Lara
“Why do you look so depressed? It’s a wedding.” His voice is a low rumble. I turn from where I’ve been hiding in the shade, my shoes tossed aside at the house so my toes can brush through the sand, nursing a glass of wine and watching the waves lap against the shore fifty yards away.
The smell of the ocean’s everywhere, briny and salty. The wind whips through my hair. I’m at a high top beside an enormous fake fern, lugged down here at obscene effort, all to add a little more ambiance to the New England beach. In the background, the Vinyard family vacation house looms, stately and column-ringed, while the majority of the guests are clustered around tables under circus-sized tents, drinking top-end alcohol, toasting to the Vinyard family’s continued prosperity, dancing on a portable dance floor also lugged down here at unthinkable cost, while a DJ blasts Y2K-era R&B.
James Vinyard leans against the table like he owns it. Which technically, he does.
“It’s not a wedding,” I tell him.
He frowns slightly. “It’s not?”
“They’re renewing their vows. It’s not a wedding. And what do you care how I look?” I turn away from him. I should be more excited than I am—the Vinyard brothers are all filthy rich and drop-dead beautiful, which is an unfair combination. You’d think the mega-wealthy would at least be a bit ugly to balance things out, but not James—except I can’t bring myself to care about anything right now. “Shouldn’t you be off having fun? It’s your brother’s celebration.”
The party started an hour ago. I came up with Elena, Bernie, and Fulco, my coworkers and good friends. It was a long trip, but we’re staying at a fancy hotel, all on the Vinyard family dime. Which is endless, as it turns out.
James’s chuckle is low and throaty. I refuse to look at him again, mostly because I’ll stare at his full lips, light green eyes, tousled black hair, stupidly attractive face, and absurd muscles on his chest. How much time does this guy spend in the gym? I’d rather not know, because he’s only a passing annoyance, and I’ll end up picturing him all sweaty and glowing from pumping iron, like a glorious Viking post-raid or whatever, and I’m not trying to cultivate that kind of energy right now.
He leans closer. I get a whiff of something spicy. “You’re Surey’s friend, right? Lara-something?”
“Yep, that’s me, Lara Judith. Nice to meet you.” I glance at him. “Don’t worry, the pleasure’s all yours.”
He seems delighted. “All right, Lara Judith. You work at Bottle of Smoke with Surey and all others.” He waves dismissively at the dance floor, which makes my blood boil.
Bottle of Smoke is my home. It’s a bar Surey owns, the girl that’s getting her vows renewed, married to James’s brother, and mother of James’s little niece and nephew. Cute kids. His acting like he barely knows about the place is beyond annoying.
The Vinyard family runs their little empire with Surey’s husband, Carson, at the top of the pyramid. Surey doesn’t talk about it much, and I feel she works hard to insulate us from the rest of her family—but little pieces of them creep through. Like suddenly, after she married to Carson, all our vendors wanted to give us discounts even though Surey doesn’t worry about money anymore, and suddenly the place is crowded every night, and suddenly important people want to have dinner there, much to our chef Fulco’s constant frustration.
“This is not fine dining! You tell them it’s bar food, no more, no less!”
James must look at me and see a tiny little ant in a tiny little pale blue dress in tiny little heels with sexy windswept hair—okay, I’m happy with my outfit today, but that’s still not helping my mood.
“Listen, Mr. Vinyard, it was really nice meeting you—”
He grimaces. “Mr. Vinyard? That’s the most painful rejection I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s really, amazingly nice meeting you,” I say, pretending to gush.
“Now you’re stroking my ego. But go on, I like it.”
I smile despite myself. “I’m just not in the mood for this whole thing.” I wave a hand at him.
“You mean this?” He arches an eyebrow. “My brooding handsomeness?”
“I was going more for arrogant assholishness, but sure, we can say your thing instead.”
“My outgoing charm is a counterbalance to the storm clouds you have practically circling your head. You do realize thunder and lightning at a wedding—”
“Vow renewal,” I remind him.
“Whatever. Vow renewal. You’re over here brewing up a grumpy typhoon and I’ve come to manage the weather.”
I grimace, leveling a hard stare at him. I hate being called grumpy. Normally, I’m the life of the party, always getting into trouble, dancing my tits off, getting other people to have a great time with me, and to be called grumpy is beyond insulting. I’m about to slice into this guy—how dare this dude think he can walk over here and start telling me to smile more, the misogynistic dickhead—but I force myself to stop. Because he’s not wrong.
It’s Surey’s special day and I’m being a jerk.
I raise my chin, tightening my jaw. “I got some bad news earlier today, all right? I’m sorry if I’m killing your vibe, but you can go ahead and pretend like I don’t exist.”
His expression softens. “Anything you want to talk about with a stranger?”
“I’d rather do the Cha-Cha Slide for ten hours than tell you about my problems.” Which is an exaggeration. I’d max out at six hours. I really hate the Cha-Cha Slide.
“How about this. Let me buy you another glass of wine.”
“It’s an open bar.” I’m about to scream in this guy’s face if he can’t get the hint.
“I’ll give you a fifty to obnoxiously place into the tip jar. Make sure the servers notice. You’ll be their favorite for the rest of the night.”
I hesitate. I’m a waitress by trade and I know how important tips are. Even though I dislike this guy, I’d be a monster to deny the staff fifty bucks. “Fine,” I say, turning on my heel and downing my wine. “But afterward, this interaction is finished.” I glance around, searching for Elena, but she’s nowhere to be seen. Freaking Jams abandoned me already. Not that I can blame her. I’m about as fun as nerve pain from a poisonous caterpillar.
“After you,” James murmurs, having the audacity to put his hand on the small of my back, which in turn has the gall to send a thrill of excitement pulsing down into my stomach. What is wrong with this guy? Worse, what’s wrong with me?
At the bar, I ask for wine. He gets a whiskey. I make a show of yawning, waving the fifty in the air, before plunking it down into the tip bucket. None of the bartenders notice. “Try again,” James says, nudging a hundred into my hand. I laugh, having fun now, and do a really obnoxious stretch, basically waving the hundred in the staff’s faces, before putting it into the bucket.
The bartender hipster guy gives me a level stare, no smile, no reaction at all, and says, “Cool. Thanks.”
I’m cracking up as James steers me back to my corner table. He’s laughing too, which looks good on him. I have to admit, he does the handsome-brooding thing really well, like exceptionally well, but his smile lights his entire face up, making him look less like a guy contemplating murder and more like someone that likes to have a good time.
“That was unreal,” I say, holding up my glass for a toast, which he accepts. “Cool thanks has to be the most insane response to getting a hundred-dollar tip. He didn’t even smile!”
“I’m actually kind of impressed,” he says. “The guy took it like that’s a normal, everyday occurrence for him.” James hesitates, touching his chin. “Though come to think of it, that’s the fifth time I put a hundred in that bucket.”
I laugh again, shoving his chest. “You’re lying, you dick!”
“I wish I was, but unfortunately your display just wasn’t all that impressive to these overly spoiled bartenders. Maybe next wedding we’ll drop a thousand. I’ll let you make a show of it.”
“Next wedding?” I ask, my smile starting to fade as I take another big sip. “Who do you think’s getting married next?”
“You are,” he says, leaning closer. “What do you think, would Surey mind if we upstaged her renewals? I have an engagement ring in my pocket right now.”
“I think you’re coming on a little strong there,” I say, leaning away from him. But my smile’s back. And that thrill. Seriously, what’s wrong with me? I know he’s just teasing, but still. “It’s coming off kind of desperate. Besides, I don’t think that’s a ring in your pocket.”
“I’ve never been more desperate for you, Lara Judith.”
“Nothing sexier than a man begging down on his knees.” I sigh, hand on my forehead. “But alas, I’ve sworn off all sex.”
“Who said anything about sex? We could have a very friendly, chaste marriage. Separate beds.”
“You couldn’t handle that.” I smirk at him, eyes narrowing. “You’d come crawling across the gap between our beds every night like a lizard. A horny lizard.”
“I like to imagine I’d pounce like a very majestic lion.”
“Nope. You’d slink and crawl. Lizard-like.”
“Cool. Thanks.” He says it deadpanned, a perfect imitation of the bartender, and I crack up. He’s smiling too, and some of my anxiety slips away. Not all—it’ll take more than some attention from a handsome man to put me in a good mood again—but James’s helping.
Somehow, against all the freaking odds in the world.
“How come you decided to bug me tonight?” I ask, standing closer to him.
He shrugs. “I was curious why a pretty girl like you looked so damn miserable.”
“I don’t look miserable. But thank you, I am very pretty.”
“Most attractive woman here,” he says, looking at me like he means it. “You’re the most attractive woman I’ve seen in a long time. Why has Surey been hiding you from me?”
“I suspect for my own good,” I say, suppressing another shiver. It’s like this guy knows what to say, which comes off a little too slick. Unfortunately, I like it. “She knows I don’t go for spoiled rich boys.”
“Spoiled? How dare you. I work very hard.”
“Which is exactly what a spoiled rich boy would say.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “If only you knew.”
“I know all about you and your family, gangster boy.” I push his arm playfully. Wow, am I seriously flirting back now? I guess I am. Feels kind of nice, at least as a distraction. “And I am not impressed.”
He’s smirking as he leans closer. “What does impress you then, Lara Judith?”
“Intelligence. Charm. Grace. Calm under pression. Competence. Juggling.”
“I can juggle,” he says immediately.
“Shut up, no, you can’t.”
“I absolutely can. I’d prove it, but—”
I look around before pouncing on a passing waitress. She’s got a bunch of small drink glasses stacked on her tray. I grab three before returning them to the table with a flourish. “Prove it, big guy.”
He eyes the glasses. They’re a terrible weight for juggling—all bottom-heavy, totally wrong—but I’m not about to tell him that.
“Let’s make a deal,” he says, head tilted as he hefts one in his hand. Clearly starting to regret all of his life choices. “If I can juggle these, you’ll come dance with me.”
“And if you can’t?” I lean forward with a teasing smile.
“I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night.”
“Very tempting.” I press my lips together, considering. Worst-case scenario, I have to awkwardly move around for a couple of songs with this asshole before I can escape. Best-case, I get to watch a Vinyard boy embarrass himself. I grin wickedly. “You’ve got a deal.”
