Two Wedding Crashers Read online

  Justine gives an embarrassed smile with a shrug. “She has boobs?” she says as more of a question.

  “Boobs can’t eclipse everything, Justine, especially a clipped toenail collection.” I place my helmet over my head and leave, thanking the dating gods I didn’t have to follow through with that setup.

  Chapter Seventeen

  RYLEE

  Beck: Do you collect anything weird?

  I pause mid-sentence and read Beck’s text.

  I’m going to admit something, just between us ladies. I’ve been spending way too much time texting Beck, to the point that I’ve slightly fallen behind on my edits for this damn book. But it’s like an addiction I can’t curb. I see his name on my phone, and I have to answer. I try to tell myself no, answer later, but before I know it, my hand goes rogue on me and it’s unlocking my phone.

  And this morning is no exception.

  Rylee: No, never really been someone who likes to collect things. Well besides my hunks. What about you?

  Beck: I used to collect bottle caps, but I don’t anymore.

  Rylee: Bottle caps, like from bottles of soda?

  Beck: Yeah, weird, right? But I would stack them up and crash my cars into them. There was a legit reason.

  I smile to myself and envision a younger version of Beck stacking up bottle caps and tearing through them with monster trucks, or something like that.

  “What’s the smile for?” Griffin sits next to me, startling my attention from my phone.

  “Griffin, hey. Gosh, I didn’t see you there.”

  “I can see that.” He nods at my phone. “Who you talking to? Secret admirer?”

  Smirking, I answer, “He wishes.”

  “Oh damn.” Griffin chuckles. “Ruthless, Rylee.”

  I shrug and put my phone down, giving my attention to Griffin. “How are you doing?”

  “Slightly chaotic. The shop is keeping me busy, and at night, I’m keeping it real with volunteering at the fire station. Basically going around to the senior houses in town and changing fire alarm batteries and testing them.”

  “Ah, the joys of a small town.” We both laugh, knowing exactly what it feels like to grow up in such close quarters to everyone around you.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt your writing flow . . . or texting flow for that matter, but thought I would bring you some fudge.” He hands me the red and white packaged goodness, infamously known around the island as Lobster Landing fudge. It’s a coveted thing in these parts, and all over Maine for that matter.

  “You can’t keep bringing me fudge, Griffin. Every week now? Are you trying to fatten me up?”

  “Nah, just trying to get you to name one of your characters after me.”

  “Is that all? That’s easy.”

  “Hey, you guys.” Zoey comes strolling up to us, carrying her giant canvas bag full of the materials she needs to write and illustrate her books. And I’m not talking paints and papers and all that. No, she writes and illustrates on her iPad. It’s impressive. It’s everything else like a candle, a throw blanket, a neck and head massager, her essential oils, her water bottles, one for ice water, one for tepid. It’s truly an absurd thing to watch her set up. But once she’s done, it’s like observing magic in the making. She’s so focused, so precise with everything she does. When she’s in the zone, she doesn’t get distracted, not even by her phone. Like me. Art knows if she’s at Snow Roast and really needs something, he’ll either call me or Ruth to get Zoey’s attention.

  “Griffin, I haven’t seen you in a bit. How are you?”

  “Maybe it’s because you’ve quit coming in for your daily fudge dose.” She plops down in the chair across from me.

  “Yeah, and my taste buds hate me, but my love handles are cheering. It’s a civil war inside my body and honestly, the love handles are winning.” She eyes the box of fudge Griffin brought me. “But it looks like the taste buds and stomach might win this round.” Snatching the box before I open it myself, she digs in. “Gah, so good.” Waving her finger between us, she asks, “What’s going on here? Are you two finally dating?”

  “What? No,” I say, feeling embarrassed.

  Can you tell I haven’t quite told Zoey, or Victoria for that matter, about my texts with Beck? I don’t know why. Maybe because I’m afraid they’ll encourage the bad behavior I’ve been taking part in.

  “Say that a little faster next time.” Griffin laughs next to me.

  “Sorry.” I can feel my cheeks redden. “I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, I didn’t want you to feel weird because you’re all hot, and you’re a Knightly brother, and you have forearms, and it would be like dating a mouse if you were with me, and I should shut up now.”

  Chuckling, Griffin says, “Dating a mouse?”

  I shrug. “I ramble a lot. I can’t be held accountable for what comes out of my mouth.”

  “It’s true. She’s terrible at speaking a lot of the times.” Zoey starts casually pulling out her “must needs” for writing, as if she didn’t make Griffin and me incredibly uncomfortable.

  “It’s bad. Sorry, but no, we’re not dating, Zoey.”

  Looking over at Griffin, she asks, “Still on that dating hiatus?”

  Leave it to Zoey to talk about things people don’t talk about. Well, that people only talk about behind closed doors.

  Pulling on the back of his neck, Griffin taps my knee and says, “I’ll catch you later, Rylee.” He pats Zoey’s shoulder on the way out, leaving without answering Zoey’s question.

  When he’s walking outside, down the sidewalk to his shop, I turn on Zoey. “Was that really necessary?”

  “What? It was a simple question.”

  “It was rude.” I hate how she can be so bold sometimes, especially when it’s at someone else’s expense.

  She shrugs and puts her headphones over her ears. Rolling my eyes, I turn back to my phone to feel it vibrate in my hand.

  And of course, my heart skips a beat.

  Beck.

  He’s calling.

  Why is he calling? We don’t call, we text.

  Should I answer it? Hell, I want to answer it. I want to hear his voice one more time. Is that desperate?

  Maybe a little?

  But I don’t care at this point. Making sure Zoey is engrossed in her music, which it looks like it from the way she’s mouthing lyrics, I swipe to answer and turn to the side, trying to be discreet.

  “Hello?”

  There’s a pause and then, “Hey.”

  Oh God. One little word. How, with one monosyllabic word can he shoot a serum through my body and make every one of my muscles turn into noodles?

  “Hey,” I reply, not being clever at all.

  “How are you, Saucy?” And there is it, his nickname for me, said in his beautifully delicious voice that rolls through my ear and down my body like it did when we were in Key West.

  I swallow hard and take a deep breath, trying to rid the nerves gathering in the pit of my stomach. It’s just Beck. There’s nothing different here . . . other than images of him hovering over me—pulsing inside me—that keeps fogging my brain.

  “I’m doing all right. How about you?”

  This is awkward, oh so awkward. I’m tense, I’m on the verge of stuttering, and I’m sweating. I am legit sweating in my elbow pits.

  He chuckles, and the low rumble hits me hard in the gut, setting off a wave of butterflies. “Great now that I get to hear your voice.” He sighs, and I can envision him scratching his jaw, his scruff scraping across his fingers.

  “Is that why you called? To hear my voice?” I briefly close my eyes, trying to calm my racing heart.

  I shouldn’t be engaging in this conversation. I already told myself this was over, we weren’t doing this, but here I am, once again giving in and feeding on Beck like a starved woman. And that’s exactly what it has been like. I only had him for a few days. They were some of the best days I’d had in such a long time, and I really enjoyed talking with him, laug
hing, being generally ridiculous with him. The stupid things we came up with at the wedding. Keeping a straight face with each ludicrous answer he came up with. I have friends, but I’ve missed him. His friendship. And since returning from Florida, at times, the daily silence has been . . . noticeable.

  “Yeah. Is that okay?”

  “It shouldn’t be, because we decided to say goodbye in Key West.”

  “You decided,” Beck says. “I had other ideas about how we should correspond after we left.”

  “Good job following through on that by the way.” I chuckle.

  He joins me. “Never said I was good at listening. And hell, you should know this about me already, Saucy. I do what I want.”

  If that isn’t the truth . . .

  “Yes, you’ve made that quite clear.”

  “As long as we’re on the same page. So, tell me, are you naked right now?”

  “What? No. What is with you?” I laugh. “I’m at the coffee house.”

  “Ah, hanging out in the sex chair, huh? Getting it on with your keyboard? Diddling those keys to climax?”

  I roll my eyes, mirth pulling at my features. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “Nah, not ridiculous, just a damn good time. Now tell me, Rylee, have you spiced up your current work in progress with any real-life experiences, maybe a little fucking against a sliding glass door?”

  “Oh, that would make you the happiest mother fucker, wouldn’t it?”

  “More like the jolliest mother fucker. Tell me . . . did your hero have your heroine naked, breasts pressed firmly against the cold window, while he lapped every last drop from her drenched pussy?”

  Well . . .

  I take a deep breath and clear my throat. God, that had been spectacular.

  I eye my computer, twisting my lips to the side, hating myself right now. “Maybe.”

  A loud laugh pops out of Beck, which only irritates me. Okay, I should have never said anything.

  “What’s so funny?” Irritation blooms at the pit of my stomach, overtaking the butterflies.

  “You.”

  “Why? What did I do?”

  Zoey lifts her head, mid mouthing a lyric and spots me talking on the phone. She gives me a questioning look.

  I point at the phone and mouth, “Mom.” Giving me the side-eye with a nod, she returns to her work, thankfully.

  “You’re so goddamn damn proud it’s ridiculous. You know you can give in, right? It’s okay to feel things about me. It’s okay to admit you had a fucking blast in Key West, and it’s okay to admit you miss me.”

  “I don’t miss you.” Lie.

  “Fucking liar.” There’s so much humor in his voice that once again, butterflies.

  “I don’t. You know, you’re very forgettable.”

  “Bullshit. If I was forgettable then why have you been texting me?”

  “Throwing you a bone?” You and I both know that’s not the truth.

  “I don’t believe that for a second, but nice try, Rylee.”

  Sighing, I lean back in my chair, propping my leg on the table in front of me. “Are you going to irritate me, or are you going to say something to make me swoon?”

  There’s some shifting on his end of the phone before I hear, “You want to be swooned?”

  “Doesn’t every girl?”

  “Not being a girl myself, I’m not quite sure what every girl wants since you all are so damn different, but hell, if you want to be swooned, I can make you swoon. Is that what you really want, Rylee?”

  Crap, I don’t even know at this point.

  I know I don’t want to start anything with someone who lives so far away, because that’s long distance, and not close to being easy. But then again, this man, he’s starting to consume me. To the point that when I hear my phone ding with a text message and it’s not Beck, I’m disappointed. Slightly depressed.

  What I do know is quitting Beck isn’t what I want. My heart wants more time, but my brain is wary, for all the right reasons.

  Unfortunately, it’s my heart that’s calling the shots right now.

  Feeling shy, I say, “Maybe.”

  Beck clears his throat, his voice turning serious. “You want to be swept off your feet? I can do that, Saucy, I can easily do that.”

  I’m about to answer when Zoey tosses a mechanical pencil and hits me in the boob. “Are you talking to Beck?”

  “What? No.” I lie.

  “Yes, you are.” Zoey motions at my face. “You’re all red, and you’re rubbing your legs together. You’re talking to Beck.”

  “No, I’m not.” Clearly my lie isn’t very convincing, because Zoey is pushing all her things to the side and snagging my phone from my grasp before I can stop her.

  She holds the phone in front of her and puts it on speaker. “Beck Wilder?”

  Chuckling, Beck answers, “Zoey.”

  “What are you doing calling my friend? I thought she was moving on.”

  “Looks like your friend has failed to mention she’s been talking to me for the past two weeks.”

  Zoey raises an eyebrow at me. “Is that right?”

  “Maybe,” I answer, feeling my cheeks warm with embarrassment again.

  “Is that why you won’t give Griffin a chance?”

  “Griffin, who’s Griffin?” Beck asks, sounding slightly concerned.

  “Just the hottest guy in town. Well, one of four of the hottest guys in town, because it’s really hard to decide among the four Knightly brothers. They’re all extremely attractive with all the muscles. Wouldn’t you agree, Rylee?”

  “Uhh, I don’t know.” Killing Zoey right about now actually sounds like a really good time.

  “Looks like I have some competition then. I wasn’t aware I was going to have to bring my A-game, Rylee.”

  “Ehh, yeah, the Knightly boys are, errr, they’re attractive.” Don’t say that. Even though they are, don’t say that.

  “Attractive, huh? Interesting.”

  Then there’s silence and talk about uncomfortable . . . Zoey’s specialty. Why am I friends with this woman again?

  “Hey listen, I have to go. Zoey, always a pleasure.” And then he hangs up.

  Shrugging her shoulders, as if nothing happened, Zoey tosses me my phone and gets back into position.

  “Uh, are you going to explain what that was?” I’m fuming. I should be relieved she kicked Beck off the phone, but that’s not the truth.

  She starts drawing on her iPad with one of those magical pens. “Just helping a girl out.”

  “How was that a helping a girl out?”

  “Trust me, I lit a fire under Beck’s ass. Give him two days. Guaranteed that guy does something to make you swoon over him. No doubt in my mind.”

  “How can you possibly know that?”

  Zoey barely lifts her head to look in my direction. “Easy, because Beck looked at you the way Art looks at me. He’s a fool for you, Rylee.” The look.

  It’s always about the look. Lizzie Bennett taught me that years ago. It’s always about the look.

  Two days later . . .

  I set my glass of wine on the side table, kick my feet up, pick up my remote and press on. Within an instant, the fire in my fire pit roars to life.

  Ah, the perfect summer night.

  Fire pit, check.

  Wine, check.

  Hot guy . . .

  Well, that’s to be debated. Thanks to Zoey’s loud mouth, I haven’t heard from Beck in two days and yeah, I’m freaking sad about it. I didn’t think he could be scared off that easily, but I guess I was wrong.

  “Hey, are you back here?” Victoria calls out from the side of my house. I don’t have a fence. It’s more like I share a huge yard with a bunch of neighbors, even though we have distinct property lines we don’t worry about.

  “Yeah, by the pit,” I call out.

  Victoria rounds the corner, holding a very poofy garment bag and a small package in her hand.

  Oh hell. This isn’t going to be
good.

  “Hey, look what I have.” She waves the garment bag in hand and tosses the small box to me. “That was on your front porch.”

  I take one look at the address label and once again, my heart stills in my chest.

  Beck.

  How the hell did he get my address? I can give you one guess. Zoey. That master manipulator.

  Ignoring Victoria for a second, I tear open the box and pull back some tissue paper to reveal . . .

  “Oh my God.” A snort pops out of me as I pull out a hunky merman ornament. But taped on his face is a small color picture of Beck, grinning like a fool. There is a letter attached at the bottom, so I quickly read it.

  Rylee,

  Saw this little gem at a Farmers Market in Malibu. Instantly thought of you but decided to spice him up a bit. Abs are spot on, aren’t they? Bulge is a little off in size, needed to stuff him some more, but we’ll let that go. Bet you that your boy Griffin didn’t get you one of these. Point, Beck.

  Call me.

  I read the note at least three more times, noting how legible is handwriting is. Very sharp in place, as if he’s spent years upon years perfecting it.

  “Wait, this has Beck’s face on it.” Victoria holds up the ornament. “Is this from one of your readers? How do they know who Beck is?”

  “It’s from Beck, Victoria.”

  “Uhh . . . am I missing something?” She sits on the chair across from me, garment bag still in hand. She hands me back the ornament, seeming really confused. Looks like Zoey doesn’t have the big mouth I thought she did.

  I fold the note and put it in the box along with the ornament. “I’ve been talking to Beck recently.”

  “Is that so?” Victoria knowingly smiles. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to cut off your interaction with him. There was something electric between you two. I’m actually surprised you held off this long.”

  “Seriously?”

  She nods. “Yeah, it wasn’t hard to see that you two shared something special. I was actually a little surprised when you decided to quit him cold turkey. I don’t think he’s the kind of guy you can wave goodbye to.” Spot on, Victoria. He isn’t someone you can easily walk away from or say goodbye to.