Chapter 5
70 hours until the wedding
I wake up to Carter’s arm slung around my waist, heated skin pressing against my back. He feels solid and safe as I nuzzle into him, relishing in the warmth of his body. Except something’s different. Carter usually doesn’t smell so sweet. And unless he’s been working out more, his chest isn’t so hard…Wait a minute…My body jumps to attention, eyes flashing open.
Not only is it not Carter I’m cuddling with, but there’s also something hard poking my lower back. A big something. Not that the size matters, but it makes the whole thing much more noticeable. Like being prodded by a water bottle. And not an Aquafina. We’re talking a Smartwater here.
“Ahhhhh!” I shriek, scrambling to the other side of the bed.
Jack’s eyes fly open. “Whatswrong?! Whassgoinon?” he asks, voice still muddled with sleep.
“Your dick is what’s wrong!”
“My what —?” Jack looks down at the tent in his boxers, and I watch as awareness slogs through his expression.
He frowns and adjusts himself, not that it does much to hide the evidence of his erection.
Eventually he gives up and pulls the blanket over himself, thus hiding his lower half from view. “Morning wood is a perfectly normal and healthy bodily function,” he says. “I offered to make a barrier last night.”
“Great. And your excuse for cuddling me is…?”
“Cuddling?” His lips crease into a frown. “I was not cuddling you.”
“Unless that was some other dude in the bed with me, then, yeah, your arm was around my waist.” I decide to leave out the fact that for a brief moment I’d cuddled him back. But that was only because I thought he was Carter. Obviously.
Jack’s eyes stretch wide, and for a moment I think he might actually be embarrassed, but his expression reboots, shifting from discomfort to dour. “Whatever I did or didn’t do, it was clearly an accident,” he says stiffly.
I’m about to point out that he’s the one who thought we were going to have sex last night, and these types of accidents appear to be a pattern for him, when my phone buzzes from the bedside table. I pick it up and see I have fourteen missed calls from Allison and twenty-nine unanswered texts.
The first few texts are polite, cordial even:
8:12pm Allison
Hey, where are you?
8:46pm Allison
Do you have an ETA?
9:18pm Allison We are worried
All the way to the most recent:
6:38am Allison
Ada where the fuck are you?
8:49am Allison
Are you alive?
8:56am Allison
I swear to God if you miss my wedding…
9:02am Allison
Have you been sold into a sex trafficking ring?
9:13am Allison
If you can read this: I have a very particular set of skills. Skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you.
My stomach grand jetés right into my throat. In all the craziness I forgot to let my family know what happened.
I hit redial and Allison answers on the first ring. “Where the fuck are you? Are you alive?”
“No, I’m dead and it’s my ghost making this call. Yes, I’m alive,” I deadpan.
Jack gives me a questioning look and I mouth, Allison .
She groans audibly into the receiver. “Don’t bullshit me right now. Where are you? Do you have the veil?”
Unbelievable. I could be holed up in a Russian gulag right now and Allison’s primary concern would still be whether the veil was okay.
“Yes, I have the veil,” I say with the same forced composure as if I were negotiating a hostage scenario. “But my flight got canceled, so I had to stay in London last night.”
“London?” she repeats. “You’re in London?”
“Yes, but—”
“You’re gonna make it, right?” she asks, a thread of discomfort in her voice that, if I didn’t know better, I’d mistake for concern.
“Yes, of course,” I tell her, sliding out of bed and going into the bathroom, where I shut the door for privacy. “We have a plan. We’re going to be there in time.”
“We? Who is we ?”
I dance from foot to foot, bare feet stinging against the cool linoleum. “So you’re never gonna believe this, but I ran into Jack Houghton last night. Turns out we were supposed to be on the same flight from London. He actually let me crash with him last night. Isn’t that funny?”
My sister doesn’t seem to think so.
“Houghton?” she asks, voice cracking like it always does when she’s pissed. “You slept with Houghton?”
“No! I didn’t sleep with him! I mean we slept in the same bed, but we didn’t sleep together.”
“So you’re with him right now?”
“Yes, and we have a plan to get to Ireland,” I tell her. “All the flights are booked for the next few days, but it’s fine because we can take a train and then a boat. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”
But my sister doesn’t seem to be absorbing any of this. She’s still stuck on the Jack thing.
“You and Houghton are going to travel together?”
“It appears so,” I say, looking toward the bathroom door when I can hear Jack moving around on the other side.
“Well, he’s a total player,” she says. “I’d watch out if I were you.”
I know Jack is a major headache, but what does she think is going to happen? That he’ll lure me into his unmarked white van with candy?
“Allison, trust me, I don’t like him either—”
“You know my friend Ashley?” she asks, cutting me off. “The one who can’t come to the wedding because she joined Greenpeace?”
I mentally sift through Allison’s ever-growing roster of friends. “Yeah?”
“She and Jack hooked up and he totally ghosted her after.”
I frown, annoyed but not surprised. “I’m not interested in—”
“And you know he told Collin not to marry me, right?”
That one gets me.
I know neither Jack nor I are particularly thrilled about this marriage—something we certainly voiced last night—but to hear that he point-blank told Collin not to marry my sister makes my gut twist with frustration. Who the hell does Jack think he is telling Collin not to marry Allison? Allison is a catch. Anyone would want to marry her. Which is precisely how she got in this mess in the first place!
“Jack’s a total commitment-phobe,” Allison goes on. “He told Collin that marriage was a trap. Frankly, I’m surprised he’s even showing up to the wedding.”
“Isn’t he the best man?”
“Yeah, well, that wasn’t my choice,” Allison says, a clear edge to her voice. “And I know he can be all sweet and charming when he wants to be, but remember what I told you about the Slovenian figure skaters?”
“I heard they were Slovakian.”
I can practically see Allison’s icy glare through the receiver. “Ada, I’m serious. He probably has a disease.”
I bite down on my lip, deciding it’s probably best if I don’t tell her he’s, in fact, disease-free. Or that said disease-free penis woke me up this morning.
“You don’t need to convince me. I’m not gonna sleep with him,” I tell her. “Besides, I still have a boyfriend. Carter? Remember him?”
“I thought you were on a break.”
“We are. Which isn’t the same as broken up,” I remind her.
“So are you Ross or Rachel in this situation?”
I purse my lips into a grimace, not particularly interested in her unsolicited commentary on my eight-year relationship when she hasn’t been in a relationship that’s lasted longer than six months.
“Very funny, but we’re evaluating our relationship,” I tell her.
Of course, it’s Carter who is doing the evaluating, but we’re evaluating sounds less humiliating than my boyfriend of eight years isn’t sure he wants to be with me anymore and now I’m in the midst of an identity crisis.
“I don’t get what there is to evaluate,” Allison says. “You guys have been together forever . Why can’t you just figure it out?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Because not all of us can get married after knowing someone for a few months. Some of us actually take commitment seriously.”
“Collin and I are serious. Which is why we’re getting married this weekend instead of dragging our feet for eight years.”
Ouch.
Well, this is a little heated for—I check the time — nine a.m.
“I have to go,” I tell her, glancing over my shoulder toward the door, where I can hear Jack’s footsteps drawing nearer. “Jack is getting up. I’ll check in with you later.”
“Keep me updated. And don’t let anything happen to the veil.” Then she ends the call without saying bye.
As soon as the line goes dead there’s a firm rap of knuckles on the door.
“Are you done? I need to shower,” Jack yells.
“I’m in here!” I yell back.
“Are you peeing?”
“No.”
“Then I’m coming in.” And before I can protest, the bathroom door—which I must have forgotten to lock—creaks open. Jack peers through the gap in the door.
“Hey!” I cry. “I could have been naked in here!”
His left eyebrow pops upward. “Are you normally naked when you talk on the phone with your sister?”
“Just get out.” I move to shut the door in his face, but he sidesteps me into the bathroom.
“I need to take a shower before we leave to catch our train in…” He checks his watch. “Thirty minutes. Which means you’re welcome to keep standing there, but I’m gonna get naked in five…four…three—”
“Fine!” I inch out the doorway. “Just be quick.”
“Of course, your highness .” He flicks his wrist with a flourish before slamming the door in my face.
But five minutes quickly turns into fifteen. I bang on the door. “Jack! Hurry up!”
No answer.
“Jack! I’m serious!”
Still no answer.
A groan rattles in the back of my throat. What is he doing in there? I thought guys just rubbed soap over their junk and called it good.
I’m casting furious glances at the clock, wondering if I’ll even have time to brush my teeth, when an unfamiliar ringtone goes off. My eyes dart around the room before landing on the bedside table where Jack’s phone hums. I pick up the phone and see someone named Doug Weston is calling.
“Jack! Someone is calling you!” I yell. “You better get out here and answer it!”
That must work because I hear the shower turn off. A moment later the bathroom door opens, and Jack emerges in a cloud of steam.
My throat instantly turns chalky.
Not only is there a towel wrapped suspiciously low around his waist, but a million tiny, crystalized water droplets glisten from the grooves in his abdominals as though hand-placed by a Hollywood art director for maximum hotness.
Good grief. It’s like he’s trying to annoy me and, spoiler alert, it’s working.
I drag my eyes away, trying to pretend like his chiseled chest won’t be permanently imprinted on my retinas for the rest of time.
“Someone named Doug is calling you,” I say, tossing him the still-ringing phone.
Jack takes one look at the screen, ignores it, then scowls at me. “Don’t touch my stuff.”
“It was ringing!”
“I said don’t touch my stuff.”
I certainly don’t care about Jack, or whoever the hell might be calling him, but something about the thinly contained frustration hiding behind his stiff jaw fills me with undefined discomfort, like I’ve just walked in on something I shouldn’t have.
But whatever it is, I don’t have time to worry about it.
I turn my back to Jack and run my toothbrush under the faucet. A moment later Jack appears by my side, doing the same thing.
“Allison gave me the scoop on you, you know,” I say, through a mouthful of toothpaste. “And let’s just say it didn’t improve my opinion of you.”
Something uneasy flickers in his eyes, but just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by an arched eyebrow and his usual smugness. “Oh, did she?”
I spit into the sink. “I know you tried to convince Collin to not get married.”
“Yeah, well, marriage is a trap,” he says with a shrug before spitting out his own mouthful of toothpaste. “I’m just looking out for my buddy.”
My jaw drops, mouth widening into an o shape. “You can’t say that!”
“I can’t?”
I huff, reaching for a washcloth. “You are so not best man material.”
“Last night you didn’t seem to be a big fan of marriage either,” he says, giving me a pointed look. “Maybe you’re not maid of honor material either.”
My solar plexus flares as white-hot annoyance shoots down my spine.
“First off,” I say through gritted teeth, “I thought we weren’t going to bring that up. Second, I’m a fan of marriage, just not this particular one. And third, I’m trying to look out for my sister. Meanwhile, you’re trying to take your bro to a strip club. We ”—I gesture between the two of us—“are not the same.”
The brackets around his mouth deepen. “You know, you would think that since I’m paying for you to get to your sister’s wedding, you might at least try to be cordial to me.”
“I am being cordial.”
“Then I’d hate to see you be rude.” He cups his hands under the faucet, splashing his face. “Aren’t you going to say thank you?”
“I said thank you last night.”
“Well, I think I need to hear it again.”
“Fine, thank you. ”
His eyes meet mine in challenge. “For what?”
“Really? You’re making me do this?”
“Fine. I guess you can find your own way to Belfast, then,” he says, scraping a washcloth down the side of his face and neck.
A groan tumbles out of me. But as much as I want to tell him exactly where he can shove a thank you , I’m aware that right now he’s my only shot at making it to this wedding on time, so I pull myself up to my full height and say in my most dramatic, over-the-top voice, “Fine. Thank you , Jack, for saving me. You’re the air that I breathe. The wind beneath my wings. The reason for my being. Happy?”
His lips curl upward, eyes flashing with amusement. “That was serviceable, but I think three more times and some groveling wouldn’t hurt.”
I draw my eyes on him like a weapon. “You know, I’d watch it if I were you. Otherwise I’ll tell Allison that you tried to get in my pants last night.”
“That’s funny, because I’ll tell her that you don’t want to go to her wedding.”
I step closer, close enough to smell the minty toothpaste on his mouth. “Then I’ll tell her you’re planning to take Collin to a strip club for his bachelor party.”
“Fine. Then I’ll tell her you think Collin’s an unwrapped Hershey’s Kiss.”
“Well, I’ll tell Allison you don’t think their marriage is going to outlive a Crock-Pot!”
We glare at one another, eyes flaring, caught in a wordless standoff for two more beats, then I grab my things, march out of the bathroom, and slam the door behind me.
It’s just a few days, then I never have to see him and his annoyingly attractive face ever again.