Tools of Engagement Read online

  Nothing malicious, just Port Jeff gossip. Well earned, too. She’d given them quite a few topics to choose from by defecting from Brick & Morty, signing on for a reality-show competition, and being caught after sunset at Wes’s house. Not to mention picking his niece up from school, a distinctly domestic activity.

  Remembering the way Laura’s feet felt in her lap, she experienced some hollowness in her throat. What were Wes and Laura doing right now? Eating pizza and watching infomercials? It scared her a little how badly she suddenly wanted to turn around, leave Buena Onda, and go back.

  In other words, she definitely needed the break. She’d been around Wes so much during the flip, she was due some distance and perspective. He was getting to her in ways she didn’t anticipate. Fine, she’d always been annoyingly attracted to him physically, even after she’d decreed him a low-down asshole. What was she going to do now that the truth had surfaced? Wes had more layers than she’d given him credit for. He was slightly damaged from an unstable past, funny, observant, and Jesus, he could kiss. She’d never, ever experienced kisses like the ones he’d laid on her.

  Most important of all, he was a stand-up man. My God. He’d asked for guardianship of his niece tonight, taking on a challenge that would scare even the most independent adult.

  Yes, Wes was brave and full of heart and . . . she really needed a reality check before she did something stupid like fall for the man.

  A few yards away, Rosie passed through the swinging door out of the kitchen and into the staff station, a nook built by her husband that contained shelves laden with cutlery, coffee paraphernalia, hot sauces, and other condiments. She did a double take when she saw Bethany. “Hey, stranger! I haven’t seen you since the wedding,” Rosie said, stacking and organizing what looked like credit card receipts. “How is the flip going?”

  Bethany clasped her hands beneath her chin. “Amazing, of course. I’m in charge.”

  Even though Bethany made her friend laugh, she didn’t get as much pleasure out of it as usual. Because she wasn’t being honest. In truth, she likened the flip to flying down railroad tracks without brakes. That would shatter the illusion she’d worked so hard to create, though, wouldn’t it? Even with her best friend?

  In the space of seconds, she’d gone back to being the woman who never showed a single weakness. The woman who hid behind style and bravado, who would never admit she didn’t know how the hell the flip was going. Wes told her it was going fine and they’d been seeing daily progress, but arriving at the hazardous mess every morning made her stress and self-doubt flare up. Each day, she put her head down and focused on whatever project she’d chosen. It helped to put on blinders and do one thing, but stepping back and realizing what a massive undertaking she’d shouldered? It was hard. She wasn’t coping the way she presented to the cameras. She wanted everything perfect now. Until then, the unfinished mess was a reflection of her.

  Her fingers crept toward her neck, itching to attack the spot Wes had put salve on earlier this morning, but she forced it down to her side. “I can see you’re swamped,” she said to Rosie, waggling her eyebrows. “Definitely a good problem to have, right? I’ll just grab a table and if you have time for a drink, come join me. No pressure!”

  Rosie smiled. “Okay.” She craned her neck to look past Bethany. “Take the two-top by the window. I’ll send over the waitress.”

  “Two-top. Look at you with the restaurant lingo.”

  With a little shimmy, Bethany headed back toward the front of Buena Onda, winking at the people whom she suspected were whispering about her. Her smile remained intact, but on the inside, a million thoughts pinged around her skull. Were they laying odds that her brother was going to win Flip Off? Were they calling her a cougar for making time with a twenty-three-year-old man? Could they see her lack of a manicure, thanks to her grueling new gig?

  Bethany curled her nails into her palm and took a seat at the table in front, thanking the waitress who handed her a menu. Though she was positive her appearance was serene, she was kind of sweating sitting alone, especially with all the whispers, so she took out her phone—and found a text from Wes. A laugh tumbled out of her before she could stop it.

  It was a picture of him blowing on his credit card while QVC advertised a diamond broach in the background. But the best part was Laura mid-cheer on the couch, her delight obvious.

  Bethany pressed her smiling lips together and texted back.

  BETHANY: Always hold out for diamonds. The kid knows her stuff.

  WES: This is bad. She’s no longer accepting Cheerios as bribes. If I end up promising her jewelry to get five more minutes of sleep tomorrow morning, you’re in trouble.

  BETHANY: Am I? That’s not my credit card.

  WES: You’ll have a cranky foreman on your hands.

  BETHANY: Awww. Don’t be cranky.

  WES: How are you going to cheer me up?

  Bethany coughed quietly and scanned her surroundings, wondering if anyone noticed the way she was pressing her thighs together. These text messages weren’t even naughty. Not really, even if they seemed to be veering in that direction. But she could hear Wes’s gruff Texas drawl in her ear and imagine his hands molding her hips, cheating lower to her butt, squeezing.

  Seriously? Her panties were wet after a brief text exchange?

  She’d just showered and put on fresh clothes.

  I’m not going to answer.

  Bethany smacked the phone onto the table, facedown, but snatched it back up before five seconds had passed.

  BETHANY: I’d take care of those nasty blue balls, of course.

  WES:

  BETHANY: With all that paint lying around, I can totally paint them a new color.

  WES: If you were here, I’d have to spank you for that.

  Her fingers hesitated over the screen, trembling. She couldn’t reply or she’d send back gibberish. That was all her brain was capable of producing with that image in her head. Wes laying her facedown over his lap and walloping her bottom with that warm, calloused palm.

  WES: Why aren’t you here, Bethany?

  That message, so different in tone from the last, struck a totally different chord. Now a pang of yearning joined her desire for physical contact. With Wes.

  She missed him. After a matter of hours.

  Bad. This is so bad.

  “Hey!”

  Rosie bounced into the seat across from Bethany and she yipped, fumbling her phone and knocking over the red rose flower arrangement in the center of the table. “Oh my God,” she breathed, righting the vase before water could leak out and scanning the restaurant for signs that anyone had witnessed her clumsiness. “Sorry. I just didn’t expect . . . I didn’t think you’d be able to join me when you’re this packed!”

  “Here I am,” Rosie said, watching Bethany with a bemused expression. “You looked deep in thought over here.”

  “Huh.” She snuck the phone into her pocket. “Did I?”

  “Uh-huh.” Rosie kept an eye trained on Bethany while ordering for them. “So let’s talk about Slade Hogan. He came in for lunch yesterday and I thought the waitresses were going to hyperventilate.”

  “Oh yeah.” Bethany nodded enthusiastically and tried, without success, to recall the host’s face. “He’s a dish.”

  “Worthy of ending your man hiatus?”

  Bethany kept right on nodding. Until she started shaking her head. “No.”

  Rosie arched a dark brow and leaned back with her just-delivered glass of wine. “Oh?”

  “He did ask me out. I passed.”

  Her friend gasped. A little too theatrically. “Why would you do that?”

  “I can see where you’re going with this.”

  “Can you?”

  “Is this thing where you answer a question with a question a product of couple’s therapy?”

  Rosie laughed into her sip of wine. “Sorry. It’s just that I hear so much gossip being in this place all day and you and a certain cowboy have come und
er heavy speculation. I wanted to hear it from your mouth.” She shrugged an elegant shoulder. “That wasn’t going to happen without a little goading.”

  Bethany subdued her smile. “You’ve been spending too much time with my family.” She tapped her tragically unfiled fingernails on the table. “I’m neither going to confirm nor deny that there is something worth speculating over.”

  “Okay.”

  She lowered her voice. “But if there was, I would need assurances that the phrase I told you so would not be uttered.”

  “You’d only have your sister to worry about. But since she’s going to return from Italy in a sexual stupor, you’ve got a decent shot at her letting you off with a lofty sniff or two.”

  Bethany hummed. “I guess I can deal with that.”

  “Great. I’ll intercept Georgie when she gets home.” Rosie rubbed her hands together and leaned forward. “Tell this horny married lady everything.”

  The suspense built while Bethany unnecessarily straightened her fork. “There has been some kissing. I’m thinking of sleeping with him.”

  Rosie picked up her cloth napkin and hid her face in it, but not before Bethany caught her grinning. When she dropped it, her composure was back in place. “Oh?”

  “Yes. I’m just not sure yet.”

  “You were texting with him when I walked over here, weren’t you?”

  “About the flip.”

  “Construction talk really gets you going, huh?”

  Bethany cleared her throat. “Was I that obvious?”

  Rosie’s gaze meandered through the restaurant and landed on her husband, who—predictably—was already hard at work watching his wife. “Only to someone who’s spent a lot of time trying to repress their sexual needs.”

  “There’s that therapy talk again,” Bethany said absently, drawing a pattern on the table. “Let’s say . . . and this is totally hypothetical . . . Wes stayed in Port Jefferson.” She laughed a little too brightly. “And wanted a”—she made air quotes—“relationship. Wouldn’t that be crazy? I mean, woooo. Come on.”

  Rosie set down her drink. “Why would it be crazy?”

  Bethany tried to be as casual as possible ticking off her fingers. “He’s seven years younger than me, he doesn’t have any career focus—construction is just what he’s doing now. I mean, he was a bull rider. And we fight all the time. It would be a complete disaster, start to finish.”

  Her friend said nothing, simply waiting for her to elaborate.

  “And . . . you know, he’s just not thinking this all the way through.” Her shoulder jerked. “Why would he want a relationship—hypothetically—with someone who can’t relax until everything is exactly perfect, but it never is. Ever. It would just get exhausting for him, being around that anxiousness. You know how I am.” She waved a hand. “I like things a certain way.”

  “Yes,” Rosie said slowly. “But I never knew you second-guessed yourself. You always seem so confident.”

  “I am!” She picked up her wineglass, ignoring the drops that sloshed over the side onto her hand. “No, I totally am. I don’t know what I’m talking about. Just thinking out loud.” Her throat ached with the forced lie. “So, tell me. Did you add a new string of lights to the ceiling? It’s an amazing touch.”

  Rosie was obviously hesitant to let her change the subject, but relented. They were able to steal a few more minutes before Rosie went back to work, but long after her friend left, Bethany’s words hovered over the table. Until tonight, she’d never realized how firmly she kept her mask in place, even around her best friend. Even around her sister. She hadn’t realized it until she’d started allowing herself to be less than perfect around Wes.

  Of course, he’d kind of ripped the mask off, but that was splitting hairs.

  The point was, she’d been a dishonest version of herself tonight and it had never been more obvious. She’d never actually considered a relationship with Wes. Until they’d started working together, the very idea would have been laughable. But now? When Bethany tried to picture them together, as a couple, the vision made her . . . warm. Hopeful.

  Happy.

  But those positive emotions didn’t keep her old fears from coming back to roost. Wasn’t there a reason she’d gone on a man hiatus in the first place?

  She’d pushed her past boyfriends away for wanting to get too close.

  For daring to expect more from her.

  Knowing Wes would want more, total access to her heart, mind, and body—access she’d always been afraid to give anyone—made her want to backpedal before things got too comfortable. Too optimistic.

  Before expectations were formed for a normal, healthy relationship that she had no earthly idea how she could fulfill. She definitely never had before.

  How could Wes be happy with her when she didn’t know how to be happy with herself? Despite what Bethany’s heart was telling her to do, she could feel herself shifting back to her old patterns with men. If she didn’t let things get too serious, he couldn’t get sick of her, right?

  A little time, a little space, and Wes would probably thank her for keeping things casual. And the disappointment she felt in herself?

  It would fade with time. Wouldn’t it?

  Bethany hoped that once she’d had a Wes-free weekend of repeating the mantra that the distance between them would get easier and she’d stop second-guessing herself that she’d actually be closer to believing it. She doubted she would, but no one had ever accused her of lacking a strong will . . .

  Chapter Seventeen

  Okay, folks, it is day four of the family-flip competition Flip Off, and the battle is certainly heating up! We’re on the jobsite that has been lovingly dubbed Project Doomsday.” Wes’s thumb and forefinger did their best to crush the bridge of his nose. At least if he ended up in the emergency room, he wouldn’t have to listen to Slade fucking Hogan’s made-for-television voice for a while.

  Outside the window, Slade walked backward, the cameraman and lighting and sound guys following him to where Bethany was . . . Wait, was she carrying a ladder?

  Why?

  Wes didn’t have a clue.

  As a matter of fact, he didn’t know a damn thing going on in her head because today was Monday and she’d been distant with him since Friday. Everything had been coming up roses when she left his house. They’d even traded some flirty text messages and he’d thought they’d well and truly turned a corner into . . . coupletown. Or at least approaching it. But all weekend, she’d been busy with the Just Us League and antique shopping for when she eventually staged the flip.

  He’d missed her, but he hadn’t panicked until coming face-to-face with her on the site this morning. Every time he moseyed in her direction to make small talk or maybe get himself another one of those life-altering kisses, she suddenly had to go pick up materials or make a coffee run. He’d joked with her about being a cranky foreman, but it had become reality and he still—still—had fucking blue balls.

  Wes threw down the pair of pliers in his hand and stomped outside to see where the hell Bethany thought she was going with a ladder. Unless she was planning on creating some kind of avant-garde lawn sculpture out of it, he wasn’t sure why she needed one. She was scheduled to work on the crown molding today, wasn’t she?

  It was a terrible idea to approach Bethany in this black mood, especially while the cameras were rolling, but a man could only take so much. She’d kissed him like a man ought to be kissed the other night. The sweetness of it, the way it had felt like a promise . . . well, it had rocked him. Rocked him real hard. It didn’t make any damn sense that she should be avoiding him now. Unless something had happened between the time she’d texted him Friday night and now. But what?

  “Bethany, I heard you’ve decided to retile the roof?”

  At the sound of that question coming from Slade’s mouth, the coffee Wes drank that morning turned to bitter acid in his stomach. Bethany on the roof? She wasn’t trained for that. Hadn’t gone through a safety cou
rse or even a casual tutorial with him or someone with construction experience. More than once, he’d worked with men who’d been injured in falls from roofs and ladders on the construction site. The thought of Bethany shattering a femur or breaking her back broke him out in a cold sweat.

  “Yeah,” he said slowly and, fine, maybe a touch sarcastically. “Mind if we put a pin in that genius idea for now?”

  Bethany very carefully set down the ladder and crossed her arms. “I’m sorry. Does my foreman have a complaint to voice?”

  “Your foreman,” he said witheringly. “Sure, we’ll go with that.”

  Twin sparks shot off in her eyes. “Good.”

  Wes reined in his frustration. What the hell had happened between them that he wasn’t aware of? She almost seemed relieved to kick off this argument. “Let’s turn off the camera and take a couple of hours to make sure you know what the hell you’re doing, all right? I don’t want you falling off the fucking roof.”

  “We’ll have to bleep that,” called the producer.

  “Bleep it, then,” Wes spat.

  “I’ve watched plenty of roofs being tiled,” Bethany said.

  Wes closed some of the distance between him and Bethany. They were surrounded by at least thirty others, but they might as well have been the only people there, for all the attention he paid them. “Watching and doing are two different things. Either we do some training or you keep your feet on the ground where they belong.”

  She squared her shoulders. “You don’t make decisions for me.”

  “Now, there is some truth to that, buddy,” Slade had the stones to pipe in. “Bethany is the official homeowner—”

  “Jesus, Slade,” Wes interrupted, massaging his right eye with enough force to blind himself. “You are truly getting on my last fucking nerve.”

  “Bleep!”

  “Wes,” Bethany gasped.

  “It’s bad enough I’ve got to work with camera cords and spotlights and Slade in my way”—his shout lost some steam—“but I can deal with all of that if you’re okay.” It came to him at once that he’d just revealed a lot in front of a large crowd of people, not to mention two cameras. “It’s a long fall,” he finished, trying to recapture some of his angry tone, but it didn’t work. Bethany’s jaw had dropped open and silence—for once—had fallen among the crew.