Tools of Engagement Read online

  “Your husbands should be worried,” Bethany muttered, though she didn’t really mean it. Rosie and Georgie were facedown in a mud puddle of everlasting love with their dudes and they would be forevermore. Bethany couldn’t be happier for them. If there were two women who deserved men with unquestionable loyalty who worshiped the ground they walked on, it was her sister and Rosie.

  Bethany would be lying, however, if her little sister getting married first didn’t bring about a certain . . . self-reflection. Seeing Georgie and Rosie so happy made her doubt, on occasion, that she’d been built for happiness herself. The kind of relationships they had with Dominic and Travis, the kind where all the walls were down? Didn’t that ever terrify them? Bethany didn’t even like her parents knowing she didn’t have her shit together, let alone someone she expected to be devoted, faithful, and sexually attracted to her. How could one just be themselves, be completely honest, and trust that it wouldn’t eventually send the person on his merry way?

  Yes, while Bethany was totally thrilled for her sister and best friend, she could admit to being a little baffled by how the blind trust/unconditional love thing worked. She might have purported on occasion to being somewhat well versed in the world of men, but truthfully? She didn’t know a damn thing about the opposite sex—and it had taken her until exactly this second to admit it. To herself, anyway.

  In high school and college, she’d dated liberally and without major commitments, more focused on getting her degree in design and carving out a long-term way to practice what she loved. When she’d settled back in Port Jefferson after four years at Columbia, she’d started seeing men in a more permanent light. Her first serious boyfriend was a bond trader named Rivers. They’d dated exclusively for six months before she found out he’d been back together with his old girlfriend for five. And thus had begun a steady stream of handsome, exciting, successful men who would later prove to be less substantial than dust.

  She’d been on a mighty tear the night they formed the Just Us League, in this very room, as the theater director boyfriend she’d been seeing had made for greener pastures, claiming her work schedule didn’t leave enough time for him. A lot of her boyfriends had made this same complaint. A lot of them had pursued other female company because of it, when in truth, her working hours weren’t that demanding.

  But the more time she spent around someone, the higher the chance that they would see her faults. They might force her to accept that she wasn’t the warm, fuzzy relationship type, and in reality, she was kind of . . . cold when it came to men. When it came to a lot of things, really. She didn’t seem capable of relaxation or contentment. Her agenda always seemed to include moving and planning. If she stopped and let herself try to enjoy life, enjoy men . . . maybe she wouldn’t. Couldn’t, even. Maybe some of her past boyfriends’ claims that Bethany was cold were correct.

  So, simple solution, right? Avoid men.

  She avoided her own boyfriends.

  “Bethany?” Georgie hip-checked her. “You’re thinking about Wes’s nipples covered in sweat, aren’t you?”

  “What?” Well, now I am. “No.”

  “Is anyone following the moves?” Kristin demanded from the front of the class, scanning the room as if there were a hundred people present instead of three. “I’m not just up here for my health, you know.”

  “You don’t exercise for your health?” Georgie asked.

  “Oh, hush, smartass. You know what I mean,” their sister-in-law scolded, cradling her nonexistent baby bump with a scowl. She turned back around with an elaborate shoulder roll and fell into rhythm with Katy Perry.

  “Pregnancy is making her mean,” Rosie remarked with a shiver.

  “Yeah, maybe we better dance,” Georgie muttered, beginning the most basic of foot shuffles. “Keep talking, though.”

  “Yeah,” Rosie whispered, cautious eyes on Kristin, like she might turn and spew venom at any moment. “What did Wes say when you told him there wouldn’t be any benefits?”

  “Nothing. He said nothing,” Bethany answered, too quickly.

  “Come on,” Georgie said. “That man never says nothing.”

  Bethany sighed. “He might have said”—she fluttered a hand around her high bun—“sex is no longer an option, anyway.”

  Georgie stopped dancing. So did Rosie. They stared at her.

  And promptly burst into laughter.

  Bethany spoke over them. “I, of course, told him it was never going to happen in the first place, so his point is moot.” She searched for a way to distract them. “And then a rat scurried over my foot.”

  “Oh, ew,” Rosie said, consoling her with a pat on the shoulder.

  “Yeah.” Sober now, Georgie reached for her throat. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I bet you feel bad about laughing now.”

  “Not really,” Georgie said with a straight face.

  Rosie shook her head. “Sorry, no.”

  “You two are the worst,” Bethany grumbled. “There is nothing going on with Wes. Nothing will ever go on with Wes. If we make it through this without clubbing each other to death, I’ll be grateful.”

  But a few minutes later, when Kristin browbeat them into silence, Bethany thought of how her legs felt wrapped around his hips and wondered if clubbing each other to death was what she should be worried about.

  Chapter Five

  Wes checked his reflection in Buena Onda’s glass door, giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts before heading inside. He was still getting used to having . . . people. Making friends during his temporary stay in Port Jefferson was something he definitely hadn’t expected. Casual acquaintances were more his stride. But a few beers with the guys after work had led to a standing happy hour hangout . . . and eventually transitioned into this. An invitation to Georgie and Travis’s rehearsal dinner.

  There might have also been the bonding experience of traveling into Manhattan like a pack of scorned idiots to drag home the womenfolk when they’d had the utter nerve to take a ladies’ night out, but he digressed.

  Apparently he had friends now, but he was still getting used to that fact . . .

  And knowing Bethany would be there tonight had gone a damn long way toward his decision to put on nice clothes and call the babysitter.

  His gaze found her the second he walked into Buena Onda.

  Since she was busy fussing with a flower arrangement and paying him no attention, he stopped just inside the door and allowed himself a few moments to appreciate her. Good Lord. The woman had no right to be so fine. No right.

  It was Friday night and the restaurant was packed. Waiters and waitresses in black, white, and red moved with seamless choreography through the maze of tables, dropping off drinks and clearing dishes. Sconces flickered, highlighting the gold walls and framed photos. Colorful scenes straight out of Argentina. Snippets of conversations reached his ears from nearby tables, emerging and weaving back into the overall drone of the crowd.

  Wes only registered his surroundings in passing, because Bethany had his attention and that’s where it would stay, mainly to get her all worked up and flushed. It really wasn’t fair of him to take these precious moments to prepare himself for their upcoming battle. It gave him an advantage.

  Then again, maybe he needed an edge. Continuing their war of words wouldn’t be easy when she looked like a fucking queen tonight. Bethany Castle never had a hair out of place, but there was something extra happening with her this evening and it damn near made his blood run backward.

  Her hair was in a perfect ponytail—and he knew a perfect ponytail when he saw one. Laura pointed them out on the Disney Channel stars constantly. See, Uncle Wes. That’s what a ponytail looks like. Not what you do.

  All right, so his technique was a work in progress.

  Bethany’s smooth waterfall of blond hair brushed the center of her bare back, drawing Wes’s attention to her delicate shoulders, only a slim strap of ice blue decorating them. Silk. She was wearing silk and Wes could he
ar the sound of it brushing her glowing skin. The hem of the dress met her knees, but the modest length did nothing to curtail his hungry thoughts. How many nights had he lain awake in bed, imagining himself standing behind Bethany, gathering her dress in his hands while exploring the curve of her neck with his tongue?

  As if his thoughts had been broadcast aloud, Bethany straightened from her lean across the long banquet table and pinned him with a look that could only be described as haughty—and Wes barely knew what the hell that word meant.

  We can still pretend to hate each other, if it makes you feel better about accepting my help. Hadn’t Wes given her that assurance?

  Looked like she’d taken it to heart.

  Bethany turned fully and cocked a hip, sweeping him with a concerned glance. “Wow, get a load of you. Did you get lost on the way to a cattle auction or something?”

  Wes’s lips tried their damndest to curl into a smile, but sheer will and a lot of practice kept his expression bland. “Nope, I’m in the right place,” Wes said, sauntering toward Bethany. “The directions said if I passed Resting Bitch Face, I’ve gone too far.”

  Her smile was sweet. “Feel free to keep going until you fall off a cliff.”

  He tucked his tongue into his cheek and leaned in to speak near her ear—and if she thought he didn’t notice the goosebumps that appeared on her neck, she was sorely mistaken. “You smell different. Where’ve you been all day?”

  Her quick intake of breath turned into a scoff. “None of your business, knockoff Lone Ranger.” With a single finger planted in the center of his chest, she pushed him back several inches. “But if you must know, we’ve been at the spa. Massages, facials, and waxing.” She used that same finger to tap his upper lip. “Someday when you’re old enough to grow facial hair, I’ll make you an appointment.”

  Wes could only laugh at the ridiculousness of that insult. “And I’ll book a specialist to saw down your cloven hooves.”

  “I like them sharp.”

  “Yeah?” He stepped back into her personal space, just enough to feel the tips of her breasts against his chest. “Well, come on, then, darlin’. Dig them in.”

  Pink coasted over her complexion and satisfaction fisted in his gut. Sparring with Bethany was better than sex. What was it about this woman that made him feel like his skin was elastic? He could still remember the first time she’d stepped out of her Mercedes on the construction site, all sleek composure, gorgeous legs, and attitude. Before she’d taken two steps, he’d made up his mind to sleep with her. She’d had other ideas.

  “I thought we only hired college kids in the summertime,” she’d said to her brother, eyeing Wes with distaste.

  Wes had crossed his arms. “That must be hard, considering you probably create winter wherever you go.”

  She’d gasped. “Are you calling me an ice princess?”

  “If the tiara fits.”

  “I’ll take a tiara over your Clint Eastwood hand-me-downs.”

  “Remind me who that is? He might be better known among your generation.”

  Funny, the memory didn’t give him the same kick of satisfaction it used to. Maybe it had something to do with that peek beneath her perfect top coat when he’d quit Brick & Morty to help her on the Doomsday Flip? Was a glimpse underneath her exterior his objective all along, with all the teasing and name-calling? Now that he’d gotten that preview of the real Bethany Castle, he surely wouldn’t mind seeing more.

  Although, had he already screwed himself by becoming the man who bit back?

  Wes stepped back. “Where is everyone?”

  “I dropped the ladies off at my place to change. My parents are picking them up on the way.” She straightened a napkin, but he noticed her flush was still intact. “I came early to make sure everything was just right.”

  Although his knowledge was slim to none when it came to tabletop design—or design of any kind, really—Wes had to admit she’d killed it. There were little fresh white flowers cut short and arranged in mason jars filled with fairy lights. Tasteful stands spaced evenly apart on the table held candid pictures of Georgie and Travis. Notecards with everyone’s names written on them in script sat in the center of each plate. He didn’t have to do any sleuthing to know she’d placed him as far away from her as possible.

  He pointed toward the far end of the table. “That wine glass has a smudge.”

  “What?”

  As soon as Bethany turned to handle the phantom smudge, Wes pilfered Stephen’s name card and switched it with his, putting him on Bethany’s right.

  “I don’t see anything,” Bethany said, lifting the glass to inspect it. Their eyes met through the goblet, magnifying her sexy pout. “Very funny.”

  “No one would have noticed a smudge.”

  “I would have.”

  “You notice everything.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  Wes smiled.

  She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, but he was saved from her finding out about the name-card switch when the rest of their party appeared at the restaurant’s entrance.

  Wes saluted the new arrivals. Dominic kept his head down and stuck to the sidelines, scouting for Rosie. Stephen rolled in like a ball of nervous energy and Travis strutted through the awestruck patrons like the goddamn mayor. If Wes didn’t like the son of a bitch so much, he’d hate him.

  The Castle parents walked in behind Travis, their entrance causing a ripple of comforting energy in the small room. Everyone in town revered Morty and adored Vivian. In the short time he’d lived in Port Jefferson, he’d learned they were an institution. Half the town had either sold their homes to the Castles or purchased one from them—and the rest would get there all in good time.

  Wes hung back and watched Bethany, as was becoming his unbreakable habit. How she kissed her parents, guiding her father to his seat with one hand, taking her mother’s coat with the other. She nailed Travis with a well-placed quip, softening it with a grudging smile. Then she mouthed Dominic his wife’s ETA.

  Bethany was a graceful, flawless one-woman welcoming committee, and she was ridiculously out of Wes’s league. That unfortunate fact didn’t keep him from thinking about her nonstop, now, did it?

  She turned and caught his eye over her shoulder, the candlelight giving her complexion a rosy glow, and something heavy clenched in his gut. Not sure if he wanted to explore the growing frequency of that reaction, Wes pulled out his chair and sat down. Bethany’s mouth formed an O, her attention dropping to the swapped name card. “Wes,” she said through her teeth.

  He winked. “Howdy, neighbor.”

  Lucky for Wes, the female contingency joined the party at that moment, or Bethany might have stabbed him with a butter knife. Instead, she was rendered speechless by her little sister. Georgie was dressed in an off-white, form-fitting dress with long sleeves and an abbreviated hem and her legs looked about fifteen miles long in the silver pumps she’d borrowed from Bethany’s closet. How could this be the same person who’d once gotten her braces stuck to a radiator valve?

  Bethany had almost missed the chance to know Georgie better. What if they hadn’t ended up in that stupid Zumba class all those months ago? They’d opened up to each other by accident that night, sprawled on the floor in their workout gear. Sure, Bethany would still have planned this party. They would still be sisters, break bread on the occasional Sunday, buy each other Christmas presents. But they were friends now, too.

  God, she was so grateful for that. And now, in just two short days, the scruffy tomboy was getting married. Bethany’s sight started to blur and, with visions of running mascara in mind, she tipped her face up toward the ceiling, begging the tears to ebb. She couldn’t very well host this dinner with raccoon eyes. Pull it together.

  Something soft pressed into Bethany’s hand and she looked down to find Wes passing her a cloth napkin. “Oh, but it’ll ruin the table’s flow,” she mumbled, fanning her eyes. “You’re behind me. How did you know I was crying?”

/>   “Maybe you’re not the only one who notices things, darlin’.”

  Even as his low tone blew an unwanted shiver down her spine, Bethany turned slightly to slide him some side-eye. It was her default where Wes was concerned. Sighing in the face of her skepticism, Wes took off his cowboy hat and dropped it on the table. “Fine. Your ass was clenched.”

  A surprise laugh rocketed its way out of Bethany. She threw the napkin at Wes and he caught it in midair. “Idiot.”

  As Bethany went to greet her sister, she couldn’t help but notice the tears no longer threatened to erupt from her eyeballs. Wes had said the exact right thing. By accident, of course. And wow. Her standards must be dropping at an exponential rate if that jackass admitting he’d been staring at her ass was now the right thing to say.

  Her man hiatus was responsible for this attraction to Wes. It had to be. Maybe it was time to consider getting back on the market. Because if she continued at this rate, she might actually start considering one of Wes’s not-so-subtle invitations to jump each other’s bones—and that surmounted to the worst idea in life. In history.

  Not happening. Never happening.

  Even if she didn’t hate him, even if he wasn’t seven years her junior, Wes was messy. Not literally. Gun to her head, she could admit he actually cleaned up pretty well. Very well, in fact. The removal of his cowboy hat had revealed his shock of dirty-blond hair that never seemed to fall in the same direction, amber eyes that held a perpetual humorous twinkle, and richly sun-loved skin that called to mind farmer tans and Texas back roads and—what was she doing? Writing lyrics for a country-western song now?

  The man’s attractiveness was neither here nor there.

  The real problem was, Wes knew she wasn’t perfect and put together and effortless. She hadn’t fooled him, not for a second—and that was unacceptable. His awareness of her faults was one of the main reasons Bethany had such a hard time believing he was actually interested and not just amusing himself with an older woman who could play a decent game of hard to get. But did he actually want to catch her? His irreverence made it so hard to tell.