Mr. Swoony (The Nest #3)

Chapter 4

Four

Eloise

I cannot believe I’m holed up in a hotel suite with a professional hockey player. If Tristan catches word of this, he’ll go ballistic.

Conor walks over to the mini bar and takes out a candy bar. He wasn’t joking about his sweet tooth. The way he ate that chocolate earlier, the little moan that slipped out right after he swallowed, damn, I definitely wasn’t thinking about my fiancé.

He sits on the sofa, tucking himself into the corner. One arm lies across the arm of the couch, and the other is along the back. He’s a big guy. His half-eaten Snickers bar is in his hand. Those girls outside the door would die if they saw him right now.

“So, what do you want to talk about for the rest of the night?” he asks before taking another bite of his candy bar.

I grab a bag of chips and two bottles of water and join him on the couch. I keep my distance, sitting at the far end of the couch, but slide his water over to him. “I don’t know.”

He looks at the coffee table and spots my wedding planner. He leans forward and reaches for it, but I’m faster, leaping forward to swipe it away.

“What are you hiding?” he asks, reaching down to the carpet and picking up a piece of paper.

Oh no. Dread weighs in my stomach like a lead weight.

“I’ll take that.” I hold out my hand, but he doesn’t hand it over.

I watch him scan the paper, his smile indenting more and more the longer he reads.

“Conor.” My voice is pleading because this is embarrassing.

“Thirty before thirty bucket list?” He looks up from the paper, and my cheeks heat faster than if I was standing in front of a bonfire, and someone doused it with gasoline.

“It was just something I made when I was twenty-five. I found it this morning.” I reach forward, but he holds it away from me. “Can I have it back please?”

“I could get down with this bake-a-cake-from-scratch thing.”

“Conor,” I plead.

“Sorry, I’m an older brother and tend to do asshole things. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy.” He holds it out to me, and I take it back.

“It’s nothing. Just a list I wrote when I felt a little lost in life.” I stare at it and think about how different I feel now than I did when Jade and I sat down on a beach at dusk and made the list, wanting to make sure our lives weren’t wasted.

“I think it’s pretty awesome. Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

I place the list in front of me on the couch cushion. The planner wouldn’t have even been out had Tristan’s mom not called me to discuss seating arrangements. Again. Seriously, my people-pleasing tendencies are approaching the edge of a massive cliff when it comes to her.

“Go for it.”

“Why isn’t anything crossed off? Isn’t that the point of the list?”

My stomach hits the floor.

God, he’s right. There’s not one check mark or line through any of the thirty items. How have I gone four years without trying to accomplish these things?

“Life, I guess.” I shrug. “I forgot about it until I was moving out of my apartment and found it in the bottom of my underwear drawer.”

“Why was it at the bottom of your underwear drawer?” He crunches up the Snickers bar wrapper, tosses it on the table, and grabs his water. Again, those corded muscles in his forearm flex as he twists off the cap. Then I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

I’ve never once thought it was sexy when I watched Tristan take a drink, so why the hell am I fascinated watching Conor do the same?

After he finishes, Conor eyes me, and I realize he asked me a question while I ogled him like girls used to do to Henry back in the day. I never was a huge athlete girl. Their schedules are so grueling all the time. But I’m starting to see the appeal with Conor.

“I’m sorry, what did you say again?” I ask.

“Underwear drawer. Why wasn’t the list posted on the fridge or the bathroom mirror to remind you?”

He has a point. I track my memory back to why I thought I needed to hide the list. “I’m not sure. I think… Tristan—my fiancé—was coming to my place for the first time, and I think I thought it made me seem lame. I don’t think he’d understand something like this.”

Why am I so ashamed of this list? I wrote down these things because I wanted to experience them before I turned thirty.

“Why?” He sounds curious and interested, not at all judgmental, which makes it easy to answer him.

“Tristan comes from a wealthy family. I’m unsure what would be on his list because he’s experienced everything.”

He places his water on the table. “So, he’s made a cake from scratch before?”

My shoulders slump. To explain Tristan to someone like Conor makes me feel a little ashamed for some reason. “Tristan would think it’s a waste of time because he’d say, ‘Let’s just find the best bakery and buy one.’”

He nods, and I see judgment on his face. His hand moves toward the paper I set on the couch. “Do you mind?”

At this point, who the hell cares? At least it wasn’t my other secret list that fell out, the embarrassing one with the sexual experiences I’d hoped to have. Thank God for small favors.

“Go ahead.”

He scans the paper, and the wider his smile gets, the more my stomach flutters, as if he’s approving of some of the things he’s reading. “Tristan’s not a hot air balloon kind of guy? No trips?”

“More like jumping out of the airplane type.”

He nods as if he’s starting to understand the type of guy Tristan is. “Not a guy for tattoos?”

I shake my head. “And mar his beautiful skin?”

He chuckles and sets the paper down, surprising me by not asking me the obvious question about why I haven’t crossed fall in love off my list. It’s not like I could give him an answer. I’m not even sure myself.

“Can I ask another question?”

Here it comes.

When I don’t say anything, he says, “What is it about Tristan that made you want to marry him?”

I get up from the couch and take a jar of nuts out of the mini fridge, holding up another candy bar for him.

“Nah, but I’ll take a bag of chips.”

I toss him a bag and return to my spot on the couch. “It’s a long story.”

He opens his bag and tosses a chip into his mouth. “Good thing I have time.”

I sigh, but talking to someone on the outside of my life feels nice. I’ve been drowning in Tristan’s world, becoming who I feel I need to be. “I am the product of a one-night stand.”

He eats another chip, not saying anything.

“My parents were from very different worlds, and they never got married. My dad was from Tristan’s world—wealthy, entitled, and never accepted the answer no. My mom wasn’t poor but didn’t come from my dad’s world. Anyway, they somehow made it work for me. I saw my dad maybe once a month when he’d pick me up and take me to my grandparents’ house—or more like a mansion. Sometimes there was more time in between.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and I feel as if he understands the frustration of my parents not getting along.

“I knew no different. My mom married Sam, who’s a great guy and was more of a father to me than my own.” I stop for a second. “My dad would get jealous of that and take me on shopping sprees or throw me a huge sixteenth birthday party, things like that. Throwing money at me was his way of showing me love. He was always going to some country or another, and he’d return and introduce me to girlfriends I’d never see more than a handful of times at most.

“Three years ago, he returned to Chicago, bought a condo in the city, and said he wanted to reconnect with me. I think a small part of me always wanted to know him better, to find out why I wasn’t enough for him to stick around and be a constant part of my life, so it started as monthly dinners but turned into weekly ones after a few months. Then he asked me to go to my grandparents’ country club for Sunday dinner with them. That’s where I met Tristan. I guess you didn’t need to know all that, but it ties into why I’m with Tristan.”

Conor crumples the chip bag and waits patiently. He’s a great listener.

“My dad loved Tristan. He always said he wanted me to find a place in his world. That it would give me financial security. So, although Tristan wasn’t my type, I agreed to go on a date with him. You said you were a fixer. Well, I’m a people-pleaser.” I run my hand over my chest like he did as if I’m wearing a T-shirt that has the moniker on it.

“It’s got to be tough fighting that.”

“I’m not sure I do, which is the problem.” I eat a nut and take my time to chew and swallow.

“Anyway, we just kept dating, and in the beginning, he was really attentive. Surprising me with gifts and flowers. Amazing trips.”

“Then?”

I look at the bedroom where Penelope is, hoping she’s still passed out. I haven’t told anyone this. “You can’t tell anyone. Like, take it to the grave.”

His eyebrows lift, but he holds out his pinkie. “Pinkie swear.”

It’s then I notice that the top part of his pinkie is missing. He still has a nail, but he’s been injured in some way.

I wrap my pinkie around his. “What a night. I share my bucket list and a pinkie swear with you. I feel like I’m thirteen again.”

He laughs. “Hey, pinkie swears are sacred.”

The room grows quiet, and it’s time for me to share what I’ve told no one else. “I’m sure it’s like this in many relationships, but there’s no more spontaneity. He always wants to go to dinner with his friends, and rarely are we alone. I think the real issue is I don’t ever feel like I come first.” I bite my lip. “But he has a lot of pressure on him. He’s being groomed to take over his family’s company one day, making for a lot of traveling. And I don’t want to put more stress on him.” Conor says nothing, so I ramble on. “After my dad died a few years ago, I just… I don’t know.”

Wanting to make my dad happy doesn’t feel like the correct wording, but I fear it is why I’m about to marry Tristan in a week.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Yeah, well, with his lifestyle, it’s not all that surprising.”

“Still, losing a parent…” He shakes his head. “I can’t imagine.”

“It sucked, especially since I finally felt like I was getting to know him as a person and not the person he wanted me to see him as over the years. He was always in competition with Mom and Sam.” I shrug. “I can’t believe I’m telling you all this. Even Jade doesn’t know some of this.”

He covers his heart with his hand. “I’m honored. And no judgment. I have family issues. But you still haven’t answered my question. Why did you agree to marry him?”

“I’m making him sound bad, but he’s not.” I don’t feel the truth of the words when they leave my mouth, and I don’t know why.

“I didn’t say that.” He pushes off the couch and goes to the mini bar again, snatching up an array of items and tossing them between us.

“I’m sure it’s just all the expectations and pressure of a big wedding. Social media makes it seem like there shouldn’t be any arguments or distractions between couples who want to pledge their love to one another. After the wedding, it will all go back to normal. I’m sure of it.”

He sips his water. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right.”

But I don’t think he believes me. Hell, I’m not sure I believe myself.

He tosses the chocolate-covered pretzels at me. “Here. Sweet and salty, the best combination.”

I open the bag. “You have to tell me something personal now.”

Conor stares at me for a beat and fidgets in his seat. Will he open up the same way I did?