Chapter Seven

“So,” Wes said, deciding conversation was the best distraction for the hour-long drive. “How are we going to play this?”

Annie’s eyes narrowed. “Explain yourself, please.”

He shifted in his seat to face her and took a steadying breath. Even her profile was beautiful, her red hair against her milk-white skin. He had the sudden urge to tuck her hair behind her ear, but he kept himself in check by fidgeting with the radio controls.

“I mean, Doug and Dan know this is an impromptu date—situation—whatever you want to call it. But they sorta seemed like it would have been awkward for you to come alone?”

She groaned. “I thought you said you didn’t pity me.”

He laughed. “I don’t. I was just wondering who you wanted to say I was. A friend? Your new boyfriend? Your little brother’s squirrely buddy who hitched a ride?”

She backhanded him on the shoulder.

“Celebrity guest?”

She laughed hard and loud. “Do you really think of yourself like that? I don’t know, Mr. Hartley. You’ve changed quite a bit since you were that squirrely freshman.”

He leaned against the door and crossed his arms. “And you think you knew me then.”

She shrugged. “Maybe not, but I know enough to know you weren’t…” She waved him off. “…this.”

“Charming?” he asked.

“No.”

“Talented?”

“No.”

“Ridiculously good looking?” He made his best attempt at a smolder.

“No!” she yelled, but her pale cheeks grew pink, and he grinned.

“Look, all I’m saying is that we should have a story if anyone asks. That way you can shut people down as soon as they start questioning why you’re not with—”

“Brett,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

“He’s an idiot,” Wes said, his eyes intent on her.

But she shook her head. “You don’t know that. It just wasn’t—we weren’t right, is all. It’s fine.”

Annie swerved to avoid the remnants of a blown-out tire on the highway, and Wes instinctively gripped the handle above the passenger door. Maybe he should have thought twice about an hour in a car with an unfamiliar driver.

A soft thump sounded on the floor in the backseat.

“Shit,” Annie said. “I probably lost my place.”

Wes reached back and grabbed the fallen item off the floor—a hardcover book. He laughed softly.

“What?”

He could hear the defense in her tone.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “I just get it now.”

She narrowed her eyes but, thankfully, kept them on the road. “Get what?”

He held up the book, tapping his finger against the almost kissing couple on the cover.

“This,” he said. “This is why you hated my book. You like fantasy. I like reality.”

A muscle ticked in her jaw. “Let me guess. You’re going to mansplain romance to me now? Your book is not a romance.”

“I know,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, but everyone thinks it is. Reviewers call it a love story, and critics refer to Ethan as a romantic hero, and I don’t hear you disparaging that.”

He laughed and dropped the book onto his lap. “Publicity is publicity. If it sells my books, who am I to knock it?”

Her jaw tightened again. “But you’ll knock it in private?”

He lifted a boot onto the dash and clasped his hands behind his head. “I’m not knocking anything. You have a right to like what you like, and I have a right to write what I write. I’m just saying that one is make-believe and the other is real life.”

She gritted her teeth. “You know what? I’ve got our story. For the wedding. I’m here alone. Doug and Dan invited you. I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

“Annie,” he said, but he got distracted as she exited the highway. Wes’s eyes widened as they pulled into the Central Illinois town of Bliss. They moved slowly down the small town’s main street, The Aisle. And he finally felt in control enough to relax.

“This is real, right?” Annie asked, the anger ebbing from her tone. “Like, we’re not on a movie set or anything?”

He shook his head. The street was lined with bridal shops, some of them even still open on a Saturday evening.

“Is that a—?”

“Wedding cake? Uh, yeah. Doug and Dan were not kidding about this place,” Annie said as they neared the end of the street. “That is a ginormous statue of a wedding cake.”

“Monument,” Wes corrected. “Sorry. It’s just, statues are usually people, and monuments are more symbolic to memorialize—”

Her eyes were back on the road, but Annie’s lips were pursed like she was keeping herself from saying something.

“Sorry,” Wes said. “About that—and the book stuff, too. I kind of turn into an asshole when I’m nervous,” he admitted.

She smiled. “You’re nervous?” she asked, turning down a side street before she plowed right into the mammoth wedding cake.

He nodded, then chuckled as they passed a bar called Suckers. “Yeah. I get that way when I’m with a beautiful woman surrounded by bridal shops and giant wedding cakes.” He said this just as they pulled up to the valet of a quaint five-story hotel with whitewashed brick and arched windows called Blissful Nights.

Annie lowered her window as a parking attendant came to the door.

“Will you be staying overnight, miss?” the young man asked.

“Overnight?” Annie asked, then paused.

Wes froze midway from stepping out of the passenger side. He didn’t dare look her way, though. The drive was long enough to warrant it yet short enough to make it back to the city if they wanted. Annie hadn’t mentioned an overnight stay, and he hadn’t noticed a bag or suitcase or any indication that she’d planned on it, either.

“Un…decided,” she said, and he heard her open her door.

He exited the vehicle and tried not to grin.

Jeremy was going to kill him.

His gut twisted.

When he’d told him about Doug and Dan’s wedding invitation, his friend had laughed.

“God, you must be hard-up for a night out,” he’d said. “But hey, all the power to ya if Annie agreed to take you. She was pretty let down about going alone, so despite her intense dislike of your New York Times bestseller, I’m glad Doug and Dan convinced her to say yes. Sometimes my sister lets her pride get in the way of other people’s good intentions, but that’s exactly what she needs right now. Just, you know, keep your researching hands off her.”

Wes scratched the back of his neck and made eye contact with the guy behind the reception’s open bar.

“Two red wines,” he said, then turned to look over his shoulder to where Annie was talking to some friends. She stood out from the crowd, and not just because of the boots or her beautiful, coppery hair. Annie had this energy about her that brightened the room. She felt things passionately, even if what she felt was intense dislike for his book. He laughed. Maybe he’d been in the dark too long. Or maybe he’d just never known a light like hers existed, but all he wanted was for her to shine some of it his way.

He’d told Jeremy he was escorting Annie with only the best of intentions, but what did it say that he was already thinking about kissing her? He couldn’t decide where this urge was coming from. Was it teenage him wanting to realize some fantasy he thought would never come true? Achieve the unattainable and prove to fourteen-year-old Wes that someday he would be something more? Or was it the usual—a challenge that he willed himself to conquer? In this case, charm the pants off a woman who wasn’t a fan of his work.

He watched as Annie slipped her clutch under her arm so she could give a friend a hug. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, and her smile lit up her entire face. It was like her physical features weren’t enough to contain the unbridled affection she had for those who meant something to her.

No. Kissing her wouldn’t be proving anything to the past. It would be all about now—about doing what it took to make a girl smile like that for him. To make that girl smile for him.

“Your wines, sir.”

But when he returned to her side, her smile was gone and her eyes no longer crinkled. The clutch was back in her hand, but her arms were crossed over her chest now as she pressed her mouth into a thin line, one he could tell she was trying to pass off as a smile to the guy facing her.

Wes had enough exes to guess that Annie was most likely in the midst of an encounter with one of her own. He took a chance on his hunch.

“Hey, babe,” he said, nudging her shoulder with his. “Got your favorite.” He hoped she’d play along.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” she said as he handed her the wine, her expression relaxing. He wasn’t sure yet if she was rolling with it or if she was pissed. But he decided to keep going.

The guy opposite Annie scoffed and glared at Wes.

“Right. If you knew her, you’d have a White Russian in your hand right now.”

Wes stifled another laugh, but a small snort escaped. “Right,” he said. “Because Annie’s The Dude. Good thing I made her swap the bathrobe for the dress.”

Annie tipped the glass against her lips and took a long, slow sip.

“That was your favorite drink, Brett. I drank it because you liked it. I don’t think you ever asked me what my favorite drink was.”

Her tone was even, no hint of anger. She was just telling it like it was, but Wes’s jaw tightened nonetheless. How could someone not care what Annie liked?

The guy—Brett—sputtered, but before he could say anything, a woman sidled up next to him. Wes thought he might have recognized her from the bookstore the other night, but she hadn’t been in his signing line. He would have remembered someone who bounced on her toes while everyone else stood still. She beamed at Brett but seemed to avoid looking Annie in the eye.

“What are you doing here?” Annie asked under her breath.

He shrugged. “Tabby and I are sort of seeing each other now. Doug and Dan invited her, so—”

The blond woman tugged at Brett’s arm. Annie whirled to face her.

“You’re seeing Brett?”

Wes put a hand on Annie’s arm. “Hey,” he said softly. “What am I missing here?”

She squared her shoulders. “What you’re missing is a proper introduction. Wes, this is Brett, my very recent ex, and this is Tabitha. My employee.”

Tabitha held her head high and looked Annie square in the eyes. “I was invited to the wedding, too.”

Annie opened her mouth to say something but no words came out. Wes guessed there’d probably been some overlap between Brett’s relationship with Annie and whatever he was doing with Tabitha. Annie, most likely, was thinking the same thing.

“I want to try a White Russian,” Tabitha said, then pulled hard enough that Brett lost his footing and stumbled in the direction of the bar.

“We’ll catch up later, Annie? We should talk.” His voice held a hint of pleading.

Wes’s gaze volleyed between the two of them until he couldn’t take it anymore. He cradled the back of her head in his palm and whispered, “Slap me or play along. Either way it’ll be worth it.”

He dipped his head toward hers, and when she didn’t pull away, he turned a high school fantasy into reality. It was just a small kiss, his lips softly brushing hers, but there was no mistaking the hitch in Annie’s breath when he pulled away. Or the way his heart threatened to burst free from his rib cage if he didn’t get his shit together.

He turned toward Brett and the blonde staring at him and Annie, their mouths hanging open in small Os.

“I think she’s gonna be busy later,” Wes said, then turned to Annie to see if the act was still going.

She nodded and cleared her throat. “Yeah. Busy. I’m busy, but I hope you and Tabitha have a great night.” She drained the rest of her wine and set the glass on a passing server’s tray. Then she grabbed Wes by the hand and led him into the ballroom. “Let’s find our table, sweetheart.”

He raised a brow and pushed back any thoughts of how he ended up here. Jeremy had entrusted him to be a good friend tonight, and Wes could argue that by kissing her he had done exactly that. Jeremy would most likely win the argument, probably with a fist to Wes’s face, but it would be worth it. If that kiss was all he ever got from Annie Denning, he’d risk the fallout just for the memory of it.

“What is your favorite drink?” he asked once the other couple had gone.

She took a sip from her glass. “This is really good, actually. I’m usually with Brynn, which means Kingston’s, which means my only choices are what Jamie has on tap. And I like beer. Don’t get me wrong. But this is nice. Being asked what I like is—well, it’s new to me, I guess.”

“No one should ever take what you want for granted, Annie. A man who’d do that sure as hell doesn’t deserve someone like you.”

Her cheeks flushed. “You’re not changing my mind about your book through flattery.”

He laughed quietly to himself. He’d almost forgotten about the book. And her hating it.

Almost.

Annie checked their table card and weaved through the room until they found table #14. Wes narrowed his eyes and cocked his head.

“Is that an ice sculpture of—?”

Annie nodded. “The happy couple? Yeah, Doug and Dan go all out.”

Wes marveled at the ice couple. Each table seemed to have them in a different pose. Theirs had one groom dipping the other as if they were Fred and Ginger. One table over had the two grooms bowling, of all things.

“They’re in a super competitive league,” Annie said, following his gaze. She dropped her clutch onto one of the chairs and spun to face him, her hand covering her mouth as she giggled.

“So, I guess we’ve got our story, huh?” she asked.

The corner of his mouth quirked into a grin.

“Depends. Does this story include me getting to kiss you again?”

“That sounds like a line from your book.”

He untwined his fingers from hers, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You mean the book you hated, right? Yeah, maybe it is, but I can’t help it. I write those lines. Sometimes reality bleeds into fiction. Sometimes it’s the opposite. Either way, I’ll try to keep it from happening again.”

Shit. Talk about poking a festering wound. He hadn’t realized her thoughts on his book had mattered that much to him until now. Convincing her otherwise seemed like a fun game at first, but the more he realized he enjoyed being in Annie Denning’s presence, the more her opinion of him took effect.

“So, that would be me being an asshole again. This is the part where I apologize. Again.”

But she didn’t give him a chance to explain further.

“Look,” she said. “There’s a speech somewhere in here about starting off on the wrong foot or whatever, but the truth is quite simple. Despite my feelings about your book—and your skewed opinion of the romance genre in general—I had a fun drive. And that kiss back there?” She blushed, and the sight made his chest tighten. “I like you, Wes. I don’t mean I want a relationship or anything. I mean, shit. I just showed up to a wedding to find out my ex was probably messing around with my employee when he decided coming here with me was too much of a commitment. I’d say my own date would be smart to sneak away and ditch this craziness when I’m not looking.” She paused for a couple of long breaths, then shrugged. “I come with way more baggage than someone needs for one date. Not that this is a date. Because it’s not. A date, I mean.”

He smiled. Nope. This wasn’t a date. But it was pretty damn adorable that she was worried he’d want to bail, especially after letting his bruised ego butt into the conversation.

He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his pants.

“This isn’t a date,” he said. “Because your brother would probably murder me if it was.”

She snorted, her auburn waves bouncing against her chin, a few strands sticking to her ruby red lips—lips he was dying to kiss again.

He snuck his hand behind those strands, skimming his fingers across her cheek in order to tuck them behind her ear.

“This is so. Not. A date,” he said, softer this time, his voice growing hoarse.

She shook her head. His hand still rested on her neck.

“But we can pretend it is,” he added. “For the sake of the ex, I mean.”

Annie bit her bottom lip and grinned.

“What’s in it for you?” she asked.

Being here with you.

“A story,” he said instead. “I’ve uh—I mean, I’ve been—”

Okay, so this was harder to say out loud. Like speaking the words would actually make them real. But the truth was, the only thing that made this real was his inability to do anything else.

“Writer’s block,” he admitted. “I haven’t written anything worth passing on to my editor in months. And if I don’t get her fifty pages by Monday, well—I’m gonna be a one-hit wonder. Being here, I can observe humanity in all its basest forms because, let’s face it, weddings bring out a certain kind of crazy in everyone.”

She nodded. “Agreed—like that crazy kiss.”

“So what if we make a story tonight?” he asked. “One for you to tell and one for me to write? Everything is fiction, which means no matter what happens, I’m not violating guy code or anything, and you’re not jumping into any sort of rebound situation.”

She took a step closer, and he inhaled the warm scent of vanilla and, maybe, a hint of cinnamon? He’d been too caught up in the moment to notice before. But now he began to feel drunk, wondering if one glass of wine could knock him on his ass. But he knew it couldn’t have. It was this woman.

He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.

“Jesus you smell good, Annie.”

She leaned closer. Because apparently she was trying to kill him.

“What would the line be—if you wrote it in your book? How would you describe my scent?”

Uh, he could describe the agony of the erection straining against his pants, but somehow he thought she wouldn’t appreciate that.

Christ. Words. She wanted words, now? After he told her he was blocked? But he had to prove his plan would work, that they could use this evening—and each other—to their advantage and neither of them be worse for the wear.

Fine. Words. The girl wanted words, so he would deliver.

“He grew drunk,” Wes said. “Drunk on the nearness of her, on the warm, sweet scent of home. Because that’s what she was to him. She was home. And until he kissed her, he hadn’t known what that meant. Home wasn’t a place. It was a state of mind. It was her, the intoxicating scent of her skin, and his lips pressed against it.”

He hadn’t realized until he spoke the last of it that his eyes were closed. Maybe hers were, too, because she wasn’t saying anything. All he heard was her sharp, shallow breaths. All he felt was his forehead pressed to hers. How the hell did they get here?

“I think your writer’s block might be cured,” she whispered. “That was way more romantic than an ice sculpture.”

Wes laughed softly.

“I don’t write romance,” he said.

“Whatever,” she countered, but she was still smiling.

“How about your ex situation? That cured yet, or do we want to give them more of a show?”

She cleared her throat. “I think the jury’s still out.”

Okay. They were on the same page—so to speak. He wanted this night, whatever ended up happening, and Annie seemed on the verge of jumping off this cliff with him.

He straightened and took a step back so his eyes could find hers. She chewed her bottom lip.

“One night, Annie. Whatever you want out of this evening, I’m your guy. And when we go home tonight—”

“Tomorrow,” she said, and Wes’s brows drew together. “When we go home—tomorrow…”

In his head, he had just run to the top of the steps leading to the Philadelphia Museum of Art—the Rocky Steps—and pumped his fists in the air. But Annie wouldn’t know that.

He nodded slowly, making sure not to betray his thoughts with any movement that might seem too eager.

“It’s—”

But she didn’t let him finish.

“It’s not a date. I know. Neither of us wants that. But I want a night without rules. A night where I don’t have to worry what comes next. Just fun, Wes. That’s all I want. I’d resigned myself to believing this night would amount to nothing more than an abundance of wine and possibly sleeping like a starfish in a king-size bed if I spent the night.”

Wes scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “You can still do both of those things,” he said.

She bit her lip again. He’d have to warn her soon that if she wanted to drive him mad right here in the ballroom, she only had to do that a couple more times. But like Rocky on the steps, he could write this scene the way he wanted it to go, so he offered her an easy grin.

Annie leaned forward and cupped her hand over his ear. He felt her warm breath on his skin before she spoke.

“I plan on it,” she whispered. “But I also plan on doing a lot more before I pass out in that bed.”

He swallowed hard, his laid-back facade disintegrating.

“Stay with me tonight,” she said. “You write your story. And I’ll write mine.”

“But Jer—”

“He doesn’t have to know,” she said. “Tomorrow we head back to the city and go our separate ways. You don’t have to worry about any sort of bro code or whatever. I’m not looking for anything beyond tonight, and neither are you, right?”

On any other day he would have been quick to answer. But he hesitated. He hesitated because he was violating his best friend’s wishes. He hesitated because something about being with Annie made him want to think beyond tonight. But who was he kidding? Girls like Annie Denning knew better than to get involved with an emotional mess like him. The women he dated wanted to fix him even though they knew they’d never succeed. It was the game they played. But he wouldn’t play that game with Annie.

“Okay, then,” he said.

She beamed at him.

“Okay.”