14. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
KINSLEY
“ O h my God, you’re Kinsley Grant,” a tall girl with auburn hair yells across the bar, her voice barely audible over an unfamiliar country song. She’s sitting with a small group of women. None of them look old enough to drink, but each of them, nonetheless, holds a beer, celebrating, I presume, the upcoming nuptials that won’t be happening.
“Crap, she knows me,” I say to Ethan, who sits on the stool at my side.
I’m late, which means the bride is probably half in the bag. I typically avoid scenarios like this, because there’s nothing worse than a girl who can’t completely comprehend what I’m telling her. I’ll need to move fast, and I’ll need somebody sober to bear witness, or this might all go up in flames.
“You’re that famous?” Ethan laughs. It’s a harsh sound, full of disdain. He’s obviously not pleased with what I’m about to do.
“Do you know any other wedding cancelers in the area?” I whisper to him, then plaster a smile to my face and wave at the girl.
He lets out an annoyed breath. “So, how does this work?”
I shift his way, causing my knee to brush his. He doesn’t seem to notice, though. He’s too busy scanning the crowd.
“Are you for real?” Does he seriously not recall how it all went down when I confronted him a few weeks ago?
Twin lines form between his brows. “Yes. I want to know how a typical ‘wedding cancel’ goes down. What goes through your head when you’re about to seal somebody’s fate?”
My stomach pitches. “You make it sound like I’m the Grim Reaper.”
“Just calling a spade a spade,” Ethan bites out, lifting one shoulder.
“It’s not like that,” I humph. “Each scenario is different. Sometimes these things play out pretty well.”
“For instance?” he asks.
A bartender in his early twenties sets two napkins on the bar, saving me from having to lie. The reality is, most of these don’t go well.
“Can I get you two a drink?” he asks as he drags his hands through his shaggy blond hair.
“I’ll take a water. Thank you,” Ethan says.
“I’ll take a vodka and soda.” I smile and add “Thank you” to match Ethan’s politeness. Then I turn to my unwilling sidekick. “I promise I won’t drink three of them.”
“Don’t hold back on my account,” he mutters. “I’m driving. Are you going to tell me how all this works before or after the bride leaves?”
I scan the other side of the bar and zero in on the bride, who is pushing off the barstool, her silver sash glinting in the dim light. But she isn’t leaving, as Ethan suggests. She’s welcoming another friend. After she’s hugged her and the two women have gushed over one another’s outfits, she sits down again.
“I could help by distracting the others with my good looks, but something tells me that’s not the approach you prefer,” Ethan chides.
Annoyance brews inside me. I should have taken the damn Uber. “No. And in all honesty, I hate doing this in front of a crowd. It’s impossible to know how the recipient of the news will react, so I try to make it as tasteful and pain free as possible.”
“Has anyone ever become violent?” he asks, his voice edged with concern.
The bartender leans in and places our drinks on the worn wood of the bar top.
“Thank you,” we say at the same time.
Our eyes meet, and his lips tip up in a smile. For the first time tonight, I think the expression is for me rather than in spite of me.
My blood buzzes like a shot of adrenaline pulsing through my body. The sensation is familiar and yet foreign at the same time. I chalk it up to our accidental kiss and turn away, fighting back the heat pooling in my chest.
I take a long sip and gather my courage. Not so much because of the bride, but because, if Ethan doesn’t move, then when I stand up, I’ll be positioned between his legs.
“Here goes nothing,” I say.
Ethan swings one leg away, saving us both from the awkward situation. “I won’t take my eyes off you.”
The words leave his mouth and burn a hole right through my confused libido.
“You know, just in case one of them becomes combative.”
With a half smile, I take a step forward, but just as my foot meets the concrete floor, Ethan clasps my wrist.
“Your dress,” he growls.
Heart lurching, I freeze. “My dress?”
That’s when I feel it. The heat from his hand as it slips down my backside.
My lungs seize, and my whole body heats in mortification.
“You really should consider wearing shorts under those,” he mutters. “Dr. Tim was right, though. You do have a nice ass.”
I shove his hand away, going for nonchalant. “You’ve seen my ass already.”
“That was twelve years ago.”
I walk away, smiling.
He was flirting with me.
When the thought registers, I grimace.
Shit. He was flirting with me. But I’m still angry and bitter. I don’t want to be. I wish I could be calm and collected about it all and get over the hard feelings. Our relationship ended eons ago, so it doesn’t seem too terribly hard to do. But there’s a deep ache inside my stomach. He wasn’t just my first love. It was more than that. It was pure hurt and betrayal. A piece of my life I can’t get back. He left when I needed him the most.
I push those feelings aside and focus on the here and now. The girl with auburn hair who recognized me doesn’t take her eyes off me, and when I stop in front of her friend, her bright smile fades.
“Tara?”
The blonde turns to me with a drunk grin. “Hi. Are you here to celebrate with us? Mack, get my new friend a sex on the beach,” she yells out to the bartender.
“Actually—”
Her friend steps up to my side and tugs on my arm. “You’re here to do it, aren’t you?”
I don’t respond. This is the worst part. When someone else recognizes me first. Just like Ramon. My heart pinches at the memory of his horrified expression that day.
“That asshole,” she mutters under her breath. “Mack, make it a round of Buffalo Trace. We’re going to need something stronger.”
The bartender drapes a rag over his shoulder. “Lydia, do you not remember what happened the last time you did shots of whiskey? I have no interest in pissing off your brother again.”
Lydia rolls her eyes. “Let me deal with my brother. You pour the shots.”
When the shots are lined up, Lydia clutches her friend’s hand and then gives me a small nod.
Tara leans into Lydia. “You are going to make the most beautiful bridesmaid. Mack, isn’t she going to be beautiful?”
Mack locks eyes with Lydia. “She’s already beautiful.”
All the girls coo. Even I can’t help but smile.
I shake off the emotion quickly. This isn’t about them. I’m here for other reasons.
“Lydia here,” I say, “will make a beautiful bridesmaid someday. But it won’t be next week.”
Tara spins my way, stumbling. Dammit. She’s already drunk, and this shot will only make it worse, so I go in for the kill.
“Tara, your fiancé is calling off the wedding.”
The bar goes eerily quiet. The girls gape, and Mack, who is standing behind the bar with a beer in his hand, stops moving.
“Nathan said you two are just too young to settle down. That there is a whole world out there that you should be experiencing, and while he loves you, he’s not ready to commit.”
Tara tosses her head back and laughs, but when her friends don’t join in, she sobers up quick. “Wait. Are you sleeping with him?”
I choke at her words. “Oh, God no. He just hired me.” “He hired you to break off our engagement? Is this some kind of joke?” She yanks her hand free from Lydia’s hold.
“No,” I say, giving her an apologetic frown. “It’s not like that at all.”
She steps in close and towers over me.
I take a step back.
“Tara,” Lydia says, trying to redirect her friend.
Ignoring her, Tara matches my step. “Then why the hell would he hire you?” she huffs, her face red and her chest heaving.
“Like I said,” I step back again and put my hands up, “Nathan isn’t ready to commit. I know you’re probably feeling like your future is being pulled out from under your feet, but after it all sinks in, you’ll probably feel relieved. You’re both just so young.”
“You know what I think?” she seethes. “I think he’s fucking you.”
Then, in what feels like slow motion, she balls her fist and swings. Before I can duck out of the way, her knuckles make direct contact with the side of my nose and my left eye socket.
The burning sensation radiates through my nose and sears into my sinuses, but I’m too shocked to move. Too shocked to respond. Which is probably why I get sucker-punched a second time.