she enjoyed because she was a girl—what a sexist thing to think.
Of course Maggie would have a backstory about why she loves weddings so much. That’s the kind of person she is. There’s a purpose behind everything with her. Sometimes it’s really annoying, like her drive to turn me on by showing me how she can flirt, but then there are moments like this, where it’s truly endearing.
“What about you?” Jude asks. “Do you have your dream wedding planned, Brody?” There’s a bit of a chuckle to his voice so I give it a thought.
“Isn’t it obvious? Rebels stadium. Wouldn’t have it anywhere else.” As if I just insulted her, Maggie sits up to look me in the eyes, making me and Jude laugh. I pinch her chin. “Nah, princess, it would be at the little white chapel. What you want, I want.” And I don’t know if it’s the talk of weddings or the drinks at dinner, but I decide to take that moment. I lean into her and gently kiss her on the mouth.
I feel her stiffen under my touch only for a moment before her mouth melts against mine.
And what a fucking mistake because, Jesus, those lips. I forgot how delicious they are.
How perfect they are for my mouth.
How goddamn sweet.
I forgot what it was like to be trapped within the taste of her mouth and the feel of her body pressed up against mine.
And most importantly, I forgot how easy it is to get lost, caught up in the moment, and forget that there are two people sitting across from us, clearly witnessing this kiss.
That snaps me out of my haze, and I pull away before I can get too lost and make a scene in front of Haisley and Jude.
But as I pull away and lock eyes with Maggie, I can see it in her expression, the confusion mixed with the lust—the same look I saw the night of Gary’s wedding.
The same look that was burned into my brain for the rest of the night. The one I tried to shake but struggled so much with, even months later. That’s when I decided there was only one way to fix it—bury myself in work.
What a fucking full circle. The work I buried myself in brought me right back to Maggie.
Life can be sick and twisted sometimes.
“Seems like there’s going to be a wedding at that chapel sooner than you thought,” Haisley says with a smirk as she cuddles into Jude.
And that’s where she’s completely wrong. Because the girl snuggled into my side, whose delicious lips I can still taste, will marry a different man in her chapel.
That man will never be me.
Maggie is in the bathroom, doing fuck knows what for her nighttime routine and, because she takes forever, there’s no point trying to fall asleep. She’s only going to keep me awake. So, I grab my phone and I pull up my emails to see if there’s anything important that I need to look over.
When I see Deanna’s name in my inbox, I stifle a groan.
I pull up her email and read it.
Heard you’re in Bora-Bora with Daddy Reggie. It’s smelling a little desperate. Since you’re trying to undercut me, thought I’d send you this note from his assistant that I received today. Happy vacationing.
RE: Wedding Venue/business proposal
Mr. Hopper is quite pleased with the numbers you’ve projected. Could you offer him some notes on costs for renovating some of the spaces and which ones you want to highlight? Add them in the presentation. Between you and me, this is a no-brainer for him.
“Fuck,” I shout as I slam my phone down on the mattress. I push both my hands through my hair just as Maggie makes her entrance. This time she’s wearing a black lace romper. I can see the bottom of her butt cheeks as she walks and since she’s not wearing a bra, her tits are bouncing with every step she takes. Just what I fucking need.
“Everything okay in here?” she asks, eyeing me as she rounds the bed.
“Yeah, fine,” I say as I plug my phone into my charger. No need to look at any other emails, as that will only make it even harder to fall asleep.
“Really? Because it seems like you’re pissed.”
“I’m not,” I lie as she starts taking her vitamins.
“You know, I’m very good at tamping down my feelings, you’ve probably noticed. But if you ever want to talk—”
“Didn’t you just say that I’m the last person you’d want to talk to?” I ask, my voice stern, irritated. “Well, just reverse that. Okay?”
That quiets her, which only makes me feel worse because I don’t mean to be a dick to her, it just seems to happen. But the last thing I want to do is talk to Maggie about my failures. In her eyes, I’m already a downgrade from anyone she’d want to share a bed with. The last thing I need is for her to see just how much of a downgrade.
Without another word, she finishes up her nighttime routine and then turns off the light. The moon bathes the room in silver light, reflecting off the water just outside.
I stare up at the ceiling, my mind racing with thoughts of the email. Did the assistant really say that, or is Deanna trying to throw me off my game? I wouldn’t put it past Deanna to falsify an email just to get under my skin, because why is she sending him the proposal so early? We aren’t supposed to do anything with it until Hopper gets back from vacation. This is probably something I need to talk to Jaleesa about in the morning.
Maggie turns toward me, pulling me out of my thoughts as she lifts up on her elbow to look at me. “Can we talk about something?”
Not really in the mood, but it seems as though she is and, if I know anything about Maggie, she usually gets her way.
“Don’t you want to sleep?” I ask as I glance toward her. Damn it, she looks so goddamn gorgeous, makeup-free with her hair framing her face.
“I do, but…I think we need to make something clear.”
“What?” I ask. Can’t wait to hear this.
“That kiss, in front of the fireplace.”
You mean the kiss that I’ve tried to block from my mind since I have to sleep next to you and the temptation is too high?
“What about it?” I ask, hoping I sound casual.
“Well, don’t you think it was uncalled for?”
What was uncalled for was how goddamn short it was.
I look back up at the ceiling. “You’re overthinking it.”
“Brody, I don’t think we should be doing that.”
“Why?” I ask. “It was part of the job. There was nothing to it. It convinced Haisley and Jude that we are the perfect couple,” I say irritated, because this is the last thing I want to be talking about.
Or thinking about…
“But don’t you think—”
An annoyed growl pops out of my mouth as I lift up from the bed, push her onto her back, and hover over her so our noses are nearly touching.
A startled gasp falls past her lips as her eyes search mine.
“Listen to me, Maggie. There was nothing to that kiss, and I mean nothing. If you’re anxious about what it might do to our contract or whatever is going on in that head of yours, you don’t need to worry about a thing. If I really meant that kiss, you would have been left completely breathless.” Pure need surges through me, grips my emotions, and causes me to lose my cool, my resistance to this woman crumbling as I slide my hand up her side. “You would have felt my touch.” My thumb grazes over the side of her breast. “You would have felt my need.” I run my hand up to her shoulder. “You would have felt my tongue.” I run my hand over the base of her delicate neck, picturing what it would be like to hold her here, gently gripping her as I fuck her into this mattress. “You would have known that you’re the one and only person I ever wanted to taste.”
Her chest rises and falls heavier as my thumb glides over her neck.
I lean in even closer and let the scruff of my jaw rub against her cheek as I speak close to her ear. “And when I pulled away, you would have been so goddamn wet and ready for me, that you wouldn’t have been able to speak after. You wouldn’t have spent twenty minutes in that bathroom, getting ready for bed. If I kissed you in a way that you claim could be a problem, we wouldn’t be talking right now, because your mouth would be on my cock while I gripped your hair and held you in place and while listening to your sweet gags.”
She wets her lips before her mouth parts and her breath catches in her chest.
“So don’t fucking question me if I give you a basic peck on the lips. There’s nothing to talk about because there’s nothing here,” I say as I shift off of her and then turn on my side, away from her, instantly regretting every fucking word.
Well, not every word.
If I kissed her like I meant it, her reaction would have been everything I described.
The untrue part is that there’s nothing between us.
To me, there is too much there.
There’s anger.
Frustration.
Irritation.
And so much fucking desire that I can barely breathe.
