May the Best Man Win (7 page)

“
I got her to touch it last night, man. Over the jeans. We were making out, and I kind of caught her hand and, real slow, put it on my package. She got up to go right after that, but for a second she totally left her hand there. Soon, man. Soon.
”

From the start, Jase had been trying to compartmentalize everything with Emily and Eddie in his head, but in that moment, the walls were down and Jase was sitting with his fists balled. Willing his best friend—the guy who'd been like a brother to him—to shut the hell up before he did something totally against his code and knocked Eddie's teeth in. Because the idea of Emily—

Fuck.

She was walking back to the booth and sliding in next to Eddie, who took her hand in his and held it, turning to flash Jase a quick wink.

Jase pushed out of the booth, set on distracting himself by…shoot, maybe going over to the table of girls at the other end of the place to say hi.

A glance over his shoulder told him Eddie didn't mind the opportunity to work a little magic with Em, who was laughing quietly at something the guy had said, that smile in her eyes probably making him feel like the king of the whole damned world.

Good.

He wanted that for him. Really. He did.

“—so it's going to be a few more people tonight. Figured you wouldn't mind, or at least you'd get over having to share me for the night.”

Jase slid back into the present and what Marcos was saying with a jolt. The memories of Emily from high school were still too fresh in his mind to really pay attention to what his buddy was saying.

Which was bull, he knew. Emily was no one to him now.

Almost. Except that somehow he'd managed to work his way another five feet down the bar looking for a different view into the other room. Nothing.

So he still didn't know whether she was there with a date or not.

“Hey, Marcos, thought I saw someone I knew in the other room. Give me a minute, will you?”

Marcos was making deep eye contact with the bartender, willing the guy to come over and take his drink order. “Yeah, but hurry up. I saw O'Donnel pulling up to the valet when I came in.”

Jase headed over to the doorway, feeling like a world-class puss for needing to look in the first place. But he wanted to know if Emily was there on a date. If there was another guy—correction—
a guy
she was involved with.

He almost hoped there was. Because that would be enough to deep-six the kind of thoughts he'd been having about her lately.

But the slow cruise past the doorway just left him feeling like more of an ass. Especially when he couldn't see jack.

Rubbing at the tightening muscles along his neck, he turned back to the bar to find Marcos headed his way, beer in hand and Brody and two other guys in tow.

“Table's ready, girls. Let's go.”

Jase smiled, exchanging a few fist bumps and shoulder checks with the new arrivals as he fell in beside Brody.

“Something's up,” Brody said conspiratorially, nodding at Marcos.

Jase frowned, looking ahead at Marcos.

“Why do you say that?”

Brody gave him a sympathetic look. “The guy is practically bouncing off the ceiling. He can't stop fidgeting. And haven't you noticed the peak in trash talk?”

Jaw shifting to the left, Jase gave Marcos a closer look. The guy was definitely jumpy. Boisterous, as he followed the hostess through the maze of the restaurant, cracking one joke after another with barely a breath in between. His hands going a mile a minute to match his mouth.

“He on something?” Jase asked, concern creeping up beside the guilt he was feeling, because he hadn't even noticed how Marcos was acting when he first got there. Because he'd been distracted. By Emily.

Who he shouldn't be thinking about at all.

“I'm going to go out on a limb here,” Brody said with a grin, nodding at the table ahead of them, “and say this isn't about drugs.”

Jase followed his buddy's stare to the table where the hostess had stopped. Where Delphine Allen was beaming up at Marcos with pure adoration in her eyes and what looked like the Heart of the Ocean flashing from her finger.

Engaged.

They'd gotten engaged, and this dinner was their way of sharing the news with—oh hell—their friends. Their best friends. Four of them each. And sure enough, there was Emily, seated two chairs down from the bride-to-be.

* * *

This was not happening. Not again.

Emily had kept her smile in place for nearly twenty minutes following the news Delphine had just sprung on them—the wonderful news, really. But beneath that smile she definitely meant on some level, a few other emotions were at play.

Emotions that required the employment of letters like
W
,
T
, and
F
to convey them accurately, as well as other emotions that tended toward an uglier, self-pitying bent. Because this was supposed to be the Jase-free, sanity-restoring girls' night she so desperately needed. But there he was. Seated just across the table to the right—and not even a pitcher of white sangria with a crazy straw in it or hoarding a whole plate of those little beef skewers with the horseradish cream for herself could make it better.

On the bright side, their one moment of eye contact had been without any gloating or one-upmanship. He seemed as genuinely dismayed as she was.

Only somehow that didn't feel like any consolation at all.

After an acceptable period of time had passed, her smile was on the brink of collapse and Emily excused herself from the table. Cutting toward the narrow stairwell that led down to the ladies' room, she let the facade go and started gulping air.

Oh God, she was going to cry.

She could feel it bubbling up her throat too fast to swallow back and pushing at her eyes.

Jase. Again.

She was barely managing the time they were forced to spend together as it was. And now, just when she thought she was closing in on that light at the end of the tunnel, here he was again. Waving her through to that next expanse of winding, crowded darkness where she was a person she didn't entirely love being. A petty, biting, bitchy woman with a lacerating tongue and, worst of all, a past she couldn't let go of, forcing itself into a present where it didn't belong.

The door was at the bottom of the stairs, only feet away, when she heard someone on the steps behind her.

She didn't have to look; she already knew. Something about the way her heart skipped a beat and then started to race. About the way that spot deep in her belly tensed and her skin started to tingle.

“Emily, wait,” Jase said, his deep voice rumbling around the claustrophobic hall surrounding her.

No way.

“Sorry, just give me a minute, and I'll meet you back at the table,” she said, barely turning her head so he wouldn't be able to see her face.

She pushed into the ladies' room, but there wasn't even time for the door to swing shut before Jase came in after her, shocking her into stumbling back a step.

His hand shot out, catching her elbow.

“Are you okay?” he asked, maintaining that hot grasp on her arm even after she had steadied on her feet. The fact that she was thinking of the way that touch felt, that it was good, suggested that, no, she most definitely wasn't okay.

“I'm fine,” she whispered, but the tremor in her voice gave her away. “You just startled me coming in here.”

Jase's eyes were locked with hers, the look in them telling her that wasn't what he'd meant when he asked. “I didn't know about the engagement until tonight. Honestly, I didn't even know you were Delphine's friend.”

Emily nodded, more embarrassing tears pushing at her eyes.

“I knew you were friends with Marcos.” Of course she knew. Women loved talking about Jase. Handsome, funny, such-a-great-catch Jase. Even when they were fully committed to someone else, they rambled on about him. Maybe especially then. “But I didn't think… I didn't know how close they were to getting engaged.”

Not the way Delphine had been talking. But apparently that was behind them. And now Emily was going to be standing up in her friend's wedding, and Jase was too.

Emily felt her lip start to tremble and she blinked, but the tears were coming as quickly as the words tumbling past her lips. “I'm at least five inches taller than the other girls.”

Jase nodded, his brows furrowed as he stroked a comforting thumb over the sensitive inner skin of her elbow.

“Brody's the only guy even close, and I've got an easy three on him.”

Emily blinked again, peering up into Jase's face as she gave in to the tears completely.

“But I hate you.”

“I know, honey.” He pulled her to his chest, closing those powerful arms around her back so all she could do was crumble into him. “I feel the same way.”

God, how could he make her feel so much better? How could burrowing her face against his shoulder feel so right?

She drew a shaky breath, catching the scent of his cologne as he brushed his fingers through her hair. And then something wholly different from the overwhelming frustration that had sent her running from the table moved through her body. Something warm and quiet. An awareness that shouldn't be there.

Jase turned his head, speaking quietly into her ear. “We'll be through this in no time. It's not going to be like with Sally and Romeo where we've had to be in each other's laps for months at a stretch.”

He paused and Emily tried not to think about what it might be like to venture into his lap. This man who was so much bigger than she was. She never sat in guys' laps because she was self-conscious about looking like her legs would fold up from the floor. But when Jase said it, she imagined a totally different visual.

Completely inappropriate.

“They'll have an engagement party. A shower. The rehearsal dinner and then the next day, done. It'll be stretched out over six months. Easy.”

She knew what he was saying. That she wouldn't have him in front of her every other day. That when she saw him, it wouldn't be like reopening this raw wound. They'd smile politely and then, if they were lucky, have five, maybe ten minutes to spit nasty somethings into each other's ears.

It would be fine.

But suddenly Emily couldn't take comfort in that future.

It didn't feel like a relief to think she wouldn't be seeing him.

Slowly, Emily shifted within Jase's comforting hold. She turned her head so she could see his face. Because something was different, something she didn't understand. And maybe for once, it felt like Jase might have the answer for her. The answer she needed.

His eyes met hers, the deep blue of them seeming to darken even as she watched. The look in them leaving her feeling vulnerable. Exposed. Uncertain.

Aware.

“Jase?”

He took a step back, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“We're good?” he asked, looking again like the Jase she'd known forever. The Jase who didn't make her feel things she shouldn't.

“Yeah, I'm good.”

December

Emily woke up with a hangover.

Not exactly her MO when it came to bridesmaid duties, but the night before had been a trial, to say the least. Half the wedding party hadn't made it to the rehearsal, thanks to Mother Nature sticking it to Sally with the near-blizzard conditions that had blocked roads and brought down power lines in the western suburbs.

Emily had only made it out of the city herself because she'd taken the afternoon off to spend with Sally at the Willsons' house and then stayed overnight.

From the groom's side, only Brody and two of Romeo's cousins had been able to make it through. Which had given her another day's reprieve from seeing Jase again. One she'd gladly taken, and today, well, he wasn't a priority.

Today was Sally's day. And despite all the rough patches leading up to this point, Emily knew—
knew
—all the blood, sweat, and tears would be worth it when the wedding went off without a hitch.

Things had already started shaping up. The snow had stopped falling sometime around eleven, and the plows had been going all night. Now at six thirteen in the morning, Emily was up, showered, and dressed in a pair of gray yoga pants and a mint-green hoodie for their trip to the salon where Sally would have her hair and makeup done. A quick glance at the Victorian-era porcelain clock on the nightstand next to her bed, confirmed by her phone that she trusted about a thousand times more, said she had about twenty minutes before they needed to leave. Plenty of time to grab a banana or some yogurt to go with the Advil she'd toss back as soon as she could find it.

Downstairs, the kitchen was empty, but the coffee had been put out in one of those oversize silver dispensers caterers used, along with a spread of pastries and fresh fruit.

Checking her phone again, Emily started getting nervous, wondering if she was going to have to go room to room looking for all the necessary parties. But then voices sounded from the stairwell.

“It's nerves, Sally. That's all.”

Emily smiled at Mrs. Willson's wedding-day advice.

“It's morning sickness, Mom. It still hasn't gone away.”

At least Sally's mother was trying. For as stiff and generally unpleasant as the woman could be, she had to have a softer side to have raised a girl as sweet as Sally.

“Well, you don't have to walk around with your hand on your stomach and that look on your face. Couldn't you, for one day, try not to look quite so pregnant?”

Emily blanched, staring down at her coffee, and contemplated dumping it down the drain and sprinting into the frozen tundra to avoid participation in the coming conversation, but she'd only made it halfway to the sink before Mrs. Willson was in the room with her.

“Don't you agree, Emily?
One day.
”

Emily turned, her most polite smile in place. “Wow, good morning, ladies! Sally, you look radiant.”

She looked a lot like she'd been exposed to gamma rays, her greenish pallor daring anyone to get too close. But that wasn't what a bride-to-be needed to hear.

“How close are we to getting over to the salon?”

Sally poured herself a glass of milk, and her mother filled a coffee cup about halfway before walking into the pantry to top it off with something not on the buffet. Neither answered.

Emily tried again.

“So it looks like your Aunt Louise and Romeo's cousins' flights are going to make it. Great news.”

Sally nodded tightly and took a deep breath through her nose.

Mrs. Willson shook her head in dismay.

“Why don't you sit down and have a few crackers,” Emily suggested, retrieving the open sleeve from the cabinet where she'd seen Sally store it the night before. “Or would it be better to just let everything out”—she made a rolling motion with her hands—“and be done with it?”

Sally bolted for the bathroom tucked around the corner from the kitchen. And with the sounds of retching in the background, Emily and Mrs. Willson sat silently, smiling politely at each other.

So after
this
, the rest of the day was going to be perfect.

The bathroom door cracked open, and Sally stepped out and leaned against the doorway.

Her mother took a long sip of her coffee, then pointing with her index finger and a gentle smile, offered, “Dear, you have vomit in your hair.”

She was right. Which meant rock bottom had most definitely been achieved. There was nowhere to go but up.

* * *

Emily handled high-stress situations without batting an eye. They were par for the course in her line of work, where TV spots fell through at the last minute, high-profile spokespeople suffered changes of heart, and anything that could go wrong on a campaign for a client it had taken years to land would. No matter what happened, she was the woman who saw everyone else through to a solution even better than their original plan. She was the one who turned the worst case into the best possible outcome. She got things done. And this wedding wasn't going to be the only exception.

Not even if one attendant or critical family member after another had started stumbling through the Willsons' front door wearing a thicker blanket of snow on their heads than the last, and there was no more denying that the storm they'd been hoping would head around them had solidified its commitment to rage right on through. They were still getting this wedding done.

The mimosas were flowing, the chatter on the rise. Emily had been hustling for hours, but it was all coming together. Jase was the only outstanding groomsman, and he'd been in communication with Romeo about heading straight to the church with an on-time ETA. Sally had rewashed her hair, promptly thrown up a second time, then pronounced herself good to go. They'd hit the salon, transporting Sally with an arsenal of umbrellas and plastic wrap to prevent the piled curls and generously applied makeup from going limp or runny.

It was showtime.

Sally was in the first car with her parents, poor thing. The handful of honored relatives at the house had taken a second car. And the bridesmaids were loading into the third where all their coats and boots had been stored in the trunk until after-the-wedding photos when they could afford to have their gowns slightly crumpled. Emily hopped in last, grinning at the girls as the driver closed the door behind her.

Slumping back in her seat—but not so much that her hair would take a hit—she let out a relieved sigh. And then her phone rang.

Sally's panicked voice spilled through the line. “The ring, Emily! I forgot to pick up Romeo's ring. The jeweler is on his way to the house to drop it off. Someone needs to stay and bring it to the church.”

Emily looked down the drive into the falling snow. She couldn't even see the main road. No telling how long it would be before the jeweler showed up. The car couldn't wait.

“I've got it. The girls will leave now, and I'll drive myself once I have the ring. Be there before the wedding starts. We've got this. Everything is going to be fine.”