Tools of Engagement Read online

  “By all means, get out of them here.”

  “I’m not coming over if you’re going to act like a pervert.”

  “It’s out of my system now. Promise.”

  “Good. I’m hanging up now.”

  “Bethany?”

  “What?”

  “Thanks.”

  A beat passed. “It’s for Laura.”

  “Of course.”

  “Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Bethany kicked off her nasty work boots on the porch and stumbled into her house, already stripping off her smelly T-shirt and yoga pants. She started to leave them in a heap in the entryway, only making it two steps before going back, gathering them up, and putting them neatly in the laundry basket.

  “What are you thinking?” she whispered to herself on the way up the stairs. By the time she finished scrubbing her grimy skin and rinsing off, a full five minutes had passed and she still hadn’t answered her own question. Already she was spending entirely too much time with Wes; now she was going over to help him babysit? Multiple kids? What she knew about children could fit inside of a shot glass. She knew even less about them than she knew about renovating a house. What had possessed her to take both of these new challenges on in the same week?

  Careful not to slip on the tile floor, Bethany wrapped a towel around her body and stood in front of the bathroom mirror. No time to fix her hair and that was a shame. Clean, straightened hair always boosted her confidence. Her shot glass of children knowledge consisted of one fact—they preyed on the weak. She could remember her own glee as a third grader when a substitute teacher waltzed in, thinking they were going to follow the lesson plan. Sorry, sucker. Not today.

  Now she was going to be the sucker.

  She’d volunteered to be one.

  “Okay, okay,” she breathed, moisturizing quickly and applying the barest layer of foundation, followed by a swipe of mascara. “You entertain dozens of women every week. You can handle some kindergartners.”

  It was true, she did entertain the Just Us League members every Saturday night, but she only made it look easy when in truth she was overthinking every word out of her mouth, analyzing her friends’ comments to death, looking for some proof they were aware of her flaws. She loved the club. Loved the spirit and honesty and the women. But some part of her had always seen it as temporary. How long could she make them believe she was graceful and funny and dazzlingly carefree? What happened when they started to see through her?

  Not wanting to examine those fears too deeply, Bethany hung up the towel, hunkering down to make sure the corners lined up, then marched through her bedroom to the closet. On the drive home, she’d mentally set aside an outfit and she reached for the ruffled denim romper now, putting it on and then sliding her feet into a pair of pointed white flats. She ran a brush through her hair and put it back in a high ponytail and, after stopping at the fridge to grab a slab of leftover wedding cake, then sailed out of the house with far more confidence than she felt.

  In a matter of minutes, she was pulling into Wes’s driveway, parking behind his truck. “You can do this,” she said brightly to her reflection. “You can help babysit three little girls and leave them none the wiser that you’re a shocking mess.”

  Cake in hand, she climbed the steps to Wes’s front door.

  She’d barely raised her hand to knock when it flew open.

  “What took you so long? They’re down to kernels, woman.”

  She came very close to smashing the cake in his face. And seriously, why did her brain force her to register how sexy he looked even when his mouth was letting out rude shit? He hadn’t even bothered to change, still decked out in his worksite finest, hair mussed with dust, T-shirt wrinkled with dry sweat and plaster flakes. When he leaned a forearm on the doorjamb and made a sound of approval while looking her over, top to bottom, she refused to acknowledge the sliver of tight stomach revealed by his elevated T-shirt.

  Or the fact that she’d gone home to change just so he’d look at her like this.

  Dammit, though. She had, hadn’t she?

  Someone really needed to overthrow her as leader of the Just Us League. She was a total fraud. It was just that no one had ever seen her in the states of dishevelment to which Wes had borne witness. He’d had the audacity to see her angry, crying, racked with stress, dirty. The utter nerve of him. Was it so much to ask that she be allowed to cast her usual spell for one afternoon?

  “Step aside, cowboy. I brought cake.”

  “And here I thought you were dessert.”

  She held up a single finger. “You get one pass. That was it.”

  His smile flashed white in his stubbled face and for a few, valuable seconds, she almost forgot he was twenty-damn-three. “I’ve been suitably warned.” He pushed the door open wider and eased out of her way. “Is that wedding cake?”

  “Yes.” She stopped short in the entryway, her fingers dancing over the plastic wrap. “Did you . . . like the cake at the wedding?”

  He crossed his arms over his big chest. “Never met one I didn’t like.”

  She hummed. “And what about the food?”

  “Before I moved to Port Jeff, I was existing on Subway and whiskey.”

  “Well, that was predictably unhelpful,” she muttered, starting to walk away.

  “Hold up.” Wes ceased her movements by wrapping a warm hand around her elbow. “Someone say they didn’t like the food?”

  Her stomach pitched. “Did someone say that to you?”

  “No. The food was great. My five-year-old had to remind me it’s rude to take home shrimp in my pockets.” He stumbled over the last word, frowning to himself. “I mean, not my five-year-old—”

  “I know what you mean,” she breathed softly, alarmed by the scratch in her throat. “So, um . . . you liked it, then? There was so much left over . . .”

  He raised a brow. “And you’ve been worried all this time the guests hated the food. Food you didn’t even cook?”

  “I arranged it.”

  “Did I mention the open bar?”

  “Okay, you’ve made your point.” She turned and strutted into the living space, all too aware that she definitely felt better about the leftover wedding food. Like, completely better. Absolved. So much so that she was breathing easier than she had since Sunday night. “Where are the girls?”

  “ELSA!”

  Three little girls barreled into the living room from the hallway and proceeded to jump up and down in front of her. Expectantly. “Oh, um. I have cake,” she rasped, apprehension starting to sneak into her belly.

  “Cake and popcorn! Don’t tell our mom.”

  “Your secret is safe,” Bethany said quickly, searching her memory bank for some hint as to what five-year-olds were into. Wait. Rewind. There it was. Inspiration had struck and not a moment too soon. Laura was looking up at her with big round eyes as if Bethany held the secrets to pre-pre-pre-teen happiness. “And . . . you know, the best way to eat cake is with tea.”

  All three children grew very still and unnervingly quiet.

  Had she flubbed it?

  She adjusted the plastic wrap, even though it was perfect. Not a single bubble or overlap. “T-tea party?”

  An eruption of happy, ear-splitting shrieks sent Bethany back a step, her relief followed by a laugh. She bit her bottom lip to keep her smile from dominating her whole face and met Wes’s gaze where he stood in the kitchen, a coffee mug poised halfway to his mouth. And oh. Just ohhh. He didn’t hide the way he was looking at her fast enough and Bethany knew she’d wake up tonight thinking about the mixture of admiration, gratitude, and pure, bottomless longing in his eyes.

  Her body reacted like she was sitting on a dryer during the spin cycle, heating and tightening in kind of an embarrassing way that definitely wasn’t appropriate for a children’s tea party. “Well,” she managed. “You need guests, don’t you? Go round up some dolls or stuffed animals and I’ll set up the t
able.”

  They moved down the hall in a commotion of flailing limbs, speaking over one another. Bethany crossed to the kitchen table and set down the cake, tucking a loose hair back into her ponytail.

  “She does have some stuffed animals, right?” Bethany whispered to Wes, who nodded slowly while sipping from his mug, eyes steady on her over the rim. “Good.”

  “What I don’t have is tea. I’m guessing that’s mandatory for a tea party.”

  Bethany winced. “Who lives next door?”

  “The Santangelos.”

  “Ah! They went to school with my parents. I’ll be right back.”

  Five minutes later, after persuading Mrs. Santangelo into giving them an assortment of decaf tea, Bethany reentered the house to find the girls arranging teddy bears and a family of stuffed penguins around the table, talking animatedly. While Wes continued to hide in the deep recesses of the kitchen.

  “You look terrified. Go sit down.”

  Wes hesitated. “I’ve seen this movie. As soon as I pull my chair out, one of them is going to ask where babies come from.”

  A snort-laugh flew out of Bethany without warning and she smacked a hand over her mouth, too late to stop the cringeworthy sound. “Pretend you didn’t hear that,” she said briskly, dropping her hand away.

  “Why? I liked it.”

  “You love when I give you new reasons to make fun of me.”

  Wes dipped his chin and gave her a look that said Oh, come on. “All right, let’s clear this up now, since you’re here saving my biscuit.” He crossed the kitchen in her direction. “Am I actually making fun of you, Bethany? Or am I just riling you up because it’s the only way you’ll give me the time of day?”

  His question thwarted her concentration, and she paused in the middle of searching for a teakettle in the pantry, finally spying one near the back. “What? That’s not true.”

  “It is. You decided you wanted nothing to do with me the first time we met.”

  She frowned while putting the kettle under the sink tap and turning on the water. “You tried to run game on me in front of my brother.”

  “I did, didn’t I?” He gave her a slow wink. “Reckon I couldn’t help it.”

  Bethany ignored the weight that continued to sink lower and lower in her belly. “Yes, you’re falling all over yourself to sleep with a woman you find so ancient you can’t even comprehend her movie references.” She moved to the stove and situated the kettle over a burner. “That’s probably why when you hit on me, it feels like a trap.”

  Wes was silent so long, she had to look over to make sure he hadn’t left the room. But no, there he was, frowning at her from the shadows. “A trap?” he said, finally, his voice hard. “Explain that.”

  There was a nervous flutter in her throat she couldn’t explain. “I don’t know. Why are we talking about this?”

  “Because we are.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I guess it feels like . . . when you proposition me, it’s just another way of poking fun. At me. Okay? Fine, you’re attracted to me, but maybe it’s just the chase making you that way. You’ve only pointed out how much freaking older I am nine hundred times, so you don’t really . . . want me like that.” With a hard swallow, she removed the lukewarm water from over the flame. “You’re waiting for me to accept so you can have the ultimate laugh at this old witch’s expense. I actually admire this long game you’re playing.”

  He was staring at her like she’d just risen from the floor in a plume of smoke. “Jesus Christ, you really believe that bullshit, don’t you?”

  Yes. Until that very second, Bethany didn’t realize how deep she’d shoved the insecurities regarding their age difference. Could anyone blame her for thinking his intentions toward her were less than sincere? Every man she’d ever dated had been a flatterer. Compliments were an indication that a man wanted to sleep with a woman, wasn’t it? Not outright vitriol, like the kind she shared with Wes. If there were some lines she was supposed to read between, she didn’t have the right decoder ring—and that was a Christmas Story reference he would probably laugh at her over.

  Bethany started opening cabinets. “Could you help me set the table? I need plates, cups, napkins—”

  “I made a mistake.”

  “What?”

  He took her wrists and turned her to face him. “Hey, I made a mistake.” His chest rose and fell. “I should have left our age difference alone.”

  Bethany looked everywhere but at him, because his intensity was doing weird things to her midsection. “Wes. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

  “Out of nothing? You’ve been doubting how I feel about you this whole time—”

  “How you feel about me?” In a rush of panic, she tried to pry her wrists free, but he held on. “Back the truck up.”

  He closed his eyes, appearing to count to ten. “Fine. I’ll back up. You’ve been doubting how bad I want you because I made some stupid jokes.”

  “I . . .” She attempted a casual laugh. “I guess? Sure.”

  “How?” He was visibly bewildered. “Bethany, you know you’re a fucking masterpiece, right?”

  Her legs turned to gelatin, a foreign emotion swelling inside her. A big, heavy feeling with untapped power. “I . . . um. Um.”

  Wes let go of her wrists and fell back a step. “My God, you don’t,” he said dazedly. “You don’t know.”

  Bethany’s hands remained suspended in midair, a lot like the breath in her lungs that refused to come in or out. Part of her wanted to run from the kitchen, but the other part kept her planted. In front of Wes. You know you’re a fucking masterpiece, right? He couldn’t really mean that, could he? She was at her worst in front of him. This had to be a simple case of lusting for something he couldn’t have.

  Yes. Obviously. He was a gorgeous man who’d been continually turned down by a woman. Getting her to cave might be nothing more than a point of pride.

  Wes turned her until he could press her against the counter . . . and her noodle legs went from al dente to limp. “Don’t kiss me,” she whispered.

  His sigh warmed her mouth. “I have to, baby. You’re ridiculous.”

  “And that makes you want to kiss me?”

  Blue eyes searched hers. “I don’t understand it, either. Just know once you’ve got my tongue in your mouth, you’re going to feel my lack of fucks that you’re thirty and I’m twenty-three. Those seven years don’t mean a damn thing to me . . .” He trailed his open lips along her jaw. “If anything, they’ll make us moan a little louder, won’t they, darlin’?”

  Their mouths were so close, his breath was leaving the most delicious condensation on her lips. Oh God. This was it, he was going to kiss her. Right here, right now. She wasn’t going to be able to hide behind sharp words or snappy comebacks with her mouth occupied and shitshitshit this was going to be bad. He’d know by the time this kiss was over that he affected her. Physically . . . and more. Dammit, there was more, wasn’t there?

  How was she supposed to be around him and like him at the same time?

  Ughhhhhhhh.

  “Elsa!”

  “Uncle Wes! Elsa! Can we have our tea party now?”

  Record scratch.

  He pushed his face into the curve of her neck, latching onto a patch of sensitive flesh with his teeth, groaning in a way that sent a thrill screaming down to her toes. “God help me, I won’t survive these blue balls.”

  Laughter shivered through her, but she was too stupefied by the state of her body and the things he’d said to respond.

  “You think it’s funny? I come home on my lunch breaks while she’s in school and sometimes I just sit in the quiet, staring at the wall.” He made a pained sound, dipping his mouth to the hollow of her neck and licking, all the way around to her earlobe. “That’s a lie. I think about you.”

  “Wes.”

  “You think about me, too.”

  Her nod was subtle and grudging and she couldn’t take it back. Another impatien
t plea from the dining room had her sliding out from underneath Wes’s rigid body. “Remind me what I was doing.”

  He ground the heel of his hand into one eye. “Plates, cups . . .”

  “Forks. Tea. Okay.”

  They both took fortifying breaths, then broke for the tea party.

  Oh mama.

  As soon as this tea party ended, she needed to get the heck out of Dodge.

  What was that saying about the best-laid plans?

  Chapter Thirteen

  From his reclined position in a beanbag chair in the corner of Laura’s bedroom, Wes watched Bethany pause in the doorway. His intention had been to observe the tea party from the safety of the kitchen, but damn, was he ever glad he’d let Laura drag him to her bedroom to await Bethany’s official escort to the dining room table—and thus, the start of the game.

  She swept in with an air of drama, pausing for several beats without saying a word, heightening the anticipation. “Attention! Attention, please,” she called to the three little girls who were already squealing and essentially losing their minds, simply because Bethany was taking their make-believe seriously, British accent and all. “May I speak to the lady of the house? I have a formal invitation from Her Majesty, the Queen.”

  “Me!” Laura almost landed facefirst on the carpet diving for the letter Bethany held in her hands. “I’m the lady of the house!”

  “Brilliant.” Bethany handed Laura a folded-up page they’d torn out of his latest Sports Illustrated. “The Queen requires your presence at afternoon tea.”

  Laura pretended to read the royal invitation. “It says we’re all invited.”

  Megan and Danielle cheered and hopped to their feet, joining Laura in a stampede that almost knocked Bethany on her gorgeous ass. She traded a dazed look with Wes. “They almost knocked me down to get to the drinks. This isn’t that different from a Just Us League meeting.”

  Wes heaved himself out of the beanbag chair with a chuckle. “Hopefully the similarities end there. The last thing we need is these kids going home chanting about lady balls.”

  Bethany’s mouth formed an O. “I’m going to start having the members sign an NDA. All of this leaking of important procedures is getting out of hand.”