I look back at Dateless, catching his eyes on mine again.
He rubs a hand over the neat clip of his trimmed beard.
He really does have a nice face. Nice eyes. Nice smile. Nice laugh. Nice shoulders that stretch his fitted shirt in a pretty nice way.
Shifting in his seat to hang a nice arm over the back, he appears to be gearing up to something. I’ve got a fair idea what.
I hold up a hand, turning to Client Dude. “Is he?” I wave my glass toward Dateless and ask again. “Is he a good guy?”
Shrug. “Yeah, sure he is.”
Okay then.
Downing the rest of my drink, I turn back to Dateless. “I’ll go to your wedding.”
Chapter 2
Harlow
Oh my God!
My eyes blink open wide and immediately slam shut beneath the harsh glare of the morning sun and a headache that’s hammering through my entire body. My heart starts to race. There’s no way… I didn’t actually… I wouldn’t… Not in a million years.
Except I’m pretty sure I did.
My stomach lurches and, fighting the tangle of sheets around my legs, I scramble for my phone. Check the calendar.
Oh no.
A ten-day stretch starting Thursday is labeled with one word, all caps: WEDDING.
No.
No.
Only yes. There it is, right along with a short text string that includes my name going out and a quick note of extreme gratitude coming in, along with the address of the place we’re meeting for lunch today at noon.
What’s not in that text string? His name.
This isn’t good.
In fact, this is exactly the sort of thing that would have my father sneering in disgust and adding lack of responsibility and poor decision-making to his list of my shortcomings.
Ugh.
Calling Nettie isn’t going to happen. I’m too embarrassed. Besides, I already know she’d tell me to cancel the lunch and wedding via text. Block his number and put it out of my mind. But there’s just one problem. While I don’t remember Dateless’s name, I do remember that he seemed like a pretty decent guy. And more than that, I remember how it felt yesterday opening my phone and being blindsided.
The least I can do is show up and tell him to his face.
Wade
“Grady, isn’t that the chick you hooked up with last night?” Axel Erikson juts his chin toward the buttoned-up brunette peering around the bar at the lunchtime crowd.
It’s summer, off-season, and while the Five Hole is a hockey bar through and through, this time of year it’s a pretty mellow hangout and serves a spectacular club. Plus, it’s about a five-minute walk from Wagner Arena and six from my place.
I straighten, easing off my stool.
“We didn’t hook up. But that’s her.” And truth? I’m relieved. I wasn’t sure she’d show.
Axe grunts. “Wouldn’t have pegged her for a bunny.”
Huh?
Harlow’s already walked over to the bar where O’Dwyer, another teammate, has been swiping on Tinder for the last half hour.
“She’s not.” This girl wasn’t working for a chance to stamp another name on her Slayers bingo card. She didn’t know which sport we played, got the team name wrong twice. She didn’t have the skintight clothing or fuck-me hair, and the way she looked at me when the guys cleared out and it was just the two of us talking? The words Not Interested don’t begin to cover it.
My ego flinches at the memory of her emphatic assurance that she wasn’t into me. At all. Not even a little bit.
I had to stop her after those pretty brown eyes ran over me in a slow appraisal and she stated that whole “body business” I had going wasn’t her thing.
Got it. All six times she’d said it.
And while a square kick to the ego is never fun—for the purpose of this trip to my hometown for my brother’s wedding? It works that Harlow isn’t into me.
At all.
Thing is, with the ultra-conservative outfit she’s rocking, I’m surprised when O’Dwyer pats the stool beside him.
Please. Like she’d ever sit down with that guy.
Time to go rescue my fake date.
“Dude, she just sat down.”
I swallow, not appreciating Axel’s cackle one bit. “I see that.”
But I don’t get it.
O’Dwyer’s the worst. Not only did he give up the puck that cost us our playoff spot this year, but the guy’s a douche. Meets and exceeds every stereotype about professional athletes there is. Acts like he’s God’s gift, and the way he treats women—
Harlow’s pretty smile falters. The skin between her brows pulls together like something isn’t quite right.
“No, fucking way,” Axel mutters.
“Yeah, I see it too.”
“She doesn’t know which player she hooked up with last night.” He turns to me, eyes narrowing. “How drunk was she?”
My shoulders slump. More than I thought. “And we didn’t hook up.”
Harlow
Okay, there’s no way this is the guy from last night.
When I walked in, the first thing I noticed was the bulk and the facial hair. Except that’s as far as recognition went. I figured maybe I’d been even more tipsy than I realized though, because his reaction to my approach was familiar. His smile knowing. His welcome immediate, confident, and smooth… like we were old friends.
But no way is this Dateless.
Not even a barrel of bourbon would have been enough for me to agree to share a cab with this guy, let alone ten days in his hometown.
Time to get out. Climbing off my stool, I force a quick smile. “Well, it was nice talking with you.”
Whatever-his-name-is leans back, letting his eyes roll over me in a perusal so slow and obvious I wonder if it’s possible to catch an STD from a look alone.
“Nah, you don’t have to take off. Whatcha thinkin’, upstairs?”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“Classy girl like you, figured you wouldn’t be into the bathroom. But I’m not going back to your place for a nooner unless I can bring a friend. You don’t seem the type?”
Wow, that was definitely a question. “No, but… umm… thank you?”
Taking a hurried step back, I come up short as a wide palm meets the small of my back. My breath catches, and before I even turn to check, I know. It’s him.
“Hey, Harlow, sorry to keep you waiting.”
I turn toward that warm, rumbling voice tinged with amusement, expecting— I don’t even know. But not this.
Dateless… Heck, I don’t remember his physical appearance being the thing that stood out about him most. I’d thought he seemed like a guy in a pinch. Genuinely nice. Fun. But this man, with his crystal blue eyes and built-tough body, is crazy good-looking. His hair is neatly cut and nearly as dark as mine. And while normally I’m not a fan of facial hair, the contrast of his close-trimmed beard over that rugged square jaw is… hot.
And so not what I go for.
Really.
Dateless crooks his finger beneath my chin, not so subtly reminding me to close my mouth.