Chapter 11 #3
“That guy’s not catching a clue, is he?” Grayson muttered darkly.
Everett, who’d been happily scraping the last of the bacon off the plate from the now-demolished cheese fries, glanced up. “Who?” He looked over as he asked, then frowned. “Tommy? Thought he and Lark broke up?”
“They did,” Grayson said, his brows furrowed.
“She broke up with him,” Wren clarified. “Tommy seems to think the relationship can be saved.”
Everett shook his head. “Never did understand how those two lasted as long as they did.”
Wren was liking Everett more and more with each passing minute. “Me either.”
Tommy looked like he was doubling down on the dance, which only made Lark more resistant.
If Wren felt compelled to help the man—she didn’t—she would remind him that the worst thing he could do with Lark was try to convince her to do something she didn’t want to do.
It only made her sister dig her heels in deeper.
Lark’s arms were crossed and she was scowling, her lips moving nonstop. Again, Wren didn’t have to hear their conversation to know her sister was giving Tommy one hell of a dressing down.
A week earlier, Lark had admitted to meeting Tommy for lunch. Only, she said, because he wouldn’t stop texting and calling. Lark thought perhaps hearing her say in no uncertain terms that they were over would help convince him.
Clearly, it didn’t.
“Maybe I should go give him a word,” Grayson said, with enough menace in his tone that Everett stopped watching the Lark/Tommy drama and turned his attention to his brother.
Everett saw the same thing Wren did. While her protectiveness for Lark was also surging to the forefront, Grayson’s expression revealed something else as well.
Jealousy.
The realization hit Wren right in the chest, causing her heart to ache.
Until her brain engaged. Grayson thought he’d kissed Lark at the festival. He was jealous because of that kiss.
The kiss he’d shared not with Lark but with Wren.
She suddenly wished she had more—or, well, any experience with men, because it would help her interpret and understand his reaction better.
Jealousy meant he cared, right? That he felt that way because the kiss—because she—mattered to him.
The lightness that swept through Wren came so suddenly, it almost made her dizzy. Happiness bubbled strongly, and she thought she might laugh for sheer joy.
That kiss had meant the world to her, and now, knowing it meant something to him too, was wonderful.
But her happiness faded just as fast.
In his mind, he’d kissed Lark.
And Lark needed the lie to stand.
The lie.
That was why hopelessness settled back over her.
While Grayson might—MIGHT—forgive them for the swap, she wasn’t sure the same would hold true for the last couple of weeks, when Wren had continued to perpetuate the lie.
It was too late to admit she’d been the one in that hotel bed with him that night.
“I’m pretty sure Lark can handle herself,” Everett replied, grinning widely. “Unless you have some reason for feeling like you need to intervene.”
Grayson scowled at his brother but didn’t reply.
“Do you have a reason?” Everett asked, with far too much glee. “Something you’d like to share with the rest of the class?” he said, gesturing to himself and Wren.
“Lark is an employee of ours and that guy is clearly bugging her,” Grayson replied, though his tone wasn’t selling his lame answer.
Everett laughed. “That guy is Tommy, who’s as harmless as a butterfly.” His point was proven when Lark jabbed Tommy in the chest with one finger, and his shoulders slumped as he finally admitted defeat and walked away.
Lark returned to the table, looking none the worse for wear. “Apparently Tommy thinks persistence is romantic. I corrected that misconception for him.”
“Good for you.” Everett lifted his pint glass and tapped it against hers. “Because the cavalry was about to march in to rescue you.”
Lark, of course, misinterpreted his comment. “Wrennie, you know I can handle Tommy.”
Everett quickly corrected her. “Oh no.” He placed his hand on Grayson’s shoulder. “Gray is the knight in shining armor I was referring to.”
Lark’s confusion was almost palpable—which was a problem.
This was why Wren didn’t want to stick around tonight, and why she definitely didn’t want to join them at their table. Her sister didn’t have enough information about the festival to react appropriately.
And whose fault is that?
Wren had held back way too much, and now it was biting her in the ass.
Grayson studied Lark, his expression matching her sister’s confusion perfectly. “The guy’s not right for you. You said it yourself.”
“I did?” Lark stupidly replied.
Wren kicked her under the table.
“Oh,” Lark hastily corrected, not very convincingly. “Oh yeah. I forgot about that.” Her sister sent her a WTF look, now aware that Wren had skipped a few pertinent details.
Grayson nodded, but it was obvious he didn’t believe she’d forgotten a thing.
Mercifully, he didn’t have time to consider that when Remi and Nora returned to the table. Remi was rubbing her foot and cussing a blue streak because Ronnie Martinez, who was drunk as a skunk, had stumbled into her on the dance floor, stepping on her foot, hard.
“Do you think you’ve got a broken toe?” Nora asked, when Remi slipped off her sandal, rubbing the injured digit.
“No. But son of a bitch, it hurts. Ronnie is a fucking menace. The asshole should be forced to wear a warning label. God knows the man never goes down alone.”
Wren didn’t go out much at all, and even she knew that.
Ronnie had a reputation for being clumsy when he was sober as a stone, so she could only imagine how bad it was when he was under the influence.
He’d tripped once on the way to the communion railing at church and knocked down the person in front of him, who’d staggered into the minister, who in turn spilled the entire cup of wine.
Hell, he’d taken a tumble in the library just a few months earlier, knocking over the whole book display Wren had just finished putting up.
“He has two left feet,” Nora said. “We should have been giving him a wider berth.”
Remi snorted. “He was all the way on the other side of the dance floor. A wider berth would have required us dancing outside on the sidewalk.”
The pain must have started to subside, because Remi slipped her sandal back on, reaching for the pitcher to refill her glass. She reconsidered, looking over her shoulder for a waitress instead. “Nope. My injured toe requires a shot,” she said, pausing for effect before adding, “of tequila.”
When the waitress arrived, Remi ordered a round of shots for the table, even though Wren and Grayson both said they didn’t want one.
“I’m the DD,” Grayson reminded his cousin.
Remi waved him off. “I’ll drink yours.”
Wren glanced at Lark, who shoulder-bumped her.
“I’ll drink yours,” Lark said, softly enough that only Wren could hear her.
Well…Wren and Grayson, because he looked at Lark with concern.
“You might want to take it easy, Lark,” he said quietly. “Trying to keep up with Remi at the bar is a dangerous proposition.”
Lark laughed, unconcerned. “Relax, Grayson. I’m a professional.” She and Remi then launched into a game of one-upmanship, telling tales of their partying stamina.
Nora soon put a stop to it, declaring both Remi and Lark lunatics who really shouldn’t be bragging about their alcohol consumption.
“Almost finished that last book you gave me,” Grayson said. “Reserving judgment on my feelings about it until I hit the end, but just know that as of right now, I’m pissed off.”
Wren snickered. “Because the author killed off the detective?”
“He was two weeks from retirement!” Grayson exclaimed.
Wren shrugged. “That’s practically a contractual obligation in crime fiction.”
“It’s rude.”
She nodded sympathetically. “Incredibly rude.”
They quietly debated books for nearly twenty minutes, while everyone else drifted into side conversations around them. Grayson argued that thrillers relied too heavily on stupid decisions, while Wren defended flawed protagonists.
His grin widened. “I’m going to try to stop in tomorrow or Friday for another book, so start thinking of suggestions.”
“I’ll be ready.” Wren grinned back, not admitting she’d already spent the better part of one afternoon creating a list of books she was certain Grayson would love.
“Hey,” Nora said, leaning forward to talk around Lark. “Do you read romance?”
Wren nodded. “I read all genres.”
“When you read twenty-four-seven and do nothing else, it’s easy to cover all the bases,” Lark snarked, acting like Wren was some sort of oddity because she enjoyed relaxing with a good book.
“Edith and Theo’s girlfriend, Gretchen, have started a romance book club,” Nora continued. “Right now, there are only a handful of us in it, but you should join.”
Wren perked up. The idea of a book club sounded wonderful.
Nora picked up her phone, searching for something as she continued to speak. “We meet once a month at Edith’s. It’s a lot of fun.”
“It also includes mandatory snacks and very aggressive opinions about fictional men,” Remi chimed in.
Lark made a face. “That sounds horrifying.”
“Says the girl who never reads,” Wren quipped, her excitement instantly sparked. “I would love to join if there’s room.”
Nora chuckled. “Edith’s house is huge, and it would be cool to add a librarian to the mix. Might help us deepen our discussions if we find someone willing to defend emotionally constipated heroes.”
Everett frowned. “I feel attacked. Gray?”
“Definitely attacked,” he agreed.
Everyone laughed.
Nora jerked her thumb toward Remi. “Right now, too much of the meetings involve Kasi and Remi talking about whether the sex scenes are realistic.”
Remi frowned, pretending to be shocked by Nora’s complaint. “How is that not deep? I’m bringing Barbie dolls next time because I think the visuals would help.”
Nora rolled her eyes. “That might be an improvement from the last meeting.”
Wren grinned. “I’m afraid to ask.”