Chapter 7 #3
“No!” My voice cracks so hard I barely recognize it. “You’re not Brody!”
“No, I’m not.” That doesn’t help.
“I’m in a stranger’s truck.”
“Not true,” he insists.
“I’ve never seen your face before in my life.”
“You technically saw it thirty minutes ago.”
“I was visually impaired!”
“Right. Fair.”
My breath comes too fast. Now that I can actually see him, details start crashing in all at once.
Darker eyes and hair, which is slightly shorter and messier.
A crooked grin. Broader shoulders with so many muscles, except now that I’m really staring, this guy looks very similar to Brody.
No wonder I didn’t see any differences through my blurry gaze.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “Am I being kidnapped?”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Nobody’s being kidnapped.”
“Then why are you driving me to an unknown location?”
“I’m driving you to a wedding. You asked me to.”
“I asked Brody!”
“Well, Brody wasn’t in my backyard. I was.”
I stare at him.
He glances back, hands still visible on the wheel, expression hovering somewhere between concern and a laugh.
“My name’s Corey,” he says carefully. “Corey Lock. I’m Brody’s packmate. He, Jakob, and I live together.”
“Since when?” I square my shoulders.
“Since this morning. I flew in after selling our other place back in Austin. Brody’s been at the house for weeks, but I just got here. And Jakob’s flying home this weekend from New Zealand.” His mouth twitches. “I was mowing the lawn to settle in, then you showed up in your flashing robe and—”
“This has nothing to do with the robe.”
“Sorry.” He clears his throat, but there’s laughter in his eyes now.
“You showed up panicking, told me we needed to leave, and asked if I could drive because your contacts were trying to blind you. Honestly, when a gorgeous woman appears on my lawn and starts issuing orders, I don’t ask a lot of questions. I put on a suit.”
I close my eyes. This can’t be my life. I press my clutch harder to my chest, as if it can physically hold in my soul. “I’ve accidentally kidnapped myself.”
Corey’s mouth finally breaks into a wide grin. “Kind of,” he says. “But in my defense, you were very bossy about it.”
I stare at him. My glasses are fogging from the intensity of my breathing, and I shove them up my nose and stare harder.
He’s devastatingly handsome. In a completely different register from Brody.
Where Brody is sharp and performative, this man is sturdy and intense and watching me with an openness that feels almost possessive.
“So you just agreed to go to a wedding with a stranger?” I say playfully, lowering my clutch from my chest.
“To be fair, you were very confident for someone who couldn’t see.” He rests his hands on his thighs, but his fingers start tapping against his kneecap, fast and restless. “Look, I know this is weird.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. I’m wearing cuff links I found in a moving box because a half-blind woman in a robe drafted me into wedding combat. I have a decent grasp of the situation.”
A laugh almost escapes me. “You should have asked more questions.”
“You should have worn glasses.”
“I was trying to look nice.”
“You look amazing with them.” His gaze flicks over me. “Incredible, actually.”
My mouth opens, but no words come out.
“What I mean is, Brody’s talked about you so much that you didn’t feel like a complete stranger. Cookbook author. Girl next door. Sweet buns. The whole saga.”
“Brody talks about me?”
“Constantly. To me and Jakob.”
My panic retreats a step, replaced by a bewilderment so specific that I don’t have a word for it. “My life is a community theater production,” I whisper.
Corey grins. “I’d buy a ticket.”
“So, there are three of you,” I say slowly. “In the pack?”
“Yep. Jakob’s flying in soon from visiting family, so you’ll probably meet him next.” He pauses, then adds, “Assuming you don’t fake your own death before the reception.” The corners of his mouth inch upward.
And I burst out laughing. After I settle down, I say, “We need to go. The ceremony starts soon.” The rest I’ll work out when I’m there.
Corey puts the truck back into gear, still smiling. “Great. Nothing says relaxed entrance like arriving late with a woman who just accused you of abduction.”
“Drive.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Corey nods, pulls back onto the road, and two minutes later, we’re turning into Hyandra Park. White ribbons on the entrance arch. Guests milling around in cocktail dresses and sharp suits.
And there, standing outside the ceremony building, hands in his pockets, looking around with the searching energy of a man whose date hasn’t arrived, is Brody.
The real Brody. Blue eyes. Sharp jaw. Dark hair across his forehead. He spots the truck and straightens up. Then his gaze shifts to the driver’s seat, and his brow creases.
Corey parks, then kills the engine. He glances at me and then over at Brody through the windshield.
“So, he’s here too,” Corey says, grinning. “This should be double the fun.”
I press my forehead to the dashboard and close my eyes. “Oh, hell. What have I done?”