Somewhere, someone was pounding, and it was interrupting the pillow fight she was about to have with Deacon. He’d made a ridiculous rule that every time someone got hit, they had to take off an article of clothing.
He winked before blindsiding her with a blow to the shoulder.
When he finished laughing, he told her it was time to take off her shirt.
Her heart thudded against her ribs as his hands fell to the hem and pulled—
“Vivienne! Can you get the door?”
Vivienne shot out of bed, sending the book she’d been reading tumbling to the floor. Her heart was racing and her forehead was sweaty and—
Holy crap. What kind of dream was that?
Whoever was at the door knocked again. She pulled her hair back from her sweaty face and checked herself for drool stains in the mirror before running into the living room.
She had to step over Emily’s yoga mat to get to the door, but when she opened it, the hall was empty.
Her phone dinged in her pocket as a bunch of messages came through . . . from Deacon. Open the door. Hurry up. It’s freezing out here.
Her heart picked up double time when she turned and saw Deacon waiting outside the glass door.
“Hello again,” he said with a crooked smile when she opened it. He waited on the other side as though there was a landing where he hovered. His eyes fell on the bright orange mat behind her. “Did I miss yoga?”
“That’s…um…that’s Emily’s stuff.” Vivienne cleared the surprise from her voice and stepped out of his way. “What’s up?”
He flew past her and into the room. “I have come to apologize,” he said, checking out their living space. Vivienne was so glad Emily had cleaned up while she’d been napping. “I had no business tracking your mobile, much less following you to New York. It was incredibly stalkerish of me, and I hope you will forgive me.”
Did that mean he regretted last night? Not that anything had happened. But it could have. “It’s no big deal,” she assured him, rolling up Emily’s mat and stuffing it behind the tv stand.
“Vivienne!” Emily called from the hallway. “Max asked if we wanted to go bowl—Oh! Hellooo.” Her voice lifted an octave when she saw Deacon leaning against the arm of the couch, and she smoothed non-existent stray hairs into her perfect bun.
“You must be Emily.” Deacon’s smile broadened. “Won any good pillow fights lately?”
“Pillow fights?” Emily looked between Deacon and Vivienne, the question plain on her face.
“Don’t listen to him,” Vivienne blurted. The last thing she needed was for Emily to find out about last night and think there was more to it than there was. “What were you saying, Emily?”
“Max invited us to come bowling…” She tilted her head toward Deacon. “But I can totally tell him you’re busy if you have other plans.”
“Nope. No other plans. Count me in.”
“I love bowling,” Deacon confessed from over her shoulder.
Emily fluttered her hand in his direction. “You should totally come with us!”
“Would it be all right if my mate Ethan came too?” he asked, pushing away from the couch. “We were supposed to do something tonight.”
“Yeah. Yes. Absolutely…” Did Emily just swoon? “We have a…uh…thing reserved at Par-Mat-Lanes.”
“Lane?” Deacon offered.
“Yeah. A lane. Seven. Seven o’clock, I mean. Not seven lanes.”
“Brilliant.” A smile. “We’ll be there.” He turned his attention back to Vivienne and apologized again for last night.
She could feel Emily’s eyes boring into the side of her head when she said, “Already forgotten. I’ll see you later.”
“Looking forward to it. It was nice to meet you, Emily,” he called over his shoulder on his way to the glass door. He swept it open and jumped into the wind.
Emily collapsed onto the couch in an exaggerated faint. “Oh. My. God. Vivienne. You lying little bitch.”
The door slipped from her hand and slammed shut. “What?”
“He’s kind of cute? KIND OF CUTE? My friend’s dog is kind of cute. That guy”—she threw a hand toward the door—“is sex incarnate. I could stare into those emerald green eyes forever.” She batted her own dark lashes. “And did you notice how delicious he smells? And that formal British accent is like icing on the hunky cake. You get dibs because you saw him first, but if you don’t want him, please, please give him to me.”
As if Deacon was hers to give. The thought made Vivienne laugh. But it was a nervous laugh. Even a bit maniacal.
Emily’s brows came together, and her eyes narrowed. “Why was he saying sorry to you?”
Vivienne could have told her the truth . . . but the truth would have led to more questions. Instead, she said, “He was apologizing for checking up on me so much.”
“I wish someone like that would check up on me.”
“They’re really, really late.” Emily frowned toward the bowling-pin-shaped clock at the back of the alley. “You don’t think they changed their minds about coming, do you?”
“I’m not sure.” Vivienne checked her phone again. Deacon hadn’t texted her to cancel. Was he that kind of guy? The kind who made plans only to let everyone down? She hoped not.
“Are we going to bowl tonight or just eat?” Max asked, finishing the last of the pizza. “And if we are just eating, can we order some dessert?”
“Look!” Emily jumped to her feet and hauled Vivienne to hers. “He’s here!”
“Sorry we’re late.” Deacon wiped the glistening rain from his unkempt hair. “Traffic was mad.”
“It’s okay.” Emily tapped her hand on a marbled pink ball in the rack behind their chairs. “Why don’t you go get your shoes and we’ll get things set up here. Is…um…Ethan coming?”
Deacon cocked his head toward the entrance. “He’s parking the car.”
A moment later, a blond guy wearing a Kensington hoodie and a black baseball cap sauntered in. When he removed his hat, Vivienne gasped.
“Tell me about it,” Emily said with a knowing nudge. “Total babe.”
He was pretty hot. But that wasn’t why Vivienne was so shocked. “I know him.”
“You do?”
She didn’t know him, know him. But she remembered seeing him somewhere . . . “He was at my high school.” Which meant he was probably a recruiter like Deacon.
Emily sighed. “I really missed out on this whole recruiting experience.”
Ethan joined Deacon, leaning his elbows on the rental counter and chatting to the woman handing out the shoes.
“Who is she?” Emily blurted, pointing to a girl who had come in and squeezed between them.
Tall. Blonde. Jaw-droppingly gorgeous. Who the heck had invited a Swedish supermodel?
The girl threw her head back and laughed at whatever Deacon said. Leaned in close to whisper in his ear.
Crap. Deacon had a girlfriend. Of course he did. The two of them looked like they belonged on a red carpet together.
All the effort Vivienne had put into her appearance tonight was for nothing. Emily had picked out her skinny jeans and black V-neck T-shirt that she swore made Vivienne’s boobs look amazing. She’d even let Emily do her eyeliner. Stupid. She was so stupid.