Ready to Wed (8 page)

Chapter Eight

It was like my car just headed to Grant’s place, the way it had done after countless weddings, a mind of its own. I wanted to chalk it up to being tired and not weak-willed, but as I walked up the steps, I didn’t really give a damn what I called it. I used my key to get in and kicked off my heels.

Grant looked up from his spot on the couch. He stood and started over to me, but Cupid was faster. I leaned down and hugged my dog, then straightened. Grant had shaved and gotten a haircut since I’d seen him last. For a moment, we simply stared at each other, then he pulled me into his arms and hugged me tight.

I sank into his warmth, his embrace. When his lips covered mine, I stiffened. But then his fingers were traveling over my body and I was lost in his familiar touch and taste. When he pulled me tighter against him, though, my sense of self-preservation kicked in.

“Wait.” It came out shaky, more air than sound, but Grant froze in place. My stomach rolled and my heart clenched and everything was wrong all over again. I pulled away, needing the distance yet despising it. The words “This was a mistake” were on the tip of my tongue, but it didn’t quite feel like a mistake. Slippery. Dangerous. Those were better words. I was gambling with my heart, and after what the guy standing across from me had already put it through, it seemed like one of those times where both of us lost and the house won. Whoever the bastard who owned the house was.

“How was the wedding?” Grant asked.

“Only one lady got bird crap in her hair, but she was just a guest, and I don’t think she realized it.”

The dimple in his cheek stood out when he grinned. Why’d he have to be so sexy? “It wasn’t too hard to be there after…?”

“It was hard.”

“I’m so sorry, Dakota. If I could do it again—”

“Don’t,” I said, holding up a hand. I believed he was sorry. I just didn’t know if it was enough. I did know I didn’t want to have this same conversation every single time I saw him from now until…whenever I figured out my life. “I’m guessing you saw the social column in the paper?”

He let out a heavy sigh and nodded.

“You could’ve warned me it was coming.”

“I didn’t know Phoebe was going to print anything. I told her I didn’t want to talk about it, especially with her. Why? What did she tell you?”

“
She
didn’t tell me anything. Jillian called and told me it was in the paper, and I got to read it myself. Why’d you say anything to her in the first place? You know how she is.”

He shrugged. “She kept pushing, so I just told her that I loved you and always would.”

I fought the urge to turn and bang my head on the wall. Wasn’t this why I’d come? To see if I could even feel love anymore? Now anger was mixing in, not so much at him, but at the situation. “Have you met your son yet?”

“No. Amy wanted to get him used to the idea of me first, and we’re working on an arrangement. There are child support payments to set up, and I feel a little overwhelmed with it all, to tell the truth. I’m supposed to meet him this week, though.” He looked at me with wide eyes, genuine nervousness in his features, and I knew if I continued to stand and stare at him there would be more kissing and then less clothing, and then steps I knew I wasn’t ready for.

“I’m taking Cupid with me tonight,” I blurted out, more so I wouldn’t chicken out than anything. “I’ve got a friend who owns a house, and he’ll keep him while—”

“He?”
The muscles in his neck stood out. I should’ve known better than to mention another guy. Grant had always been a touch on the jealous side. I’d even learned to edit stories about groomsmen because they often got him all riled up. “Who is this friend?”

“You’ve never met him. He’s a guy I used to know when I was younger. Look, that doesn’t matter right n—”

“It matters to me.” Grant grabbed my hand. “I don’t like the thought of you doing anything with another guy. Just keep Cupid here. I’ll take good care of him until you decide to move back in.”

He said it like it was so final, like it was an outcome he was sure of and I didn’t really have a say.

“We’ll just go back to how things were before all the wedding crap got in the way,” he added. Wedding crap? Did he even
know
me? My car made a mistake coming here—fine, maybe I had something to do with it, too. But I had to be stronger from now on. I
would
be. Time to amp up my goals and get back to my independent self.

Step one: Take Cupid to his new home.

Step two: Find an apartment that fit my budget.

Step three: Figure out what the hell to do about my ex-fianc
é
, who’d switched to trying puppy-dog eyes on me to get his way. Actually, that was more like step four or five. I’d sort it out later when I was at Brendan’s, where I could relax, get Cupid acclimated, and actually think clearly.

I pulled my hand free. “Everything’s changed, Grant. I can’t just go back to the way things were.” Confusion and irritation battled it out for control on his features. I didn’t want this to turn into a fight, so I tried to explain. “It’s like you offered me chocolate cake and I took a bite and it was amazing, but now you’re shoving broccoli in my face, telling me to settle for it.”

“No, it’s more cake. We can still have what we did. If you’re set on marriage, we can”—he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down—“we can go down to city hall. Is that what you want? A marriage certificate to prove I love you?”

Clearly that wasn’t what
he
wanted, and I wasn’t about to stand across from a guy and say “I do” when he didn’t think of it as the best day of his life, too. “Now you’re offering me chocolate-covered broccoli. I’ll take a bite and discover it’s a lie.”

Grant scrubbed a hand over his face. “Can we abandon this metaphor?”

“Fine. You want me with you now because you have a son and I’m good at dealing with problems and making things work, despite the challenges. I need you to want me because you can’t imagine not having me in your life. Because marrying me is something you can’t wait to do so I’m always yours and you’re always mine.”

“But I
can’t
imagine not having you in my life. Hell, I’ve lived it the past few weeks and it sucks.”

Now I wished I felt hollow and numb the way I did at the wedding, because it’d be better than the pain radiating through my chest. “It’s different than sucking or not.” I blew out a frustrated breath. “You need to learn what it means to be a dad and how that’s going to impact your life. I need to figure out who I am independent of you. And once we both work out those things, we can see if we want to give our relationship another shot.”

Grant sighed, but slowly nodded.

“Come on, Cupid,” I said, patting my leg. I grabbed his leash and his favorite mangled squeaky ball, and opened the door. Cupid ran to my car and danced around in front of the passenger side. I glanced back at Grant. “Good luck with your son. Call me and tell me how it goes, okay?” That seemed like good neutral territory. Friends who cared about each other and such.

By the time Grant’s house was in my rearview mirror, Cupid already had his head out the window, his tongue dragging behind him. I reached over and ran my hand down his coat. Right now, I felt a bit like sticking my head out and feeling the wind in my hair, too. We were together again, were actually making progress on goals—anyway, I was. Though I was pretty sure Cupid would make a goal of spending more time with me if he could.

I thought of today’s wedding, and how wrong it’d felt compared to others I’d planned. I had to believe that eventually I could put on one and get a tingly, hopeful, happy buzz.

That I could find my faith in love.

Maybe then I’d know exactly how I felt about Grant.

And hopefully by then, the rest of the city would have forgotten all about the time I got stood up at the altar.

…

Using my brand-new key seemed like busting into Brendan’s personal space, but when I called to see if he was home so I could bring Cupid by, he told me to let myself in. Brendan was on the couch, his tie undone, along with a couple of buttons. There was something sexy about it, all businesslike yet casual.

Okay, I needed to stop thinking about my new-slash-old friend as sexy, especially if this arrangement was going to work. I needed a friend I could relax and be myself with, not a buddy to leer at.
He glanced up from the TV, and even though I’d been trying to tame my thoughts, I still felt like I’d been caught doing something I shouldn’t. “How’d the wedding go?”

“Crazy, but good. I’m exhausted.” I set the bowl and bag of dog food I’d picked up on my way over on the floor, and gestured to my dog. “Cupid, Brendan. Brendan, Cupid.”

“Sorry about the name, dude,” Brendan said, holding his hand in front of my dog’s snout before petting him.

I shot him a dirty look. “Hey. His name rocks.”

“Right. Very tough. Who’s a tough boy?” Brendan scratched behind Cupid’s ears and his tail thunked against the coffee table.

“Cupid is a god. He had arrows,” I added when Brendan failed to look impressed. “And I’ll have him shoot you in the ass if you don’t shut it.”

“Again with the violence,” Brendan said, shaking his head.

There. Now that was more like us. Just like that, life felt a little more bearable. Cupid’s nails tapped on the hardwood floor as he explored the room.

Right as I was about to sit, Brendan stood, sliding his tie off and tossing it onto the couch. “I was about to cook up a burger. You want one?”

My stomach growled in response. With how hollow the wedding had made me feel, I hadn’t bothered eating, and it wasn’t until he mentioned food that I realized just how hungry I was. “Yes, please. Need help?”

“I wouldn’t turn it down.”

The thought of one more step in my heels made me wanna cry, so I kicked them off before following him into the kitchen. Pots and pans clanged together as Brendan riffled through his cupboards. I’d realized he was tall, but without my shoes I felt like a total shrimp next to him. While he got to work on the patties, I opened the fridge and took out an onion, lettuce, and tomato. It took me a couple tries to find his cutting board—there really was no rhyme or reason to where things went—and then I sliced the veggies as the scent of meat filled the air.

“Open these?” Brendan held up a can of baked beans. “The can opener’s right behind you.” He tossed the beans to me.

Within a few minutes I had them open and cooking in a pot on the stove. Brendan was putting condiments on the buns. “No mustard for you, right?”

I wrinkled my nose. He loved the stuff and I hated it. He used to chase me around with a glob on his finger, telling me he was going to force me to eat it. Thanks to him, I’d once had to wash it out of my hair. “No mustard.”

We settled onto the couch, plates on our laps, and Brendan turned on ESPN. As we kicked back and ate, the stress of the day melted away. My adorable lazy dog snoring at my feet added another layer of comfort. Obviously he already felt at home.

I glanced at Brendan, now fully engrossed in sports highlights. His careless, go-with-the-flow attitude was so the opposite of what I was used to. I found myself soaking in his strong profile, his Adam’s apple, and the sliver of skin exposed by the open buttons on his shirt. There was no reason to pretend he wasn’t sexy, just like there was nothing wrong with realizing he was. The important thing was that we were friends who had history, and we’d managed to bridge all those years apart with a couple of easy nights.

I leaned back on the cushions and kicked up my feet on the coffee table.

Suddenly, my life didn’t feel like such a mess anymore.

Chapter Nine

The newspaper office always smelled stuffy, like all the years of stories were trapped inside with the people frantically writing them.

Item one on today
’
s to-do list was confronting Phoebe Pratt. The rage I
’
d felt toward her Friday night had mostly abated, but I wanted to make it clear my life wasn
’
t up for gossip in the paper, and I needed to talk to Tess about my column anyway
—
it was item two, actually. Each task I needed to accomplish today was typed into my phone, color-coded and waiting for a simple tap to cross it off. God bless technology.

“
Just the girl I wanted to see,
”
Phoebe Pratt said, stepping into my path. Her dark hair was up in a loose bun, and she wore her usual cat-eye glasses with crystals.

“
I was looking for you, too, actually.
”
Now that the woman was in front of me, her red lips stretched into a spiteful smile, the heat was instantly back in my veins. What happened to respect for colleagues? Or at least a little girl solidarity?

She lifted her blinged-out iPhone between us, and I noticed the recording app on her screen.
“
So, Dakota Halifax, do you think people will still want to hire you when your own wedding didn
’
t go as planned?
”

I glared at her, my fingers curling into fists. Did she seriously just ask me that? After she
’
d already cost me business?

“
How do you plan on preventing the same thing from happening to your clients? Isn
’
t that what they hire you for?
”
Her thin eyebrows arched above the frames of her glasses.

“Well,” I said through clenched teeth. “I’d say that not everything, no matter how well organized, goes according to plan. For example, I didn’t plan on punching you this morning, but here I am, ready to do just that.”

Her jaw dropped and then she yelled, “Dakota just threatened me! I have it on tape.”

Heads swiveled in our direction and a couple of people popped out of their cubicles. I rolled my eyes and shoved her phone away from me. “My personal life isn’t available for your column, Phoebe. You crossed a line.”

“Look, it’s nothing personal. Valentina Maddox’s wedding is set to get national attention, and I’m going to cover it better than anyone else out there. And for some reason, people in the city are actually interested in you because of it. I’ve gotten emails wanting to know more, and you’re a public figure. Deal with it.”

“Listen to me, you wannabe attention whore—”

“Let’s calm down here,” George from Classifieds said, putting his hand on my shoulder. “There’s no need for violence.”

“Maybe not need, but want…?” I narrowed my eyes on Phoebe. “No, it’s actually need.”

“Keep talking.” Phoebe waved her phone at me. “I’ve got it all recorded.”

I lurched for the phone, and I would’ve had it, too, but George held me back. Irritation burned through me at how out-of-control this situation was getting. Now I was the bad guy? Fine. She could have her recording of me saying I was going to punch her. As much as I wanted to follow through on the threat, lucky for her, I’d learned to deal with things differently since second grade. I’d just steer clear of her, and then go over her head to Tess.

Speaking of my boss at the paper, Tess had come out of her office and was looking from Phoebe to me, and then at the guy holding me back like I was some kind of rabid dog.

“She threatened me,” Phoebe said. “I’m putting it in my column. Wedding planner has meltdown after her failed nuptials.”

I glared and stepped forward, quickly enough that George couldn’t catch me. Phoebe shrieked and threw her hands up, which was almost as satisfying as taking a swing at her. “One last warning. Leave me out of your column.”

“Dakota! In my office. Now.” Tess was usually so soft-spoken that her I-mean-business voice stopped me cold.

“I want to file a complaint,” Phoebe called as I turned my back to her. “If she were anyone else, security would’ve been called by now.”

Since I’d already acted with the maturity of a little kid, I held back the urge to stick my tongue out at her as I stormed into Tess’s office.

“How could you let her print a story about my failed wedding in her column?” I asked.

Tess rounded her desk and sat in her chair. “Was what she wrote false?”

A sharp twinge went through my chest. “Not exactly. But it’s my private life.”

“And how are you doing with that?” Tess looked at me with the poor-you expression I’d gotten a lot since my
I dos
turned into
I don’t even bother to show up
.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re threatening a coworker.”

“It’s Phoebe. Don’t tell me you haven’t wanted to take a swing at her before.”

Tess steepled her hands on her desk and sighed. “Your articles are good, Dakota, and people like them. But I can’t give you preferential treatment simply because you did my wedding. I consider you a friend, but I can’t have you threatening my reporters.”

I hung my head like Cupid did when he got scolded for chewing up the furniture. “I understand.”

“So now you’ve got two options. You resign, or you take an anger management course.”

“Anger management? Are you kidding me?” I yelled, then managed to restrain the anger, which was slightly ironic considering. And proof that I could contain my temper, if you asked me.

Tess glared down her nose at me, which I took to mean a big hell no to the kidding.

My column wasn’t a huge moneymaker, but I enjoyed it, and after draining my bank account for the event everyone wanted to remind me didn’t happen, plus those clients I’d already lost, I needed all the extra cash I could get.

“You know how Phoebe is; she’ll complain till someone listens, whether it’s the police or her readers. This way I can say it’s being taken care of.”

Well, this day sure had gone up in flames quickly. I wondered whether, if I’d moved looking at apartments to my top spot instead of placing it third, I would’ve missed Phoebe. Or at least had enough coffee in my system to better deal with her egging me on like that. But since there was no use crying over spilled social columnists, I figured I’d take the stupid course and move on with my new life. But my anger level was definitely high—like past Fuchsia and into Raging Ruby, a color I didn’t even use. That’s how serious this was. “Does she have to take obnoxious management classes?”

Tess’s eyebrows simply rose higher.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll do it.”

“Great. I’ll email you the details.” Tess spun around in her chair, opened her filing cabinet, and pulled out a copy of the
Beacon
from two months ago. “And maybe you need to reread your column in this edition. There were some good tips in there.”

As I made my way out of the office, I got the walk-of-shame feeling. Only the vibe was less I-just-had-sex and more I-just-had-my-ass-chewed—and not in a good way.

…

“This is all you have open?” I asked, glancing around the newly carpeted apartment. The scent of fresh paint filled the air.

“Right now, everything else I have is leased,” the manager of Sunrise Apartments said. She crossed over to the blinds and pulled them open, displaying a view of the crystal-blue pool that looked so inviting I wanted to dive in and let the cool water wash over me. “I already showed this place three times today, too. It’ll go fast.”

I had no doubt. It was a dream place with granite countertops in the kitchen, a spacious bedroom, and a walk-in closet so huge you could get lost in it. The second we’d stepped inside, I’d been tempted to yell I’d take it. “Do you think you might have a one-bedroom come up soon?”

“I doubt it. I’ve already got a wait list for people looking for one-bedrooms, if you’d like to add your name to it.”

A wait list. So months, most likely, and even then the rent for a one-bedroom was high. The knot in my back throbbed at the thought of another night on Jillian’s couch. She’d been so great, not saying anything about the squished quarters, but I was starting to feel like I was abusing her hospitality. I knew she was as much of a neat freak as I was, and the fact that my belongings were everywhere was starting to give me hives. I could move at least some of it to Dad’s, but it didn’t solve the main problem. My stuff needed a place to go.
I
needed a place to go.

This apartment would definitely solve that problem, but it created another. I’d grown accustomed to eating, and I wasn’t ready to give it up. Between the rent for this two-bedroom apartment and at my office, though, that seemed like the decision I’d be making. And if I were going to pay that much every month, I wanted it to be going toward buying a place.

“I know one of our residents just lost a roommate and has an ad listed for someone to move into the other bedroom and split rent,” the manager said. “I could give you the contact info if that’s something you’d be interested in.”

Being independent sorta implied going solo, but I supposed if I could go solo in my own room, it was still progress. Then when things stabilized, I could find a more permanent solution, possibly even a condo or a small house. Six months from now I’d be back on my feet, I’d hopefully see the influx of business from putting on Valentina’s wedding, and I’d know better what I could or couldn’t afford.

Until then, a roommate might be the perfect solution.

After the manager gave me the phone number and left for her office, I called, figuring I might as well try seeing it while I was here.

“Hello?”

The voice was male. I’d assumed it’d be female, but I supposed plenty of girls moved in with guys they didn’t know. I just wasn’t sure I was one of them. Then again, there was that beggars-can’t-be-choosers aspect to consider. Within a few minutes, I was in front of the guy’s apartment door so he could show me around.

There was a bong on the table, so I was already feeling pretty confident about the match. The empty pizza boxes as tall as the furniture were just an added bonus. The bedroom he showed me was at least empty, but I wouldn’t go so far as to call it clean.

The guy stared at me with his bloodshot eyes as I checked out the dark spots on the carpet. This place was obviously a step down from the last one—give or take a hundred steps. Everything needed deep cleaning, with an extra side of industrial-strength cleaner.

“How old are you?” I asked.

He blinked slowly at me. “Twenty-two. I’m taking a break from college right now, but I’ve got a job at a pizza place. I can bring home free pizza. Just one of the many perks if you move in.”

How the hell did he afford rent working at a pizza place? And was that supposed to be his way of hitting on me, or was he offering to share his bong? He said everything so monotone it was hard to tell. “And how do you feel about dogs?”

“I’m cool with them, but I’m not gonna walk after one with, like, a bag. I don’t clean shit up.”

Understatement,
I thought, but managed to keep it in my head. See? I had self-control. “Okay, well I have your information, so…”

“No offense, lady, but I’m not sure I’d want you as a roommate.”

It was a toss-up as to whether the
lady
or the
not wanting me as a roommate
was worse. Not that I was ready to move in, but now I felt old and rejected. It wasn’t even noon, and I’d already hit the max level of suckiness I could deal with. Screw the rest of my to-do list, along with the guy standing across from me.

This day could go to hell for all I cared.