May the Best Man Win by Mira Lyn Kelly
So he focused on the front of the church. Without so much as a glimmer of humor in her eyes, the neat-as-a-pin little woman directed them through a routine Jase could manage with his eyes closed, considering the number of times he’d been through it already.
For a moment he thought he might be able to get some satisfaction if they lined the attendants up for a walk-through, but even then they were crowded with the other attendants, the coordinator snapping in everyone’s faces until finally the rehearsal was over and they were all being shooed out into the night.
Jase watched as Emily left with a couple of the girls before he had been able to score any deep eye contact. But it didn’t matter. They were all heading over to the restaurant Greek Islands from there. He’d have time.
* * *
Waiting by the bar in the rustic-style Greektown staple, he replied to a few work emails and then basically faked “busy” until she walked through the door, laughing with one of the other girls in a way that had his heart thudding heavily in his chest.
Emily’s steps slowed when she saw him, her smile fading just enough for him to see the nerves she usually hid. He got it. They needed to talk. But not wanting to draw too much attention, or be completely obvious or a total ass, he helped the other girl with her jacket first and directed her toward the back of the restaurant. And then he turned to Emily, the sense of smug satisfaction she brought out in him rushing through his veins.
“No date tonight,” he murmured close to her ear as he helped her out of her coat. His thumbs trailed down the bare skin of her arms and he drew a slow breath, taking in the scent of her.
Emily stiffened, then turned to him, alarm in her eyes. “Jase, we agreed. It’s over.”
She really was a good girl. “We did. But—”
“I have a date,” she cut in, sounding almost…apologetic?
No way. She’d shown up alone. And the way she wasn’t letting her eyes connect with his was perhaps even more telling than if she’d been staring straight into them. Because he could feel it. He could feel the resistance and the draw and that same something lighting up the air between them.
“So where is he?” he asked, running this thumb along the bend of her elbow.
“Caught in traffic. He’s just late. Jase…” she said, whispering his name, but he didn’t need to hear whatever was coming next.
“Sure,” he said, stealing Janice’s most nut-crushing line. Emily was trying to save face, even though they were beyond that. He got it. She didn’t want to be the one who made the move. She didn’t want to be obvious. So she claimed a date. One who conveniently wouldn’t show. Whatever. As long as she left with him, Jase didn’t care how it happened.
At the table there were three open seats remaining. Together.
Jase pulled out the middle chair for Emily before taking the seat to her right. Leaving the chair for her imaginary date available on the other side.
Everyone was chatting about the church and how beautiful the ceremony was going to be the next day. Jase joked around with the guys. Teased the bride-to-be, flirted with her grandmother. Basically made sure he’d done his small-talk best before doing what he’d been wanting to do from the start. Turn his attention to Emily.
As if sensing her reprieve was over, she met his eyes.
“So how have you been?” she asked politely. Stiffly.
Which only made him think about what it was like when her body went soft and lax beneath him.
“Jase,” she said so quietly that it snapped his attention back to the now. To where he was staring at her mouth.
Right.
Eyes up here. Got it.
“So tell me about your date,” he said with just a pinch of malevolence, because this was Emily after all. Old habits and all that.
She seemed duly uncomfortable.
He liked it. She could squirm a bit for making up a date. And he’d make it up to her later.
When she didn’t volunteer any information, he prodded again.
“What’s his name? Have you guys been seeing each other long?” He smiled wickedly. Knowing it hadn’t been that long since she’d been with him. “Getting serious?”
Emily stared down at the empty spot beside her and took a long, deep breath. Bracing, maybe. Time to come clean?
“His name is Mitchel. We’ve been out a few times.”
Emily, Emily.
“A few times.” Suggesting three or more. Which suggested something else altogether. Something that tightened his gut and left a sour taste on his tongue. Because the third date usually meant—
No.
She was screwing with him.
So he’d screw back. “And what does this Mitchel do for a living?”
“Investment banker,” came the answer in a register octaves too low.
Jase froze, his eyes locked with Emily’s as it hit him.
Mitchel wasn’t just the product of Emily’s imagination. He was real. Mitchel freaking Beekman, the guy who’d been all over Emily at Romeo’s engagement party.
And, motherfucker, he was there.
A pair of broad shoulders in a navy wool overcoat brushed past him.
“Hey, Sunshine. Sorry, I got held up,” Mitchel offered jovially before rubbing a hand over Emily’s upper arm and dropping a kiss on her cheek. An appreciative sort of grunt left the guy as he stepped back and raked a look over her that had Jase’s hands balling at his side. “You look amazing.”
Emily ducked her head and brushed a few strands of hair from her face, obviously flustered by the compliment.
Mitchel turned to Jase then, a wide smile in place as he shoved out his hand. “Jase, man, good to see you again.”
Jase pulled it together and did the whole polite thing, not entirely sure whether the guy had picked up on what was happening before he walked in.
If their roles had been reversed, no way would Jase have missed some asshole putting those moves on Emily. And he sure as hell would have let the guy know he knew what was going on. But that was just him.
Not Mitchel. Emily’s not-fake date, who was barely six feet.
An uncomfortable weight landed in Jase’s gut. He looked away, then back, as an ugly, unfamiliar part of him started to pound at the inside of his chest.
What was this?
Jealousy? Not just the funny, no-big-deal kind, but the real, gut-wrenching, bad-decision-making, caveman kind?
Jase didn’t get jealous—at least he hadn’t with the women he’d dated in the past. But now that Emily was in the picture, yeah, jealousy.
He was so screwed.
His eyes cut back to where she was smiling at Mitchel. Whom she’d been out with a few times. Did that mean they’d already had three dates and this was the fourth? Or was tonight—the night she was wearing that killer dress with her hair all wound up so there was no missing the sexy length of her neck—date number three?
Not. Going. To. Think. About. It.
He needed a distraction.
An emergency. Why hadn’t he gone to medical school? He could be faking a call from the hospital right that minute. Skating out to go save some critical pretend patient in immediate need of his expertise. Only then he wouldn’t be able to scrutinize every subtle touch, breath, look, or word shared between Emily and Mitchel for the rest of the night. He wouldn’t be able to make an educated guess on where this date was going after the flaming saganaki and cheers of “Opa!”
It didn’t matter. He didn’t need Emily.
There were at least a dozen women he could call and have waiting at his doorstep when he got home.
Only he didn’t want any of them. He didn’t want anyone in his bed except Emily. And there was every likelihood that she would be going home with another man.
Flagging the waitress, he ordered a drink. A stiff one.
The night wrapp
And then trying not to think about what Emily—no matter what kind of girl she was—had let him do to her in a church after exactly zero dates.
He’d wanted more than the one drink he nursed all night, but better judgment and the all-too-real fear of putting a serious move on another man’s date—in front of two dozen friends and family—kept him from giving in.
Standing with the rest of the group, he leaned in and dropped a kiss on Delphine’s cheek, promising her a perfect day tomorrow. He toughed out an extended good-bye with Marcos’s great-aunt, who liked to hold hands while she talked about the new medicine she’d started taking, and passed on Brody’s invitation to take it back to the bar.
There was no way he could sit down with his friends and be cool while his thoughts were wrapped up in the sound of Emily’s soft laugh for some other guy.
No, he needed to be alone.
Shrugging into his coat, he’d thought he was in the clear when Emily stopped beside him.
“Jase,” she started, not able to meet his eyes.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Em.” He thought about catching her chin in the crook of his finger and bringing her eyes to his, but if he let himself do that much, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop. So instead, he said the words a bigger man might have actually meant. “Have a good night.”
Twenty minutes later, he was stalking across the entry to his apartment, the echo of his door slamming harder than it should have still ringing in his ears. He threw his coat over the back of the couch and went straight for the bar, thoughts of Mitchel asking Emily if she’d ever been to France swirling through his head as the first gulp of scotch burned its way to his gut. Provence. Like, maybe they ought to go together. Because Emily would love the lavender fields.
Yeah, she probably would.
She’d probably find it romantic and be full of those soft, sweet smiles he hadn’t had enough of since high school. Since he’d started putting up the walls between them so his friend could have the girl he’d announced he wanted to marry. Since he started blaming her for—
He swallowed past a lump that tasted an awful lot like regret.
Since he’d stopped deserving those smiles that it always killed him just a little to see.
Throwing back another swallow, he had one consolation to keep him warm that night. If she married stupid Mitchel, at least Jase wouldn’t have to worry about being paired up with her for that wedding. Even if he was the right height.
Hell, he wouldn’t even be invited.
Because they weren’t friends.
Walking to the living room windows, he stared out at the night, the dark swath of Lake Michigan beyond the Drive. He threw back another slug.
A few dates.
Did she love that guy?
A knock sounded at his door.
Checking his watch, he saw it was after eleven.
Maybe one of the guys? They usually just let themselves up if the security door was open—and about half the time it was. But they’d have called first, and his phone was silent.
His steps slowed halfway to the door. It could be Lorna. The curvy brunette from upstairs who had a knack for knowing when he was in the mood for company.
Except tonight, he just wasn’t.
Walking the rest of the way to the front of the apartment and working out a friendly put-off, he swung the door open—and froze.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
His vision narrowed to one singular point before him.
The strawberry blond with the Audrey Hepburn style, standing in front of his door.
Alone.
“Emily,” he finally managed, her name coming out rough and low. His relief in seeing her there was disturbing in its magnitude.
“I didn’t know if… Maybe I shouldn’t ha—”
She didn’t have a chance to finish whatever she’d been about to say, because he reached for her, wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, and pulled her into the kiss he couldn’t wait for. The kiss she eagerly returned, opening beneath him like she was as starved for the taste of him as he was for her. They’d barely closed the door before he had her pressed against it.
Chapter 15
It was just after dawn when Emily woke. Pushing up on one elbow, she swept the hair back from her eyes.
She hadn’t meant to fall asleep in Jase’s bed. But then she hadn’t meant to end up in his bed at all—at least not when she’d been getting dressed for the night before. When she’d had her date with Mitchel all lined up as defense number one against this thing with Jase they’d agreed shouldn’t go any further than it already had.
Mitchel was supposed to be a nice distraction. He was decent looking. Interesting. Successful and sort of funny. An overall good guy who wasn’t throwing off any of the signs that suggested he might be the type to get too attached, too possessive, too dependent. The signs that he might have a little bit of the crazy running through his veins. The signs that made her break out in a cold sweat and swear off all guys for at least the next thirteen months every time she caught even a whiff of it.
Mitchel had seemed like a good fit, which was what she’d been thinking when she ran into him at the coffee place around the corner from work and he’d asked if she wanted to share a table for a few minutes, teasing that he’d gotten gypped out of her company when he’d been out of town for Romeo and Sally’s rescheduled wedding. She’d laughed politely, silently thanking her stars he hadn’t been there. He was one guest who might have actually noticed when she’d disappeared.
The conversation was comfortable, just like it had been that first time they’d met. And when she was done with her coffee, he asked if he could take her to dinner that weekend. She’d been hesitant. On the brink of saying no when she asked herself why.
And the only answer was because of Jase Foster.
So she’d said yes, thinking the timing was perfect. If she had dinner with Mitchel, then she could bring him as her plus one for the rehearsal. And once and for all stop obsessing over what would happen when she finally saw Jase again. Take her destiny into her own hands and ensure the right thing happened when she saw him. Nothing.
Good plan. Except for one thing.
Mitchel wasn’t Jase. And no matter how much she’d wished that he would distract her from the man she shouldn’t want, he couldn’t. She’d spent the rehearsal dinner in a heightened state of awareness—her body in tune with every move Jase made. Every inadvertent touch nearly setting her aflame. It took everything she had to pay attention to her date. To smile at the right times. To respond to his questions and not give away the fact that she was hanging on every word the man she wasn’t with was saying. That all she could think about was the fact that Jase was there alone. And the way he’d looked at her before Mitchel had shown up. The way he’d looked at her after. And then the way he hadn’t looked at her at all.
Which was why once the night was through, she’d thanked Mitchel for a lovely time and told him good night outside the restaurant, passing on his invitation to find somewhere quiet to grab a drink. And then she’d tossed all better judgment aside and hopped in a cab and gone straight to Jase’s apartment—because she simply couldn’t stop herself.
But now, as night turned to morning, this stringless little hedonistic reprieve was over and it was time to scoot. To spend the day wiping the stupid, satisfied grin from her face before heading over to Delphine’s around four to get ready for the wedding at six.
Jase had fallen asleep with his arm slung loosely around her, so step one was extracting herself from that too-tempting
Shimmying to the side, she’d made it about halfway clear of the bed when Jase’s breathing changed and then she found herself scooped back into all that solid warmth, held tighter than she had been before.
“Trying to sneak out on me?” he asked, his sleep-rough voice rumbling low against her ear.
It seemed too early to smile, but the playful tone in his voice triggered that slow spread across her lips just the same.
“No way, darling,” she replied, covering his hand with hers. “I was just going to check with the movers about getting my stuff moved in while we’re at the ceremony. Maybe see if Delphine minds if we piggybacked their wedding.”
The snort against her ear shouldn’t have given her any kind of warm, fuzzy anything. But for whatever reason, it did. She liked that she could make Jase laugh. She’d always liked it.
And that last thought was the one that had her prying up Jase’s arm and wiggling her way out. Because this wasn’t about warm fuzzies. It wasn’t about her heart pounding a little faster when she thought of him. It wasn’t even about the two of them being friends—and that was something she’d do well to remember.
Standing beside the bed, she scanned the floor and scowled. No panties or bra. No dress. Just her four-inch black heels—at opposite sides of the room where Jase had tossed one, then after kissing his way from bare ankle to bare ankle, he’d discarded the other.
Good times.
Jase pushed up on one well-toned arm, the sheet pooling around his lap so he was decent but just. He scrubbed a spectacular bedhead and gave her a long, appreciative look. “The wedding isn’t until six, and you’ve got until noon before you need to be at Delphine’s. Come back.”
Tempting. Definitely tempting.
Snagging a corner of the slate-and-charcoal comforter, she yanked it off the bed and tucked it beneath her arms. “Not that early. I have a few errands I need to take care of before meeting Delphine.”
She needed to get out of there before they found themselves in one of those awkward silences that would demand she say something about what brought her there the night before. What it meant about the night to come.