Chapter 17
THE DISTRACTION PLAY
LAKE
If I’d thought the view from an owl box was great, it has nothing on the view right now.
I’m leaning against the wall in the narrow hallway that looks into Remy’s tiny bathroom.
She’s standing in front of the mirror, putting stuff on her face.
Words like foundation, concealer, matte, and primer float in the air like they mean anything to me.
A videographer shoots from the doorway, while another woman stands nearby—a producer type, who’d earlier set up a ring light and made sure Remy was mic’d.
I watch it all go down from a few feet away. Never knew that this was missing from my life—watching someone put on makeup.
Heather wasn’t a big makeup person. Sure, she did hers before we went out on dates, but I never deliberately watched her put it on. No real reason, other than maybe it felt like something private.
But today I’m invited, and I’m damn glad I RSVP’d.
Because Remy’s so absorbed in dusting on the powder that she bites her lip. She stares in the mirror, checking out her work with such intense focus, all for a date with me.
It’s intimate, and I’ve been invited.
Fine, fine, a fucking camera crew is here too.
But I’m the only civilian, and I’m transfixed by the way she grabs a tube of mascara and meticulously swipes some on. As she does, her lips are parted, and I fight off a groan from that view of her mouth.
Soon, she’s done and declares, “And there you go.”
The videographer stops shooting. “That was great,” she says, friendly but efficient. “We need to go shoot the bride now. But we’ll catch up with you at the bakery. We can see ourselves out.”
They leave as quickly as they came, the door snicking loudly shut.
When they’re gone, and it’s just us and the quiet of her home, she locks eyes with me. “You were watching the whole time?”
It’s more curiosity than accusation. “You were doing something important to you,” I say, owning it. “What’d you think I was going to do? Look at my phone?”
She leaves the bathroom, joining me in the hall. “I guess I hadn’t thought about it.”
You’re much more interesting than anything I could scroll through.
But I keep that thought to myself. Don’t need her worrying that I’m obsessed with her.
She nods to her bedroom, then in a playful voice, says, “I guess I should go grab one of those so-called shoulder things.”
“Off-the-shoulder sweater, Remy; that’s what it’s called,” I say, teasing her right back.
She rolls her eyes, and heads to her bedroom but stops at the door. “And do you also have a request for what pants I wear?”
“I get to make requests? This is my lucky day.”
“It sure is.” She doesn’t know the half of it.
“What are the options?”
“Want to come see?”
Because every damn thing with Remy is a yes, I nod and follow her into her bedroom again, this time gobbling up all the details of her.
Including my own surprise. I guess I’d thought it’d be super girly.
Red bows on the wall, pink bedcovers. But it’s a little more earthy.
Muted greens and beiges on her bed. Black and white photographs on the walls of cities like Paris and Tokyo.
Framed shots of her friends too. A small little jewelry box. I want to pick everything up and ask her questions. Instead, I follow her to the closet.
She opens it and then whips out hanger after hanger of jeans and pants, and all at once I’m overwhelmed. Maybe there’s a reason I’ve never really participated in this pre-getting-ready thing before. How the hell am I supposed to choose what pants she should wear?
“Everything looks good on you,” I say, speaking the truth plainly.
“But I need to pick. My sister said something fun. That was the dress code.”
“Okay,” I say, scrubbing a hand across my beard, scanning for something fun.
But then I spot it—a short little skirt on a rod behind her. My neck blazes. “That,” I rasp out.
She grabs it, holds it at her waist. “This?”
Holy shit. It’s short and black, and I’m just dead. “Is that a trick question?”
“Why would that be a trick question?”
I flail my hands at it. “Because yes. That. Wear that,” I say, more emphatic than when I tell my team let’s fucking go.
She shakes her head, smiling, then shoos me out of her room. “I’d better get dressed then.”
It’s like it’s Christmas Eve as I wait for her to emerge.
A minute later she walks out wearing a sweater that reveals the most enticing amount of pale flesh at her collarbone that I just want to kiss and lick and bite.
That skirt that makes my jaw come unhinged.
The way I’ve wanted her before is nothing compared to how much I want her now.
Those legs. Those long, toned legs. Muscular calves, strong thighs…
The whole way up to Corbin and Mabel’s bakery in Cozy Valley, I’m well aware this thing between us is all fake. I’m her fake date for this whole series of videos on her sister’s show about her wedding and all its countless, ridiculous, over-the-top events.
But every glance at the curve of Remy’s calves, every time her eyes meet mine, makes the word “fake” feel like a goddamn lie.
* * *
The look Corbin gives me when I walk into his bakery with a hand on Remy’s back is the definition of “I told you so.”
I shoot him a look that I hope says shut the fuck up.
When Remy steps away from me to go say hi to Mabel, Corbin stares me down. “Dude.”
“Dude,” I reply.
“You look—”
“What? Am I not allowed to take her on a date?”
“No, what the fuck happened to your head?”
“Oh, right, that.” I lift my hand to drag it through my hair, but there are only phantom locks there. “It was time for a change.”
“Damn, you were proud of that hair. Best flow in hockey, or some shit like that.”
“Aw, you keep up with me.”
“It’s hard not to when you brag about it all the time.”
“Don’t worry. I still look fucking awesome. Remy cut it,” I add.
Corbin smiles like he’s caught me red-handed. “So that’s how it goes.”
I shrug off the comment, like it’s no big deal since that’s easier than facing the bigness of the deal.
“Yep. That’s how it goes,” I say, then survey the scene in the Afternoon Delight bakery.
The camera crew is here. Remy’s sister stands in front of a mural of a fox and a llama sharing a cupcake, the whimsical scene a stark contrast to the intense look on her face as she talks with two other women—one with a tight bun.
Both were at the picnic. Pretty sure one is from Fresh Face and the other works for Caroline.
But as soon as Caroline spots her sister, she beelines over and hugs Remy.
The crew captures it on video.
Parker’s here too, checking out some of the shop’s popular “F*ck Mornings” merch, and Jameson is also here with his dumb undercut and stupid smile, and…
hold on. What’s that? Is he actually holding a bottle of his beer?
Just like at the picnic. He’s probably going to try to hold it up and get it casually in front of the camera.
Fuck that guy.
But then—yes! Let’s fuck with that guy. I motion for Corbin to come closer, then say out of the corner of my mouth, “Help a teammate out?”
Corbin nods. “Always.”
I tell him the plan, and he says dinner’s on me for the rest of the season.
“Fair,” I say, as I knock his fist in agreement.
Corbin calls Mabel over and whispers to her. She nods with something like glee in her eyes.
A few minutes later, the bride and groom settle in at a white table, with Jameson and Remy nearby. Everyone’s in place. Mabel grabs the first slice of wedding cake for the couple to test and heads over to Caroline and Parker. Since the camera is focused on the couple, I take my chance.
I catch Jameson’s eyes and motion for him to join Corbin and me behind the counter. Jameson’s brows scrunch and he gives a who, me look. I nod, mouthing “Yeah.”
And that’s all it takes to reel him in. The status seeker heads over to us.
“Hey, my buddy wanted to hear more about your beer. You know Corbin Knight? He’s on the Foxes too,” I say, casual and nonchalant as I jerk my thumb toward him.
“Oh, yeah. For sure,” Jameson says, excitement flickering in his beady little eyes. “Great goal the other night.”
“Thanks, man,” Corbin says, then nods to the ever-present bottle Jameson holds like it’s his security blanket. “Tell me more. Because I’m thinking a bakery that serves beer is the next big thing.”
Jameson buys it hook, line, and sinker. “You’re speaking my language. What goes better with cake than brew?”
Anything. Literally anything.
But Corbin dials in an Oscar-worthy performance, setting an elbow on the counter, looking like he’s all ears. “Tell me what you got, my man.”
Jameson launches into a long-ass description of every excruciating detail of his beers, while I slip away and join Remy.
She gives me a silent look, asking what’s up.
I just flash her a satisfied smile, one I hope reassures her that I’ve got this handled. She doesn’t stop though. Her eyes are imploring.
Right. She hates surprises. Don’t want to stress her out, so I lean in, brush some strands away from her ear, and whisper, “Just taking care of the best man with a little distraction.”
It takes a beat as she watches them, then she puts it together, her brown eyes sparkling as she seems to fight off a smile.
When Caroline slides the cake her way, Remy lasers in on the maid-of-honor job.
She takes a bite of the vanilla and buttercream concoction.
As she licks her fork, she moans her approval.
“So good,” she says to Caroline, but I’m hearing it in other contexts.
Imagining it.
Heat flares through me.
Remy hands me a fork, saying, “Try it.”
I take a bite of the cake, and it’s sweet and moist. “Delicious,” I say, but I’m looking at her pretty mouth, remembering the taste of her at the picnic. Craving another one.
“Told you cake tasting would be fun,” she says.