Tools of Engagement Read online

  Bethany shot a pleading look in Wes’s direction, but he seemed a little preoccupied glaring at Stephen. How weird. She returned her attention to her brother. “We are not doing this at our sister’s wedding.”

  “What am I doing?” Stephen asked, slapping a hand to his chest—great, he’d decided to go with competitive and defensive. When it came to being annoying, drunk men were right up there with telemarketers and thirty-second advertisements in the middle of an internet video.

  “I’ll tell you what you’re doing—” Wes started in on Stephen, but Bethany laid a hand on his arm to waylay whatever he was going to say.

  “Look.” Bethany gave Justine her best smile, noting absently that Donny was scrolling through his emails. “There’s really nothing interesting going on. Just a difference of opinion between siblings. Happens every day.”

  “Right.” Justine nodded. “Stephen thinks he’s the only game in town and your flip couldn’t possibly compete . . .”

  “And I know that’s bull—” She winced in Laura’s direction. “Baloney.”

  “You think your flip will earn a higher appraisal.”

  Bethany knew she was being manipulated, but that knowledge didn’t stop her hackles from rising. Maybe it was being in their parents’ backyard, the scene of countless races and rivalries with her brother. Maybe it was the desperate need to believe in herself out loud, since she couldn’t do it on the inside. But with all eyes on her and the producer’s question hanging in the air, Bethany heard herself say, “I know it will.”

  Stephen sputtered. “You’re on.”

  Wes dragged a hand down his face.

  Laura mimicked him.

  “Let’s see. Today is Sunday. If I manage to move a few mountains, I can have cameras at both properties on Wednesday morning. I’ll just need your contact information so my assistant can send you the details.” Justine tapped notes into her cell phone. “There will be some waivers and insurance, blah blah, but I know my boss is going to go nuts for this.”

  “Flip Off is a great title,” Donny murmured without looking up from his phone. “Edgy. Cool. Good work, babe.”

  “This is all happening so fast,” Bethany breathed.

  “Yeah,” Wes spoke up. “Maybe we should talk about this?”

  “Who is he?” Justine’s gaze ricocheted between Wes and Bethany. “Is this the boyfriend? Husband? What’s the connection?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know,” Stephen thundered. “Actually, never mind. Please don’t tell me. My little sister literally just married my best friend.”

  “He’s my foreman,” Bethany stated, handing Wes his hat back finally. How long had she been holding it? “That’s all.”

  “He’s being a damn fool over her,” Laura said brightly, intercepting the hat and plopping it on her head.

  Justine fanned herself. “Oh, this is gold.”

  Bethany snorted, mentally sidetracked by what Laura had said. Was that something Wes had said out loud? Did he talk to his niece about her? Why did that make her insides feel like they’d been coated in warm wax? “I-it’s just run-of-the-mill family politics—”

  “I assure you it’s not. You’re interesting, not to mention very attractive. Viewers like watching good-looking people sweat.” Justine paused the million-miles-an-hour typing on her phone. “There will be a prize, too, of course.”

  Stephen crossed his arms. “What about a title?”

  “Why, whoever wins will be the Flipping King or Queen of Port Jefferson. Crowned on television and everything.”

  Oh, dammit. Justine had them.

  They were way too immature to turn down a shot at those bragging rights.

  Bethany should not do this. The house they were flipping was a certified wreck with a fucking rat colony, in far worse condition that Stephen’s, and her lack of experience already had them at a disadvantage. She was on shaky ground when it came to her abilities to turn the house into a livable home, let alone an award-winning one. A home that people would see dissected on television.

  She would be dissected on television, along with her talent for construction.

  Or lack thereof.

  Stephen and Bethany traded measuring looks.

  Scared? mouthed her brother.

  The dare twisted in the side of her neck like a corkscrew. “Nope,” she drawled, sounding a little like Wes. “We’re going to put you to shame.”

  Stephen reared back with a harsh laugh. “It’s on.”

  “Bring it, bozo.”

  Bethany turned on a heel and left her audience gaping after her.

  She made it around the corner of the house before she succumbed to the inundation of sheer, utter panic.

  Chapter Eight

  Wes had no trouble finding someone to keep an eye on Laura for a few minutes, since all four of her rotating babysitters were present at the wedding reception. As soon as his niece disappeared into a flurry of floral perfume and chiffon, he stalked off into the darkness where he’d seen Bethany disappear.

  He was going to give her hell.

  What in God’s name was she thinking signing them up to be guinea pigs for a new reality show? They had two senior-citizen crew members, no blueprints, and a decaying shell of a house to make presentable. They were looking at months of work and a shit ton of setbacks. He’d been prepared to tackle all of it head-on, but not with a camera in his face.

  Or her face.

  That’s what annoyed him the most—the thought of a film crew following Bethany around and catching all her little idiosyncrasies like fireflies in a jar. Sending out her image to thousands upon thousands of televisions. His back teeth ground together at the idea of her being consumed by anyone but him.

  Wes stopped short and ran a hand through his hair, realizing he’d left his hat on Laura’s head. Before he confronted Bethany and asked her if she’d lost her ever-loving mind, he needed to get his shit together and stop thinking like a jealous boyfriend.

  Sure, he was protective of her. Possessive, too. He put it down to a combination of respecting Bethany and being attracted to her, more than he’d ever been attracted to anyone. But his heart was not involved. It couldn’t be. If she chose to broadcast herself to households all across the country, there was nothing he could do about it—and furthermore, he didn’t have a say in that decision.

  So rein it the fuck in, man.

  Wes started toward the back of the house again, toward where he’d watched Bethany vanish. All right, he wouldn’t bitch at her about the cameras and make her believe him an even bigger chauvinist than she already did, but she was sure as hell going to hear about entering the contest, period. They weren’t prepared and—

  Was that wheezing?

  Wes spurred into a jog and turned the corner into mostly darkness, but there was just enough light from the festivities to see Bethany’s doubled-over form leaning against the house. His next step crunched some leaves and she straightened with a gasp, her hands immediately fluttering up to smooth her hair.

  “Sorry.” Her voice was hoarse. “Sorry, is someone looking for me?”

  She tried to breeze past Wes, but he caught her around the waist, bringing her close so he could study her face. No sign of tears, but her skin was flushed, eyes bright. Too bright. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine.” She blew out a breath. “I’m going to head back.”

  She rested a hesitant hand on his shoulder, contradicting her words.

  Wes’s throat tightened. Just what exactly had he stumbled upon here? Bethany Castle was supposed to be cool as a cucumber, in charge, infallible. Not hyperventilating in private. “See, I was thinking of collecting that dance.”

  “Right now?”

  “Right now.”

  Disbelief tackled him when Bethany seemed almost relieved, her other hand sliding up onto his other shoulder, meeting its mate behind Wes’s neck. If he breathed the wrong way, the moment was going to blow away like pieces of a dandelion, so Wes oh-so-careful
ly placed his hands on Bethany’s hips and eased her closer. She let him, her still-shallow breaths bathing his throat. “I know it looked like I was upset, but I wasn’t. I was just . . .”

  He grazed the top of her head with his cheek. “You don’t have to say anything. Not unless you want to.”

  “You’re learning, cowboy.”

  “I’m learning how to say the right thing. Not necessarily think it.”

  “Baby steps.”

  Oh Jesus, did he love holding her like this. All of her weight leaned on him, her mouth near his neck, belly cushioning his lap. He was getting a hard-on and knew she could feel it, but she seemed inclined to excuse what his body couldn’t help. Not with her so close, so pliant. Watching her walk down the aisle earlier in her short green silk dress, Wes hadn’t taken so much as a breath. Never mind what the whole getup did for her body, cupping and draping in places he shouldn’t be thinking about during a religious ceremony. With light shining down on her smiling face, she’d been . . . angelic.

  For a split second, just a split second, he’d pictured her walking that same aisle in a wedding gown, and, hours later, he was still confused by the pressure around his windpipe. He couldn’t account for it. Marriage wasn’t for him. His life was a series of temporary situations and had been since he could remember. This—his life in Port Jefferson—was definitely temporary. Bethany’s life here was permanent, however, which meant she might very well walk down the aisle in white one day. And that thought kept replaying in his head like an aggravating pop song on repeat.

  Wes brushed his thumb across her bare shoulder and she sighed, drawing his brows together. More than anything, he wanted to continue dancing with her like this, in the quiet privacy, savoring their truce, but something was bothering her. Enough to send her running from the wedding into hiding. He couldn’t force her to tell him what exactly was wrong, but maybe he could make her feel better.

  Yeah, he wanted that more than anything.

  “You know, we can still turn down this whole reality-show nonsense.”

  Bethany laughed into his shoulder and he closed his eyes, tugging her just a little closer and praying he got away with it. “Thank you for toning down what you actually want to say.” She looked up at him. “You were coming back here to yell at me for being an impulsive idiot, weren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Her low laugh wreaked havoc in his chest. “Go ahead. No one’s stopping you.”

  “I’d rather know why you accepted the offer if it stresses you out.”

  “I . . .” She seemed to be searching for an answer while staring at his throat. “I’m not sure there is one thing that doesn’t stress me out.”

  He continued to turn them in a slow circle. “Grocery shopping?”

  “Sure. A good hostess always has the right items on hand at all times. The Just Us League meetings are held at my house, and dairy allergies, gluten-free diets, vegan regimes . . . all of them have to be accounted for.”

  “All right. How about baths? Those can’t stress you out.”

  “Not if I add the right amount of essential oil.”

  “Christ. Sex?”

  “Sex? Are you kidding me?” She wet her lips. “How is my lighting, is the man present, can he tell I’m not present, am I really as cold as men say because I can’t lose myself in these moments, is this creating an expectation, how does my butt look, where is his dog? I could go on.” A beat passed. “I shouldn’t be telling you any of this. You’re just going to use it against me.”

  Damn. How did she make everyone think she had the world on a string when, in actuality, the world was holding her by one? Wes put his surprise aside and tipped her chin up. “I hereby solemnly swear to use nothing you said tonight against you.” His fingers spread out to span her jaw, his thumb sliding across her bottom lip. “I’ll just say this. If you’ve had time to think of all that bullshit during sex in the past, I completely understand the man hiatus you’re on.”

  One of her hands smoothed down Wes’s chest and he held in a groan. “Are you implying you’d wipe my mind clean”—she lifted on her toes and brought her lips within a breath of his—“of all those distracting thoughts?”

  “I’m flat-out telling you, Bethany . . .” He ghosted his mouth over hers, tasting her uneven exhale on his tongue. “I’d keep you too busy to think.”

  She pressed her belly more securely to his lap. “Too bad sex is off the table.”

  “Weddings don’t count.” He tilted his hips to let her feel his arousal, grazing her bottom lip with his teeth at the same time. “Everyone knows that.”

  Her head fell back and he dragged his lips slowly up the smooth column of her neck, letting go of her chin in favor of drawing her tight against his body. Fuck, he was hard. Distantly, he heard some microphone feedback, the band hitting a bad note, and just assumed he was so horny, the whole damn party was being affected. No one was coming back here. God willing no one would come looking for them. Who knew if he’d ever get another chance like this with Bethany?

  “Wes . . .”

  He was already walking them further into the shadows. “I know, darlin’.”

  “Wes, I need you.”

  “Goddamn. Been dying to hear you say that.” Still in motion, his hands found the hem of her dress and lifted it to her waist, leaving it bunched there so he could greedily palm her backside. “Hard and quick, baby? That what you need?”

  “Hard and—what?” She shoved him away. “Jesus, Wes. I didn’t mean I needed you for sex. Pull your life together.”

  A full five counts passed before he realized Bethany wasn’t finally giving him the green light. Frustration and a whole lot of throbbing below the belt made his tone snappier than was warranted. “What the hell else do you need me for?”

  His words were still hanging in the air when Bethany grabbed his elbow and started dragging him back toward the party. “Kristin. I knew she’d try and pull something like this. You have to help me stop her.”

  “Stop . . . Stephen’s wife? Do what? Bethany, you bring me down there right now, I’m going to take someone’s eye out with this erection.”

  She wasn’t hearing him. “My sister-in-law is nuts. And pregnant. She’s been pregnant for months and hasn’t told Stephen.” She pointed toward where the band was gathered and, sure enough, there was Kristin trying to pry the microphone out of the band leader’s hand. “She’s going to announce the pregnancy right here and now, the wacko.”

  “At someone else’s wedding?” The urgency of the situation finally punctured his need for the woman beside him. Kind of. Okay, barely. “That’s pretty messed up.”

  “Yes, it is. Thank you.” She looked down at the swell behind his fly and chewed her lip. “Can you get that thing under control?”

  “It’s not a puppy, Bethany,” he said through his teeth.

  “Sorry.” The only saving grace of this situation was the fact that she seemed impressed, her gaze continually returning to the scene of the crime. “Can I help?”

  “I thought that’s what you were doing.” He dragged a hand down his face. “You putting our reputations in the hands of reality-show editors who can manipulate whatever they film to make us look like jackasses. I’ll think of that. It should take care of the problem in no time.”

  “As if you need any help looking like a jackass,” she shot back. “And I knew you were coming to yell at me!”

  The pretty blush he’d put on her cheeks was replaced by an irritated red and he wished he’d just kept his mouth shut. Blame the boner. More microphone feedback made its way to where they stood and Wes sighed. “You want my help or not?”

  “I’m not exactly flush with choices.” She tapped her chin. “I’ll take Kristin. You cause a diversion.” She pointed to his—finally—subsiding hard-on. “A diversion without the use of that, please. I’d rather Kristin announce she’s having quadruplets.”

  Wes winked at her while adjusting himself. “Now who’s possessive of who?”
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  Pink climbed her neck, her eyes following his movements. “Oh, shut up.”

  He laughed and they started walking side by side toward the dance floor. “Is she really having quadruplets?”

  “Probably. Just to show off.” She squared her shoulders. “Don’t let me down, Wes. I’m counting on you.”

  Just before they parted ways at the edge of the dance floor, Wes snagged her hand and leaned down to speak beside her ear. “You look fucking beautiful tonight, in case no one told you.”

  He left her standing with her jaw on the floor and slid seamlessly into a huddled group of women, who just happened to be Let’s Color, Faded Calf Tattoo, Green Bean Casserole, and Outlander Ringtone.

  “What did you ladies do with my niece?” They stepped aside to give him a view of Laura dancing with Georgie. His laugh turned her head and she waved at him enthusiastically, creating a suspicious tug in his throat. “Well, ladies. Are we going to give them a run for their money or not?”

  Wes spun Faded Calf Tattoo around, much to her delight, and then took the opportunity to check on Bethany’s progress across the dance floor. Lord. She looked ready to strangle her sister-in-law with the microphone cord, but Rosie had gotten involved, too, and appeared to be talking some sense into the pissed-off pregnant woman. Trying to hold up his end of the bargain, Wes twirled Faded Calf Tattoo one more time, then multitasked while she turned, dropping Outlander Ringtone back into a dip. Their antics, as expected, were drawing a lot of attention, even Bethany’s—and she sent him a small, secret, grateful smile that, dammit . . . had him thinking about her walking down the aisle in a wedding dress again.

  Wes was just about to bring a third lady into the dance and really ratchet up the diversion when Travis, obviously oblivious to the drama, saved the day by casually plucking the microphone out of the band leader’s hand. “Excuse me, everyone. I have an announcement.” He smiled at the guests, seeming to notice for the first time that Kristin was two feet away, scowling at him. “Er . . . did I . . .”

  “Nope!” Bethany said brightly. “Go ahead. Make your announcement.”