Mr. Swoony (The Nest #3)

Chapter 2

Two

Eloise

“Lulu!” Penelope slurs, using the nickname she gave me in college. She only uses it when she’s drunk, or when she’s whining for me to do something I don’t want to do.

“Lulu, huh?” Conor asks.

Penelope perks up as if she didn’t see this gorgeous hunk of a man next to me. She probably didn’t, or she saw two of him. That’d be something if he had a twin. The universe would’ve really been working overtime if that were the case.

“Actually, it’s Eloise.”

“I like Lulu,” he says, his gaze fixed on mine.

His attention is slightly unnerving.

“You’re hunky,” Penelope says, trying to sit up straight but failing miserably.

“Hey, you’re going to make me jealous,” the blond guy Penelope has been dancing with all night says.

“Are you ready to go?” I ask her, raising my eyebrows at the guy behind her. I’m sure he’ll fight me to take her home, but it’s not happening.

“Lulu,” she whines and slides closer to me.

Thankfully, the blond guy stays put and talks to his friends. All of them are whispering and looking at Conor. I’m starting to think I missed something.

“You’re drunk, and it’s time.” I really don’t want to ruin her night, but she’s about a sip away from some bad decisions.

“I’m sorry.” She lays her head on my shoulder but picks it up immediately, concentrating on Conor. “It’s her bachelorette party.”

“I see that,” Conor says with a nod.

“And I’m the world’s worst bridesmaid.” Penelope’s bottom lip trembles.

Oh no, not the tears and the crying. Shit, I forgot she gets emotional after a lot of drinks.

“No, you’re not.” I put my arm around her shoulders.

“I am. Your maid of honor wouldn’t be drunk at your party while you’re sipping… what is this?” She picks up the water bottle as if we’re nineteen again and sneaking vodka into our water bottles. She takes a swig. “Water?”

The pain in her voice says she’s going to lose it, and I’m going to have a basket case on my hands soon.

“Come on.” I stand and look over my shoulder to see the rest of our bridal party huddled with a group of guys.

Penelope falls down on the couch, rolling to her back.

Conor raises his brows at me and looks back at Penelope.

“Are you a model?” she asks him.

Conor chuckles. “No.”

“Some finance bro?” she asks.

Not with those calloused hands, I think.

“No.”

“Where did you come from?” she asks as though he’s been conjured up via some science project.

Conor points toward the VIP area next door.

She gets up on her knees and peers over. Looking over her shoulder at Conor, her eyes widen, and her mouth hangs open. “There?” She points.

Conor nods.

Her eyes narrow, and her gaze drags down his body and back up. “Oh shit.”

“What?” I look between the two of them, clearly missing something because Conor’s cocky smirk only gets wider as if he’s answering her silent question.

“Good looking. Cocky. Strong thighs. She doesn’t even know it, does she?” Penelope giggles—which is kind of annoying because it’s clearly at my expense, but I’ll take it over tears any night.

“What am I missing?” I ask.

She points at the other VIP area. “That’s Tweetie Sorenson.”

I shrug and follow the direction of her finger to the tall guy with blond hair cut to his chin who is laughing with three other guys. “That’s his name? Tweetie?”

Conor laughs but doesn’t answer.

“No, it’s his hockey nickname. I’m not sure I even know his real name, actually.” She turns to Conor.

He shrugs as if he doesn’t know either, or he’s not going to tell her.

“He’s your friend?” Penelope asks him.

Conor nods.

“Teammate?” Penelope’s brows lift.

Conor nods again.

“Holy shit! Are you serious?” Penelope slaps the top of the booth cushion. “You don’t even know it, do you?” She flips around and slides down on the vinyl couch, catching herself before her ass slips right off, and she lands on the floor.

“Know what?” I ask with irritation.

“You’re sitting next to a Chicago Falcon.” She shakes her head and glances at Conor.

“Really?” I ask because she could be too drunk, and these guys may look like them, but they can’t actually be professional hockey players.

“Yeah.”

The blond guy on the couch slides over next to Penelope with two shots in hand. He whispers something in her ear, and she downs one.

I need to get us out of here. “Wait here, I’m going to tell everyone we’re leaving.”

I stand and stare at the dance floor, but the rest of our party is on the other side, and I really don’t want to walk through all those sweaty bodies. I could send them a text. I mean, they’re here out of obligation, but they took time out of their lives to come here and celebrate me, even if I think most of them don’t like me very much. When I’m around them, I always feel as though I don’t belong.

A calloused hand falls onto mine. “I’ll take you,” Conor says.

I ignore the flutter in my stomach. What the fuck is that about? I’m going to be a married woman in a week.

He tugs me forward, but I stop and look at Penelope, tugging her up by the hand and making us a chain of three. The blond guy protests, but I put out my hand.

“Stay. She’s done. It’s been fun,” I say.

Penelope’s head lolls to the side. We only have a short amount of time before someone will have to carry her out of here.

“Bye,” she mumbles and waves to the guy, who thankfully doesn’t follow us.

Conor weaves us through the crowd, and I’d be a liar if I said it wasn’t hot the way people part for him. I think maybe I was the only one in this club who didn’t know who he is.

We stop in front of the other bridesmaids, and the guys they’re with corral around Conor, competing to shake hands with him first. Each of them fawns over him as though he’s The Bachelor, and it’s episode one. I tell the other bridesmaids I’m taking Penelope back to the hotel, and they offer to come back too, though I say no. They’re having fun and should stay. Plus, this way I can get Penelope settled and have some peace to myself instead of them thinking they have to entertain me.

Penelope grows heavy behind me, tugging my hand down, and I know from our days in college that I’m on borrowed time. I say goodbye, wrap my arm around her shoulders, and walk us along the dance floor’s perimeter toward the front door, leaving Conor with his wannabe entourage members.

As I’m about to walk out the door, a big body comes along behind me, pushing it open.

“Let me.” Conor’s breath tickles the nape of my neck.

Penelope and I stumble through, and Conor joins us on the sidewalk, flagging down a cab. I stand on the sidewalk as Penelope sinks further into my hold.

“Why are you still here?” I ask.

“You already forgot?” He moves his hand from left to right on his chest. “I’m a fixer.”

“The earth is spinning,” Penelope whispers. Her eyes fall closed, and her body goes limp right before she sways.

Conor rushes over, catching her before she crashes her head onto the cement.

I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do now. I can’t possibly carry Penelope around once it’s time to get out of the cab. I consider calling Tristan for only about half a second. He’ll be pissed if I interrupt his bachelor party with the guys, regardless of the situation.

Conor opens the cab’s back door and gets Penelope inside. Though I try not to, it’s impossible not to notice all those muscles he has to use to push her to the other side. Then he straightens beside the car and holds the door open for me. “Your chariot awaits.”

“I have always dreamed of a yellow taxi, thank you.” I cover my heart with my hand and slide in. “Really though, thanks for helping, and I hope you have a great season next year.”

I reach forward to grab the handle of the door, but he rounds the open door and moves to slide in next to me.

Panic flares in my chest. “What are you doing?”

“Coming with you.” He says it simply, as though it’s obvious he would.

“No, you’re not.”

He chuckles. “How else will you get her to your hotel room?”

Though I know he’s right, I still put up a fight. “I’m resourceful.”

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Penelope pats the window with her open palm over and over again. “Open! Open!”

I reach over her to press the window down button, and Conor uses the distraction to sit beside me and shut the door.

Once Penelope’s head hangs out the window like a dog with her tongue out of her mouth, though without the excited car trip energy, I turn back to Conor. “You’re not coming to our room.”

“Where to?” the cab driver asks.

“Hurry,” Penelope groans.

Conor raises his eyebrows at me. I growl and give the hotel name, then the cab driver moves away from the curb into the Chicago nighttime traffic.

“Just so you know, I know Henry Hensley,” I say, interrupting the silence.

“You know Daddy?” he asks.

My forehead wrinkles. “Daddy? Is that another hockey name?”

“Yeah… Daddy.” His shoulders lift. “How do you know him?”

“He’s my maid of honor’s soon-to-be husband.”

“Jade?” His voice goes up a few octaves. “Now I have to help you.”

“I have it handled.” Liar. I feel as though I don’t have anything about my life handled these days.

He leans forward and inspects Penelope. I follow his line of vision to find her eyes closed, and she’s completely still. Unless I use a luggage cart, there’s no way I’m getting her up to our room. “Do you really think so?”

I huff.

He laughs. “Listen, I’m not going to lie, you’re hot as shit. But I get that you’re about to marry some lucky bastard, so I’m not here to convince you to give me a shot. Hell, I’m not a relationship guy anyway, and I sure as shit wouldn’t want to ruin someone else’s happiness. Henry’s a great friend, and I love Jade, so let me help you get your friend to your room. Then we’ll part ways, and maybe I’ll run into you at a wedding or baby shower or something, and we’ll share a laugh about tonight. But you don’t have to worry about me trying to get in your pants. I’m honestly here just to help.”

I lose the fight inside me because I’m defeated in more battles than just getting Penelope up to the hotel room tonight. Somehow, my life has spun out of my control, and I’m not sure how to right myself. Lately I feel as if I’m on the teacup ride, and it just keeps spinning and spinning, and there’s no chance to get my bearings. Maybe it’s just wedding jitters, and once it’s over, and we’re on our honeymoon, all this dread and anxiety will go away. I sure hope so.

“Thank you. Really. I appreciate it, and I’m sorry for taking you away from your friends at the club.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not taking me away from anything.”

For the rest of the ride, I watch Penelope and the cab driver’s GPS, eager to get to the hotel and out of the small confines of the cab because Conor’s thigh is pressed to mine, and those butterflies aren’t going away. They shouldn’t even be fluttering. I’m marrying Tristan. He is the love of my life. Right?

The cab pulls up to the hotel, and Conor files out first. I nudge Penelope, and she mumbles something but falls on the seat. In the end, Conor picks her up and puts her over his shoulder. The three of us walk through the luxurious hotel lobby, pretending to ignore the stares from the reception staff.

“I really hope I don’t end up in the gossip blogs for this,” he says as we enter the elevator. “One girl slung over my shoulder with another at my side in a bride-to-be sash going up to a hotel room isn’t a good look.”

“You? My upcoming marriage would be over.”

Right before the doors slide shut, a young girl pops into view, holding out her phone, and the flash goes off.