Ready to Wed (Entangled Select) Page 6

  “I know it sucks,” Jillian said. “But I called to check in and help you talk crap about Phoebe if needed, not send you on a rage spree. Besides, it’s Friday afternoon, and everyone will be leaving for the weekend, with her already off to some social event.”

  I exhaled. “Fine. I’ll have to hunt her down Monday, because there’s no way I’m searching through every club this weekend.” I did wonder if she’d actually answer her phone if I called. She probably would, and she’d be all smug, and then I’d be angrier, and I wanted to have the confrontation face-to-face.

  “I’ve got a bat mitzvah to cater tonight. Not sure how late it’ll go, but I’m hoping to have everything cleaned up and be home by nine. You’ll be cool till then, right?”

  “Yep. I got a new office supply magazine today.” I ran my hand down its glossy surface, the thought of all the pretty organizational tools inside helping calm the throbbing pulse beating behind my temples. “And I’m an independent woman now, remember?”

  “Right. At least until you get arrested for assault on a socialite wannabe.”

  “All good things have to end sometime,” I said with a laugh, then wished her luck at tonight’s job and hung up. This was why we were good for each other. Whenever one of us got angry, the other one knew just what to say to make it all okay, while still acknowledging the suckiness of the situation.

  My door chimed, and Brendan stepped inside. His height and the fact that he was so built compared to the scrawny boy I used to know struck me again. Today he had on a navy button-down and a black tie, and his hair was smoothed into place, a total business look that was part intimidation and part yum.

  Okay, I did not just think of Brendan West, the guy I used to climb trees with and have sleepovers with, where The Sandlot and The Mighty Ducks were the main forms of entertainment, as yum.

  “Hey,” he said, his boyish grin taking the edge off the serious look.

  Yep, yum. He’s definitely yum.

  As he came closer, I noticed he smelled nice, too. Something crisp yet earthy. “I know you said your life is crazy now, but I was driving by your office, saw the light on, and thought I’d take a chance and see if you had plans.”

  “Sad pathetic plans involving takeout and kicking back on the couch that also currently doubles as my bed.” I lifted the thick magazine I’d just been admiring. “But I do have my office supply porno mag, so not totally pathetic.”

  Amusement crinkled the corners of Brendan’s eyes as he glanced at it. “Kinky.”

  I laughed and slid the magazine into my bag. “What did you have in mind?”

  …

  “I swear this is the best Italian in the city,” I said.

  “I lova good Italian joint,” Brendan said in the worst Italian accent I’d ever heard.

  I shook my head but couldn’t help laughing. “You’re still a total ham.”

  “You know what they say. If it ain’t broke…” He reached in front of me and opened the door to the restaurant. As I passed, he picked up a strand of my hair. “This is different than it was the other day. Looks good.”

  “Thanks. I just had it done, actually. I can’t believe you noticed.” Grant often complimented how I looked, but he didn’t notice haircuts or new outfits or jewelry. Which was fine, but it was nice that someone appreciated Raquel’s handiwork besides me.

  “Well, my job is all about the details.”

  “Just like the devil,” I said, and Brendan’s eyebrows drew together. “You know. The devil is in the details.”

  One side of his mouth kicked up. “Yes, just like the devil, then. My mom’s so proud.”

  I laughed again, relieved things between us were so easy so quickly. I couldn’t handle any more complicated relationships.

  “Dakota, Dakota, Dakota.” Antonia, the woman who ran the restaurant with her husband and sometimes catered my smaller weddings, came forward, shaking her head as she looked at me, which wasn’t the reaction I usually got when I came in to pick up dinner. “I read about it in the paper today. Your failed wedding.” She picked up my hand and patted it. “Are you okay? I read Enrico the article, and he says, ‘What kind of a guy would stand up that sweet girl?’”

  She stared at me like she actually expected an answer, then her eyebrows lowered as she looked at Brendan. “That’s not him, right? I remember him being shorter. Darker hair.”

  Heat crept up my neck and into my cheeks, and I was back to feeling like I should hunt Phoebe down and throttle her again. Leave it to her to make my humiliating situation mortifying. “This is a friend of mine. We’re just here for dinner.”

  “Oh. Well, I have a nephew who’s single. He works in the kitchen. Maybe I introduce you sometime?”

  Instead of brushing her off, or even attempting to explain that the last thing I was in the mood for was a setup, I said, “Hey, if he can make lasagna, I’m sold.”

  A huge smile stretched across her lips, and I wasn’t sure she got that I was kidding. “You want to eat here tonight, or you picking up to go?”

  I’d been thinking here, but now that everyone was going to be asking about my failed wedding, I eyed the door, wanting an escape.

  Brendan put his hand on my elbow. “Wanna go to my place? Kick back and relax?”

  All our years apart, and he could still read my thoughts. “Sounds perfect.” Brendan and I ordered, and then we stood in the lobby to wait for our food. I glanced at him, and he gave me a tight smile, not the easy one he’d been flashing earlier.

  “I don’t want pity.” It came out harsher than I meant it to, but I needed to not have him looking at me like that. I’d gotten too much of it lately, and after the mention in the column that reeked of desperation, I couldn’t take any more. Especially not from the guy who’d made it all disappear for a few magical minutes. I wanted the careless vibe back.

  He held up his hands. “No pity. A girl who marries for lasagna obviously has her priorities straight. In fact, I’d call it admirable.”

  I clamped my mouth shut, fighting a smile. He thought he was too funny for his own good. I failed at not smiling, so I shoved him for good measure.

  “You’re as violent as I remember,” he said with a laugh.

  “And don’t you forget it.”

  He grinned at me, and I was again reminded of all our time together growing up. The football, baseball, and soccer games. Running through the desert and hiding under poky bushes to keep the nearby “cops” on four-wheelers from catching us. And it all started in second grade, the day he threw a stick at my head and I stormed over and punched him—I didn’t want to be the girl who got pushed around. I was already the new kid who moved in halfway through the year, not to mention I was dealing with my parents’ divorce. I wasn’t about to add wimp to the list.

  As Brendan had rubbed his jaw, he’d said he was sorry about the stick, claiming he didn’t realize I was a girl—which almost made me punch him again. In his defense, that was the year I’d had my hair cut super short—not sure what I was thinking, but let’s just say it was the opposite of flattering, although very little maintenance, which used to be my main concern.

  But after that day, Brendan and I started playing together, and I ended up being the only girl in a group of guys. The games changed over the years, but it was almost always something physical, with the occasional video game thrown in. The other guys were fine, but Brendan and I really clicked. On my ninth birthday, he even proposed with a Life Saver.

  “What?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at me as if he suspected I was up to no good.

  “I was just thinking about you and me as kids. It still trips me out to look at you and see the guy I knew, yet totally different.”

  “You look different, too.” His gaze ran down me, lingering on my red suede Mary Jane heels. “For one, I never expected you to be so girly.”

  “Sorry to disappoint.”

  He wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “I’m not disappointed. It’s just, well, you lived in jeans, baggy T-s
hirts, and jerseys. You could throw a curveball that’d make any guy jealous.”

  “Stop or you’ll make me blush,” I said, swiping a hand through the air, and got rewarded with a big grin.

  “And now here you are wearing a skirt and heels and planning weddings. How did that happen?”

  “It’s more of a control thing than the dresses, cakes, and fancy decorations, even though I’ve learned to love those things, too. During my last few years of high school, my girlie side kicked in and I found that I actually like getting dressed up. And that I could dress like a girl and still play sports—I was on the soccer team, since the football team seemed reluctant to have me. What with my dad being the coach, I probably could’ve pushed for it, but at that time, I wanted to have something separate from Dad—but something he’d still be proud of.”

  “I’m sure he was.”

  “He came to all of my games. One even overlapped with football, and he let the assistant coach take over for that game. I still kind of can’t believe it.” Movement in the back of the restaurant caught my attention. Antonia was talking to a tall, scrawny guy who looked like he’d just gotten out of high school. She pointed at me, and I had the feeling he was the nephew she suddenly wanted to set me up with.

  I ducked behind Brendan, using him to hide me, though it was too late anyway.

  “What are y— Oh.” Brendan chuckled. “He looks like just your type, D.J. Probably barely made it out of jailbait age.”

  I gripped the back of his shirt. “You’re so not helpful.” I tipped onto my toes so I could peek over Brendan’s shoulder and see if Antonia was still pointing at me. Not sure what hiding was going to accomplish, but it seemed like the thing to do.

  Antonia came up front—alone, thankfully—and handed us bags of food that smelled of garlic and marinara and made my stomach rumble in anticipation. I did my best to hide the fact that I’d been using Brendan as a shield. Though I did notice he was a rather sturdy one.

  We took the food and got back into Brendan’s truck. As he drove, he bobbed his head to the music, humming along with the radio, and I relaxed back in the passenger seat, glad to have someone to chill with on a Friday night.

  “So, how do you like being back?” I asked. “And what exactly do you do at the casino?”

  “So far so good—some of my best memories are here.” He glanced at me and warmth flooded my chest. Then he looked back out at the road, the streetlights outlining his profile and the way he draped his arm over the steering wheel. “I take care of security for our high rollers and make sure no one steals from the casino. And if they do, I make sure I grab them before they get away. There’s a lot of carding for underage gambling and taking care of people who get drunk and disorderly, too. And a lot of behind-the-scenes stuff that I can’t really talk about.” He said it lightly, but I could tell he was higher-level, and that he took his job seriously.

  “You go with your James Bond self.”

  The headlights from a car coming the opposite way flashed across his curved lips. “You never finished telling me how you got into planning weddings. You were too busy hiding.”

  “Well, if I knew you were practically a spy, I would’ve asked for a cooler avoidance technique.” I readjusted the seat belt and twisted my back against the door. “It all started when a teammate’s mom got married, and I went to the wedding. I was awed by all the flowers, decorations, and waiters serving fancy meals. Everyone looked so happy, too. I started wondering how it’d all come together. It looked like a challenge, and I wanted to know if I could pull off something like that. So I looked into planning, and since organization has always been my thing, it just fit. And I like that no matter how many weddings I do, they’re always different. Problems inevitably arise, and I get a rush when I take care of them and manage to pull off another wedding.”

  Except for mine. I totally failed at that, no awesome adrenaline rush included. I quickly shook off that unwanted thought and shrugged. “Plus, I get to boss people around.”

  “You always did like to do that,” Brendan teased, and I smacked his arm.

  He turned into a newer subdivision and pulled into the garage of a tan two-story house with Spanish roof tiles and a tall palm tree in the front yard. Within a few minutes, we were seated at the table in the kitchen, digging into dinner. As our conversation hit a lull, my mind started spinning. At first it was focused on how nice it was to be with Brendan again, laughing and joking the same way we used to, but then I was thinking about how different he and Grant were. Not just in looks, but Brendan’s decorations were sparse and there were piles of clutter here and there that, okay, I kind of wanted to sort and put away. Even though he was fairly neat already, Grant hired a maid to come in and clean, and his decorations were pieces he’d picked up in high-end galleries. He’d minored in art, so he knew the history behind each painting, too.

  I had a feeling Brendan’s pictures had a history that went something like, they came with the house. Not that I was really into art or cared about that kind of thing. I just tended to look at a person’s style, vehicle, etcetera, and see if I could guess what his or her personality was like. When it came to brides and grooms, I was about 75 percent right.

  “You like it?” Brendan pointed at the picture hanging on the wall that I’d been studying.

  “Where’d you get it?”

  “Came with the house.”

  A smug zip went through my core.

  “I’m going to decorate eventually,” he said. “I’m thinking movie posters.”

  “In the kitchen?”

  “Why not?”

  I shrugged, because I couldn’t think of any reason besides it wasn’t usually done, and that didn’t seem like a good enough one. “I suppose you’ll have sports stars and 49ers posters plastered on your walls, too, just like you did when you were a kid.”

  “Yeah, my bedroom—the only room I’ve decorated so far—still has some. But now they’re framed, because I’m way more mature and fancy.” He nudged my knee with his hand. “Don’t act like you’re not gonna be impressed by my signed and framed Steve Young jersey.”

  “No way. You have a signed jersey?”

  He nodded, a crease forming in his cheek as he grinned. “Not so smug about mocking my decorating choices now, are you?” He stood and held out his hand. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  I slapped my hand in his and let him pull me up. The living room had a giant television on one wall and a large sofa with recliners and cupholders facing it—all function. I spotted a PlayStation in the entertainment center, too, so he clearly still liked his games. It’d been years since I played. I wasn’t bad, but I never could sit there for hours on end like Brendan and the rest of the guys, and I was always trying to get them outside instead, hellacious Vegas heat be damned.

  Brendan pushed open the door of his bedroom. Like the kitchen, there were piles—clothes strung here and there, and the top of his dresser was a mess. But there on the wall were a couple of 49ers posters, one for the Colorado Avalanche, and a Steve Young poster. All were nicely framed. Then there was the scarlet jersey in the middle, Steve Young’s name scribbled across the white number eight.

  “Not only is it signed, I was there when he signed it. Got it the year he retired.”

  Brendan and I used to always watch the games together, and we agreed the 49ers quarterback was the best, hands down. Dad was there, too, yelling at the players and then giving a simple nod when they did something good, the same way he did on the field with his own players.

  “Well, I’m definitely impressed, and it’s totally awesome you got to be there. Still not what I’d decorate my bedroom with, but it’d definitely go in the den or entertainment room”—I flashed him a smile—“along with your maturely framed posters.”

  My email chime went off. I only had an alert for clients, because I assured them I was available when they needed me. They had my cell, too, but some brides preferred emails, and I preferred those brides. “Excuse me. I’ve
got a wedding Sunday, so just gotta check if it’s urgent, or something I can add to my to-do list for later.”

  It wasn’t Erika, this weekend’s bride, but one with a wedding scheduled this winter. I regret to inform you that I’ve chosen to go a different way… I scanned through the rest, my muscles tensing. From some of the phrasing about not being sure I was equipped to handle her wedding, I was sure she’d read Phoebe’s column. The woman had come in a couple weeks ago, pleading with me to take over because she was so overwhelmed. I’d already gotten her location booked and started on her invitations. All that work wasted, and I’d only have a puny deposit to show for it. So on top of having limited funds already, my clients were going to start dropping like poisoned-by-Phoebe flies. Because a guy I had no control over chose to not marry me. If anything, they should question my choice in fiancé, not my ability to plan a wedding.

  “Everything okay?” Brendan asked.

  I turned my phone to silent and put it away. “Peachy.” With a side of Temperamental Tangerine.

  He gave me a look that he wasn’t buying it.

  “I could use a drink. Guess we should’ve picked up some wine to go with dinner.”

  “Well, you’re in luck, because I have a couple of bottles waiting for an occasion like this.”

  Once we were in the kitchen, Brendan poured two glasses of wine. I took a few generous sips, but I was still thinking about that email. Surely I wouldn’t start losing clients over something so stupid. I’d finally gotten my business up and running the way I’d always wanted it to. If I did go back to Grant, though, I wondered if people would view that as a success because it all worked out, or as a failure because I went back to a guy who’d stood me up. Not that I’d make huge life decisions based on what others thought.