9. Committing to the Bit
CHAPTER 9
COMMITTING TO THE BIT
MARS
T he car ride is four and a half hours if the traffic’s okay. But this is California, so the traffic’s never okay. We’re heading east towards the foothills, through the Central Valley and away from the ocean. I’ve always lived near water, except when I had to spend every other weekend and three weeks during summer at my dad’s place.
He and Susan bought a house away from the coast, and every time I stayed there, a sense of being lost weighed on me. If I couldn’t see the ocean and the hills, how would I know where I was? Every house in their subdivision looked the same, and Susan made sure it stayed that way as the head of the HOA.
I remember leaving my bike on the front lawn for a couple hours and Susan received an admonishing phone call from a neighbor. You’d think I had pissed on the table in the middle of a dinner party. The way she froze me out for the rest of my three-week stay was one of many times I’d earned her displeasure.
I don’t spend a lot of time in that part of California despite my dad’s frequent invites.
After too many hours on the road and two stops, Ivy and I finally reach the hotel. My legs need a good stretch, and I’m glad I remember to bring my skateboard so I can work out my nerves.
The wedding’s up in the foothills, at a small resort carved out of the forest. On the long drive, Ivy took charge of music and snacks, and she nailed the assignment. I wish her competence in everything she does wasn’t so fucking sexy.
Adding to my pain, she’s wearing these little cut-off shorts that show an achingly tempting expanse of her long legs. It took all my concentration not to drive us into a ditch while staring at the spot where the frayed edges of the shorts teased her pale skin.
My brain has so little power over this consuming need for her it’s laughable. Once I acknowledged how attracted I am to her, my heart—and my dick—refuse to listen to reason. All they want is her. All they need is her.
Ivy’s standing by the trunk, stretching her back, giving me a glimpse of the silky looking skin of her belly. I wonder if the headline will read Local Man Dies From Lust-Induced Stroke, Could a Quick Wank Have Saved Him ?
Instead of torturing myself further, I pop the trunk and unload our bags. Ivy takes hers from my hands, refusing to let me carry it.
Her face lit with excitement, she starts gushing about weddings as we make our way to the lobby from the parking lot. “Part of what I love about weddings is being able to take part in all the pomp and circumstance without having to do the planning myself. I get to look at the pretty flowers without thinking about how many hours went into picking the perfect color scheme.”
“You don’t ever want to plan your own wedding?” I try to keep visions of Ivy in a wedding dress at bay and fail miserably. I don’t dare picture the groom.
She shakes her head and laughs. If I didn’t know her so well, I would’ve missed the forced quality of it. Pointing to herself she says, “Don’t do relationships, remember?”
“Right. Almost forgot.” My brain sends an I told you so to my heart and dick.
I shake the thoughts away and concentrate on the weekend ahead of us. Tonight’s the rehearsal dinner and tomorrow’s the wedding. Then I can let out a cleansing breath once we’re in the car headed back to Wavecrest.
But first things first, checking into our room.
IVY
Mars had warned me that we’d be sharing a room, and I won’t admit to hoping Joanie’s right about there being only one bed. Whenever we hang out, he gives good snuggle. I wouldn’t mind waking up with him wrapped around me. I have not thought about other things, though, because friends don’t do other things.
This weekend is either going to prove me to be a liar or set me on the path to becoming a sainted nun.
Mars checks us in and picks up his skateboard from where it leans against the counter.
“Why’d you bring that?” I ask, nodding to the colorfully painted skateboard. The cartoon-style grizzly bear on the bottom of the deck is so obviously Mars’ work, it makes me smile.
“Helps me destress.”
After gathering up our things, we head for the elevators, but before I can hit the button, a small, taut woman with severe lip liner steps in front of us, followed by a man who’s obviously Mars’ father. The woman looks like she’s written many strongly worded emails in her lifetime.
“Hello Milton. I’m glad you finally made it.” We’re here at least two hours before the rehearsal dinner.
Mars leans down and kisses her cheek. “Susan. Lovely weekend to have a wedding.” Oh, he’s good. His polite, unconcerned response seems to anger her even more. This must be one of his strategies for dealing with his stepmother. Go Mars.
His dad steps around Susan and wraps Mars in a quick hug with a light pat on his back. “Good to see you, son.”
“You too, Dad.” Mars wraps his arm around my shoulder. “This is Ivy. Ivy, this is my dad, Mike.” I can’t stop staring, even when I reach out my hand to shake his. If this is what Mars will look like in twenty to thirty years, sign me up. They have the same eyes and chin, the same hair, except Mike’s is salt and pepper, and darker than Mars’ in the pepper parts.
“And this is my stepmom, Susan.” I shake her hand but am left with a weird sense of disappointment at how weak her handshake is.
“It’s lovely to meet you. Thank you for including me in the festivities.” See, I can be nice. Polite, even.
“Yes, well.” She looks like she’s at a loss. Turning to Mars she says, “Why am I not surprised you brought that thing?” For a second I think she’s talking about me, until I realize she’s looking at the skateboard in Mars’ grip.
He doesn’t respond to her question but turns to his dad instead. “Everything ready for tomorrow?”
“Beyond ready. Your mother has gone over every detail at least five times.” Mike rocks back and forth on his feet, seemingly brimming with excitement, but I didn’t miss how Mars stiffened next to me when Mike said mother .
“How’s Reggie doing? Is he excited to finally get married?” He addresses this question to Mike also, and Susan frowns, probably irked that she’s being frozen out of the conversation.
Mars turns to me. “Reggie and Jen have been together for years, so this wedding is a long time coming,” he explains.
“They were waiting until they were financially stable,” Susan says, her voice dripping with irritation. Mike nods in agreement.
There’s an awkward silence until Mars breaks it. “Right. We’re going to get unpacked and unwind before dinner.”
“The rehearsal dinner’s at seven in the main dining room,” Susan says.
“Great, we’ll?—”
“And since there are so many people coming and the bridal party is so big, we put the overflow in the pavilion.” She motions outside.
“And I assume we’re with the overflow crowd?” Mars is trying to hide it, but I can tell his stepmother’s words sting. His shoulders are rigid and a small frown pulls down the corners of his usually smiling mouth. I hate this woman already.
Mike might need a little kick in the shins too seeing as how he’s avoiding eye contact with his son.
Mars reaches around Susan and presses the elevator call button. Watching the whole exchange, I want to hiss at her, maybe make a tiny doll filled with her hair and stick pins in it.
But she’s saved by the elevator gods, and the doors open right away. We step around the couple and into the car. Mars furiously hits the close button while Susan stares at us. I stare back. She flinches first.
The doors slide closed, and Mars leans his head against the wall, letting out a huge breath.
“So that’s Susan,” he says to the ceiling.
“She’s a peach.”
He snorts. “She’s something. Also, the only reason Reggie and Jen are finally financially solvent is because my dad gave them a huge chunk of cash and promoted Reggie before he’d been at dad’s company for a year.” I’m not used to the bitterness in Mars’ voice, and I feel a corresponding ball of acid in my stomach.
The muscles around his eyes and mouth are tight, so tense. This is my easygoing, nothing-bothers-him friend Mars. I mentally steel myself for what’s coming. He needs a shield, and I’m going to have fun being that for him.
The doors slide back open, and we exit the elevator. Before we get too far down the hallway, I put my things down and rest my hand on his forearm. “Hey. You’ve got me here this weekend. You’re not going through family drama alone, so it’s okay to lean on me. Understood?”
The lines around his mouth loosen as he gives me a small smile. “Thanks for?—”
“Nuh uh,” I interrupt him. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m fully capable of blowing up your relationships with everyone here. I could be the cause of several rifts. Wait until the weekend is done before thanking me.”
His smile grows. “Promises.”
Down the hall, he opens our room, and...yep. That’s one king sized bed. No sofa, and not a lot of floor space. I fight a smile at how cozy the room is. Joanie’s going to have a field day with this information.
I take a moment to admire the blush on Mars’ face.
“I can sleep on?—”
“Nope. We’re grown-ups, and the bed is huge. Nobody’s sleeping in the tub or on the floor. Now, let’s get settled in so you can take your skateboard for a spin.”
I quickly take a picture of the one bed and send it to Joanie. Within seconds she responds.
Joanie
Son of a mother flippin’ biscuit, I KNEW IT. Take notes...I’ll need them for my next book.
Then she sends me a series of indecipherable emojis and a picture of the painting The Scream.
She’s going to be so disappointed when I tell her nothing happened.
Mars has me completely in his sway while I watch him take a jump down a short set of stairs, his board hitting the pavement with a satisfying clack . The man can skateboard. It shouldn’t be shocking considering how good of a surfer he is. But contrast that with the fact that he tripped over his own feet twice on the way down from our room and…well, color me surprised
I’m sitting on a curb in the small hotel parking lot. It’s terraced, and there’s only a few cars and a party bus nearby, so Mars has been skating back and forth, doing small tricks and jumps. His face finally relaxes and his body looks like it’s one with the board.
I watch as he uses his powerful leg to get himself up to speed, crouch over the board, and then suddenly spring up, doing a kick that sends the board into a spin before it lands on its wheels with him on top of it. I let out a little cheer and clap.
He coasts over to my perch and kicks the board up into his waiting hand. Fucking hot.
“You ever skated?” he asks me.
I snort. “No. I value my limbs.”
“Want to learn?”
“What, now?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Because a cast would ruin the line of the dress I brought for tomorrow.”
He laughs. “I won’t let you fall, I promise. I won’t even let you roll anywhere. Come and stand on it, practice your balance.” I look up into his smiling face and something in me says why the fuck not.
I stand up and brush off my backside. “Okay, sure. Teach me your skateboarding ways, mister Jedi.”
He laughs. “I thought you were into Star Trek, not Star Wars.”
“I’m a broad-spectrum nerd.”
He lays the board down at my feet, and I’m glad I wore sneakers for our drive out here. I place one foot on the board, and it immediately rolls out from under me.
I wobble a little and Mars’ hands go to my hips to steady me. “Whoa. It’s all about Newton’s third law. You applied force, so it went flying. Let’s try again.”
I manage to step on the board without falling off, but I’m very unsteady. “Don’t let go.” I’m not proud of the little wire of panic that runs through my words.
His grip on my hips tightens as he looks up at me. His expressive eyes hold me in place. “I won’t let you fall. Ever.” Oh honey, we might be a little late for that.
MARS
If this is the dress Ivy chose for the night-before dinner, tomorrow’s dress will probably kill me. The deep emerald green makes her skin glow, and the neckline cutting across her collarbones makes me want to press my lips there , to the hollow of her throat. I suck in a steadying breath but it’s not doing me much good.
She came out of the bathroom looking classy and sexy, like she’s wearing armor. Her shoulders are back, her strawberry blonde hair partially pulled back on one side revealing diamond studs.
She’s always breathtaking, but something about seeing her ready to dive into the passive aggressive can of worms that is my stepfamily warms me from the inside. I’m just glad my suit jacket hides the evidence of my appreciation.
I’m wearing dress shoes, which usually means I’m more likely to trip or step on someone. I live in sneakers in the real world, and the possibility of falling flat on my face makes me nervous. Normally I wouldn’t care, but the thought of embarrassing Ivy fills me with a sharp dread.
She must see something on my face because she gives me a tight hug. She gives the best fucking hugs. Ivy may be a badass business lady with her own company, but that tough shell does a poor job of hiding her inner marshmallow. I’m grateful I’m one of the few people she allows to see it.
“You look nervous,” she says as she pulls back. If we could skip dinner and keep hugging, I’d be a happy guy.
I let out a heavy, pent-up breath. “I’m going to warn you now, I’m wearing shoes I’m not used to and things could get ugly. Embarrassing.” She lets out a little laugh.
“I’m not easy to embarrass, and no offense but I don’t really care what these people think of me. Tonight is recon—I want to get the lay of the land before the big show tomorrow.”
“I love how committed you are to this. I’m almost glad we came.”
She pats me on the arm. “Come on, champ. Let’s go meet the rest of the family.”
IVY
“We need a signal,” I tell Mars as we head into dinner.
“A signal for what?” He puts his hand on the small of my back, leading us to a large table outside the main dining room. A signal for what, Ivy? I can’t remember because the weight of his hand hit a switch that turned off my higher brain function.
Giving myself a little shake, I manage to form a coherent thought. “So you can tell me if the people we’re interacting with are in the like, don’t like, or neutral columns.”
He smiles at me, the tiny lines around his eyes distracting me almost as much as his hand on my back. “It’d probably be bad form to say, ‘Go get ‘em, Ivy,’ out loud.”
“Yeah, maybe you can rub your nose for someone you don’t want to interact with. Your eyebrow for people you like.” I think for a second. “And tug your earlobe for neutrals.”
“People are going to think I’m on drugs if I keep touching my face like that.”
“I see your point.” We reach our table before anyone else. Mars pulls out my chair, something nobody has done for me except my dad and maitre d’s at fancy restaurants.
“How about a safeword for when it’s okay to hulk out on someone?”
I press a hand to my chest. “I would never...”
He laughs. “Sure you wouldn’t. Let’s make this easy. My dad’s side of the family is fine. Susan’s relatives take their cues from her so are to be avoided if possible. I consider everybody else neutral.”
“How do you want me to play this? Doting girlfriend? Avenging angel sent to right all previous wrongs? Passive aggressive kitten with claws?” I prop my chin on my hand and bat my eyelashes at him.
Mars leans closer, keeping his voice low. Goosebumps race down my neck when his lips graze my ear.
“I just want you to be Ivy. Nothing more, nothing less.” He pulls back enough for me to see the earnest, warm look in his deep brown eyes. Like me being myself is his favorite thing in the world. I fight the urge to melt into him, to be wrapped in his special Mars-ness. For the millionth time, I think about what a great boyfriend he’ll will make someone.
But for the first time, I’m ready to admit there’s a tiny part of me that wants him to be my boyfriend. And that scares the shit out of me. I lock that fear away in a little box and toss it in a deep, dark corner of my brain.
“Passive aggressive kitten it is.”
MARS
Dinner that night is shockingly drama free as far as family goes. It stings a little that almost everyone I’m related to through marriage is inside, and I’m stuck at the coworkers and friends from college table. But it makes for a quiet evening.
Some of my stepbrother’s old frat brothers who didn’t make the wedding party cut share our table. Ivy’s quiet, sipping her wine and observing our tablemates.
One of the guys, whose name I forgot but I’m calling Sloppy because he can’t hold his liquor, leans across the table, obviously trying to flirt with Ivy. Part of me can’t blame him. She’s stunning. But also...hello...I’m right here.
Not that we’re anything other than friends. She can flirt with anyone she wants. But Sloppy doesn’t seem to be her cup of tea. She sits back in her chair with a smirk—one I know well. She deploys it when she’s dealing with a recalcitrant client on the phone or she’s about to kick Will’s ass in a hand of poker.
Sloppy goes on and on about the good ol’ college days with Reggie, all while glancing at Ivy’s chest. I feel my fist clench but take a deep breath. I’m not a violent person. I don’t solve things with my fists. But I do wrap my arm around her and give him the good ol’ back off look.
Ivy might be mad at me for it later. Who knows, maybe she likes douche canoes like him, but I doubt it. She’s all fierceness and smarts and class. The Sloppys of the world don’t deserve her.
Not like I do either.
IVY
This guy sitting across from me, conversing with my boobs, is a real gift to humankind. Luckily, he’s no relation to Mars, whose arm rests on the back of my chair. His fingers absentmindedly toying with my hair. Normally I’d bristle at displays of possession. But I like the heat of Mars’ arm and the warmth of his side against mine as I assess this guy sitting at our table.
He snaps his fingers like he’s trying to remember where he knows Mars from. “Mars...Mars. I think Reggie told me a story about you.”
The arm across my shoulders tenses, so I place my hand on his thigh. Steady . There’s a question in his eyes before he turns his attention back to Steve. Steph? Sean? S-Dude? Yeah, let’s go with S-Dude.
“I can only imagine the stories Reggie has told. Don’t believe all of them.” There’s rocks in his voice, a flintiness I’ve only heard him use with Henning.
S-Dude doesn’t seem deterred. “Are you the stepbrother that spilled punch on his prom date’s dress?”
“I’m his only stepbrother.” His non-answer is telling. S-Dude looks confused. Maybe it’s the alcohol but I doubt it.
I lean forward, and S-Dude’s eyes catch on my boobs again. “Luckily, Mars’ skills with women have vastly improved since his teenage years. Same can’t be said for everybody.” I turn to Mars. “Isn’t that right, honey bear?” I give his muscled thigh a significant squeeze, and his eyes go wide for a split second.
“Honey bear?” he mouths. Go with it , my eyes say.
“I don’t know. You’d have to be the judge of my skills with women,” he pauses, and his eyebrows draw together. “Sweetheart.”
I rub my hand up Mars’ thigh. Not that S-Dude can see it, but I’m fully committing to the bit. “Well, let me assure you that Mars is very…capable.” Why am I doing this? We don’t even know this guy. I came to this wedding as Mars’ friend. Not his girlfriend, fake or otherwise, and at the first sign of someone being a dick I jump into must protect my man mode.
It feels too easy.
MARS
I’m so confused. My dick isn’t, but the rest of me is.