Mia shivered, not liking that reminder. Not here where she was supposed to be launching her grand plans to win a man and get her life back on track. Neither did she want to watch Cal Foreman bamboozle his girlfriend. No need to witness another dickhead winning.
“It’s …” Tara eased back from Foreman’s broad shoulder. “It’s not just a bunch of flowers. It’s a symbol of love and commitment and tradition, the tradition being that whoever catches the bouquet is next in line.”
While Mia didn’t subscribe to that notion, she appreciated that faith in romance when she heard it expressed by someone else.
Cal smiled. Sort of patronizing, Mia thought. Or maybe Mia was just realizing she’d never looked closely at him before. “It doesn’t mean anything, Tara. Sure Mia caught it, but does anyone think she’s likely to be the next person down the aisle?”
Tara turned, her lips in a sexy pout, having possibly forgotten that Mia was there. “It could happen! Anything could happen.”
Thank you, Tara. You are now on my Christmas card list.
Foreman grimaced. “Yeah, it could. I suppose.”
He shot a quick, semi-sympathetic glance at Mia because obviously the idea that Mia Wallace, big-boned Amazon, girl-least-likely-to-score-with-a-hot-sports-agent would have a shot at matrimony was the joke of the season. So Mia knew she was as close to marriage as Harper and Remy’s toddlers, but no one liked to be used to make that point.
Zoltar the All-Knowing continued. “What I’m trying to say is that you shouldn’t put so much stock into this tradition and that. It doesn’t mean a thing.” And then because he was a total idiot—or maybe an absolute genius—he murmured, “I agree with Mia on this one.”
Enough of this nonsense. Mia refused to play the fall gal here. “Don’t drag me into this, Foreman.”
“You did say it was just a bunch of flowers.”
“But it means different things to different people.” She faced Tara. “I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention and instinctively reached up to catch it. It’s a thing I do: act first, regret later.” Another shiver ran through her. She’d done exactly that and paid the price.
Tara gave her a pitying look. “So you’re not close to getting married?”
“Not even a twinkle in any potential husband’s eye. Ask anyone.” Mia elbowed Isobel, who affirmed Mia’s lack of prospects with an amused nod and an almost too cheery “Not a chance.”
Speaking of twinkling eyes, Foreman was looking weird again. “So, give the bouquet back to Mia, Tara. It’s not yours.”
“Oh, no, she can keep it!” Mia stepped back. Then took another wobbly one on the stupid heels.
Tara, who a moment ago had definitely been coming around, was back on the offensive. “Anyone would think you didn’t want me to be happy, Cal. You don’t want me to have this. You don’t want to take this to the next level.”
Cal rubbed Tara’s arm. “Let’s not do this here.”
But it was half-hearted, said with barely any inflection. With anyone else, Mia might have sensed embarrassment that his date was making such a fuss, but that’s not what was going on.
Or not all that was going on.
This asshole—or should she say, Masshole, because only a Southie could be this much of a dick—was engineering his girlfriend into breaking up with him. At a wedding!
“Oh, let’s,” Tara said, falling right into the trap he’d laid for her. “We’ve been together for six months—”
“This is our fourth date, Tara.”
Tara rolled right over that clarification. “And I’m getting no signs from you that I’m your number one. You spend longer playing video games or drinking with your buddies or training than you do with me.”
“Training’s what I need to do. For, you know, my job.” He didn’t make an argument against his other bro-faults, though. Typical.
“I thought you were going to propose!”
Cal’s face was pure horror, and that seemed the most genuine expression from him all day. “Today? At someone else’s wedding?”
“Oops,” Isobel muttered, sotto voce but Mia and Cal heard her. A crowd had gathered and was watching the train wreck with interest. Mia locked gazes with her brother, who raised his famous aristocratic brow.
Tara wasn’t done. “Why not? And if I’d caught the bouquet, maybe you’d have seen what was meant to be, Calvin.”
“It’s Callum, Tara,” he said, sounding truly annoyed for the first time since all this had started. “Which pretty much says it all.”
Tara smashed the bouquet into Mia’s abs. Luckily, Mia had the strongest abs around and could handle it.
“You can have this—and him!” Then she stomped off in those gravity-defying heels with a steadiness Mia envied.
“I don’t want him,” Mia called out after her. She really didn’t.
Isobel turned to Foreman, shaking her head. “Nice going, Calvin.” Then she left to talk to her husband, which encouraged everyone else to disperse now that the fireworks were over.
They should have stuck around because Mia was just getting started.
Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Cal blew out a relieved breath, now that he’d escaped his matrimonial fate.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Mia said sweetly.
A quick, wary glance. A narrowing of the eyes. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t meant to be.”
She closed the gap between them, pushed the bouquet into his chest, and hissed her next words. “I got that, Masshole. Did you think it was funny to use me to piss off your girlfriend?”
“Now, wait a sec—”
“Don’t even bother denying it. I agree with Mia on this one. Give the bouquet back to Mia. What a dick move.”
He raised his hand to take the flowers and curled his palm around her knuckles.
“So, I might have pushed the envelope a little. Tara and I had no chance of going the distance. Believe me, it’s better she comes to that decision for herself.”
“Why? Because you’re too chicken to do your own dirty work?”
Something flashed in his eyes, turning the gold in them to sparks. But just as quickly, they dulled to dead copper pennies. Or just pennies because last she’d checked, copper wasn’t animate, not unlike this guy’s heart. “I find that most women will make their minds up about me eventually. She’ll feel better thinking she called the shots here instead of me.”
What had Mia concluded earlier? Hockey players. Complete dicks.
His hand still covered hers. Warmth spread through her body, a traitorous reaction if ever she’d had one.
“I’ll let you get on, Foreman. Now that you’re a free agent, I’m sure there’s a bridesmaid you can find to soothe your broken heart.”
He opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it. A smile played on his lips, but it didn’t flip the script in his cold gaze.
“Thanks for the assist, Mia. Here’s a token of my affection.” He squeezed her hand, and left her holding the damn bouquet.
3
Cal rolled over in bed and realized he was alone.