Bang on Loosely Read online

  “Penny for your thoughts?” she asks, meeting my gaze in the mirror’s reflection as she washes her hands.

  “Well, obviously, I don’t know Fernando that well,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “But I think—”

  “Oh, no, not about that,” she cuts in with a laugh. “I know what Fernando wants. He wants me to be more traditional, and he thinks getting married will accomplish that, but it won’t. So we’re just going to have to agree to disagree until he sees things my way.” She grins before adding in a sly voice, “I want to know why you’re getting in bed with a devil. And who the devil is.”

  I wave a dismissive hand. “It’s nothing. No one. Just a business thing.”

  Colette’s lips turn down hard. “Oh. Well, that’s disappointing. I think you could use some devil in your bed. You’ve been working too hard.”

  “I know.” I wander closer, leaning against the sink next to hers. “Unrelated, but do you know Megan Galante?”

  “Yeah. She was one of our fit models until she went on maternity leave a couple of years ago. We’re still pretty close. Why?”

  “I thought I remembered that.” Colette designs swimwear for an international company but hires local women to check the fit before the suits go into mass production. She uses ladies of all shapes and sizes, but Megan isn’t one of the “alternative” shapes. She’s a tall, leggy blonde who would look right at home in any California-girl bikini ad. “I heard that she was going through a rough divorce. You think she’s going to be okay?”

  Colette turns to me, crossing her arms as she nods. “Yeah, I think so. Her husband is a creep, but Megan’s so strong and grounded. And she’s got family in town to help her with the baby and lawyer fees and all the rest of it. I think she’ll come out okay on the other side of this.”

  My shoulders relax away from my ears. “That’s good to hear. So…she’s not the type to be drawn in by someone she shouldn’t trust? I mean, with the mob husband and all, I was wondering if she might have a thing for bad boys.”

  “Maybe at one point, but not anymore. Her head is on straight, and she’s determined to do what’s best for her daughter.” Colette’s brows draw together. “But that’s an odd question, Theodora. What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing.” I lift my hands in innocence, but I’m sure I look guilty as sin. I’m a terrible liar—yet another reason I shouldn’t even consider agreeing to Cutter’s stupid scheme.

  But I am.

  Especially now that I know Megan is unlikely to fall into Cutter’s trap.

  “I just wanted to be sure she was okay,” I add. “You’re my friend, and she’s your friend, so she’s like my…friend by association.”

  Colette studies me for a long moment. “Really?”

  “Really.” I feel like the lowest form of scum. I don’t want to lie to Colette, but I’d also like to occasionally see my friends again.

  My new job hasn’t just sapped my will to live. It’s left me with almost no time to nurture my friendships, get to the gym, or go grocery shopping. I’ve had stale cereal and sour milk for breakfast way too often during the past few months.

  Something has to give, and I believe if they knew what I was up to, Colette and my other friends would support me in this choice. But the best part of the plan is that they might never have to find out—not if Cutter and I play this smart.

  Which means we’re going to have to proceed with caution and way more than two ground rules…

  “Then I should introduce you two,” Colette says, tossing her paper towel in the trash. “You’ll like her. Actually, the more I think about it, the more you two remind me of each other.”

  My brows shoot up as I follow her out the door. “Really?”

  “Really. You’re both analytical but big-hearted. That’s rare in my experience. Sometimes logical people can have a hard time putting themselves in someone else’s shoes, but you both do it so well.” She smiles as we head out into the cool spring evening, where dusk has given way to full darkness. “We should all get coffee or something soon. I’ll reach out to her and see what days and times are good. Monday is your best day, right?”

  I grind to a stop on the gravel walk, knowing I can’t let this go any further. “Um, no. Sorry, but I can’t get coffee with Megan.”

  Colette turns to me with a puzzled expression. “Why not?”

  “Um, I…” Fork it all, I can’t think of a good excuse. The only lie that leaps to mind is a bad lie, the lie I haven’t fully committed to, but that I nevertheless find springing to my lips, “Cutter. We, um… We might be…”

  Colette’s brows lift. “You might be…”

  “Dating,” I say, forcing a smile as I splay my fingers wide in a ta-da motion. “We’re dating.”

  “What?”

  “Secretly,” I add. “Until we decide how to tell everyone.”

  Her brows continue their upward trajectory, disappearing beneath her fringe bangs before snapping back to pinch together above her eyes. “This is why you were asking about Megan? Because she and Cutter used to date?”

  “Sort of,” I say, my shoulders hunching. “And because of the other stuff I said, too. I really do hope she’s doing okay.”

  “She’ll be fine, and she won’t care that you’re dating Cutter. That was a long time ago, Theo, back when she was still in college. And she’s the one who ended it. Turns out they weren’t a good match.” Something flickers behind Colette’s eyes.

  She doesn’t say another word, but she doesn’t have to.

  I know what she’s thinking—if Megan and I are so alike and Megan and Cutter weren’t a good match, then chances are that Cutter and I won’t be a good match, either.

  And she is so right! Cutter and I aren’t a good match. We’re a match made in hell, and I’m already regretting opening my big mouth, but it’s too late to turn back now.

  “That’s good to hear,” I say. “Thanks for the feedback. And if you could keep this between us, I’d really appreciate it. Just until Cutter and I decide how we’re moving forward.”

  “Of course.” She touches a hand to my shoulder, her lips curving gently. “And I’m happy for you. Cutter’s a good guy.”

  I snort in response. Probably not the best way to fool her, or anyone else, into thinking I’m in love, but thankfully, Colette just laughs.

  “Well, not good in all ways,” she amends, “but he’s fun, and you need more fun in your life.”

  Fun…

  Tonight has been fun, but Colette’s right, I haven’t made many rosy memories lately. Half the time, I’m not even sure what day it is. They all run into each other, filled with work and stress about work and attempts to cram all my errands into my one day off while dreading going back to work.

  So maybe Cutter and I should turn this into something fun…

  Obviously not the kind of fun we had the night I made my big mistake, but an overall enjoyable experience would be nice. I have enjoyed his company in the past, when he wasn’t being a jerk and I wasn’t ashamed of myself for waking up naked in his bed.

  The man threatened to blackmail you, and you’re going to reward him by being his fun buddy while he’s in town?

  No, I assure the inner voice, I’m not going to reward him.

  I’m going to reward me.

  Cutter’s right—I can either choose the hard road or the easy road, and for once in my life, I’m going to give myself a break.

  Leaving Colette in line for a mug of hot chocolate, I head back to the dance floor, searching for Cutter without any luck. Before I can head to the firepit, where several man-shaped silhouettes are gathered, beers in hand, Bridget takes my arm and shouts over the music, “Best friend dance! Shep, ask them to play the song we like about the guy who feels sexy when he’s wearing just socks!”

  And because Shep knows Bridget so well, he instantly knows what song she’s talking about and relays the request to play “Business Time” by Flight of the Conchords to the band. A few minutes later, w
e’re getting down to the goofy beat, and I’ve put Cutter out of my mind.

  Tonight is for celebrating real love. I’ll tackle being a romantic pretender tomorrow, after I’ve had a good night’s sleep and a massive cup of coffee.

  Or maybe a mimosa or two.

  I don’t want to overdo it tonight, but a buzz might be just the thing to help the medicine go down tomorrow.

  More like the poison go down, my inner voice mutters, but I drown her out by singing at the top of my lungs as Bridget swings me in a circle. Shep disco dances next to us, while Colin and Kirby swoosh by doing some kind of jitterbug thing only they could make look cool. A beat later, Colette and Fernando join us on the floor, laughing over a private joke before he pulls her in for a lingering kiss.

  It’s been a long time since either Cutter or I have been in love, but it’s literally all around us.

  All we have to do is pay attention, and this fake love thing should be a breeze.

  Right?

  Chapter Four

  Cutter

  At the crack of dawn, I’m awoken by a barrage of text alerts.

  I fumble for my phone, groaning as I see that it’s 5:45. Thanks to an impromptu trip to the pizza-by-the-slice place in town with some old friends that turned into darts at our favorite dive bar, I didn’t go to bed until two in the morning.

  I’m about to silence my ringer and go back to sleep when another text pops through, and my eyes adjust to see the name attached to the missives—Theodora.

  I perk up.

  If she’s pestering me this early, she must have decided to say yes to my brilliant plan.

  Propping up against the plush pillows—the entire wedding party stayed at Bridget’s B&B last night so we’d be on site for the goodbye breakfast this morning—I swipe until I bring up the texts, squinting against the glare in the darkness as I read—

  We’re on.

  I already told Colette that we were dating, but I asked her to keep it a secret until we figure out how we want to tell everyone else.

  Meet me at the coffee shop on the square at ten thirty after Shep and Bridget leave for their honeymoon. We can discuss the details and our strategy then.

  But just FYI, being engaged isn’t going to work. None of our friends are going to buy that we’ve gotten to that point without saying a word to the people we’re closest to. Even seriously dating is going to be a stretch, but I’ve got some ideas about how we can pull it off. See you at breakfast.

  “If you’re going to see me at breakfast, why are you texting me now?” I grumble at the phone. “Breakfast isn’t for two more hours, woman.”

  A second later, Theo texts, And I’m texting before sunrise because someone snuck into the kitchen last night and ate all of my raspberries. I need you to run to the twenty-four-hour market by the highway and pick up five quarts and get them back here ASAP so I can soak them in lemon and sugar for an hour before I start the lemon ricotta pancakes.

  I snort, thumbs poised to tell her to use a delivery service—I’ll pay to put a rush on her raspberries, while I squeeze in some much-needed sleep—but then hesitate.

  I was kind of a dick to Theo last night with the whole blackmail thing. Fetching berries for her would be a nice peace offering and a gesture of friendship.

  I’m about to reply that I’m on the case when she texts, I would ask Zack since he’s always up early, but I figured it would look bad if I asked my friend instead of my boyfriend to do me a favor.

  I grunt. She’s right. Be back with your raspberries in twenty minutes. Anything else you need, my sweet baking buttercup?

  Bubbles fill the screen and then, Not that I can think of right now, my darling pookykins, but I’ll let you know. Now hop to it, weirdo. I’m going to be done with the breakfast potatoes soon and will need to move on to pancake prep. Which reminds me! Get some mixed greens from the store, too. Zack doesn’t eat potatoes, so I’ll give him salad on the side instead.

  Done, I reply, swinging my legs out from under the covers and reaching for my suit pants from the night before where I dropped them on the floor.

  Zack. Blech. Just seeing his name on the screen makes me wrinkle my nose.

  I love the redheaded bastard, but he’s such a fucking do-gooder. Always up at the crack of dawn jogging and eating salads and spending his downtime volunteering at the animal shelter and driving his adorable grandparents to their various doctor and social appointments. Zack is always the first one to turn in when we hit the bars after a show, never has more than two beers, and hasn’t had a one-night stand with a groupie in his entire career as a top-tier rock star. He dated Nellie, a girl he met through a mutual friend, for five years, and since they called it quits, he’s had two boring, long-term-dating things, one with the lead singer of Boss Betties and the other with the dentist who fixed his chipped tooth in Kansas City.

  He long-distance-dated a dentist, for God’s sakes, oblivious to the fact that one of his best friends has had a crush on him for over a decade.

  Zack and Theodora email all the time. But he still chose a mousy-haired Midwestern dentist over the sharp, feisty, sexy as hell chef pining away for him at home.

  Say what you will about Theo, but she’s smoking hot, and she and Zack actually enjoy each other’s company. They should have coupled up and made some do-gooder babies a long time ago

  Instead, Zack remains oblivious, and Theodora refuses to admit that she has a thing for her best friend.

  But maybe after Theo and I wrap up our little performance…

  I don’t plan on saying anything to her—she’ll just deny that she would ever want to make Zack jealous—but it has crossed my mind that seeing Theo with me might wake Zack up to what he’s missing.

  If so, I’ll be happy for them.

  Mostly.

  I mean, there’s no way mild-mannered Zack is going to know what to do with Theo in bed, not when she really lets loose, but not everyone wants wild, unrestrained passion. A lot of people prefer stable, reliable companionship over chemistry.

  “Gag,” I mutter.

  Sounds like a fate worse than death. I’d rather fight like cats and dogs with my woman than be her stable, Netflix-and-chill couch buddy. I’m on this earth to wring every last drop of awesome out of the experience, not to settle for a compatible arrangement. I want fire and radical connection and someone who will call me on my bullshit.

  Someone like Megan.

  No, not like Megan. Just Megan. And I’m going to make her see that we can be something special again, even if it means running to the store at the butt-crack of dawn every morning between now and the day the band flies to Europe.

  It takes twenty-five minutes to get to the store and back—the produce manager has to fetch more raspberries from the back—but I breeze into the cozy kitchen of the bed and breakfast just as Theo is sliding a giant tray of chopped potatoes, onions, and peppers into the industrial oven.

  “Your berries and salad, baby,” I say, plunking the paper bag down on the wide island.

  “Thank you,” she says, wiping her hands on her apron before claiming the bag and peeking inside. She glances back up, a surprised smile on her makeup free face. She’s still gorgeous, but she looks so much younger without lipstick or mascara. More like the kid I used to tease back in the day. “These look great. And you were so fast!”

  “I can both select produce and drive a vehicle without adult supervision,” I say dryly, taking in the pink-and-blue-striped flannel shirt under her apron and the glasses perched on the end of her nose. “Are you still in your pajamas?”

  She sighs. “Yes. I slept through my alarm and wasn’t sure I had time to get dressed. Hopefully, I’ll be done in time to run back to my room and change before the waiters get here to help with the breakfast service.”

  “Go now,” I say, grabbing an apron from one of the hooks on the wall. “I can take over for a while.”

  “No, you can’t,” she says, laughter in her voice. “I have to get the raspberries soak
ing in the lemon marinade in ten minutes if they’re going to have time to get tangy. And then I need to chop the vegetables for the omelet station and—”

  “What are the measurements for the marinade?” I cut in, looping the apron over my head.

  Theo hesitates a beat before saying, “One cup water, one tablespoon lemon juice, two tablespoons of sugar, and a teaspoon of lemon zest. Quadrupled to have enough to cover all the berries.”

  “Got it. And cutting vegetables is self-explanatory. Go.” I open the large fridge, gathering the bag of lemons from inside.

  “But—”

  “Go, I have it.” I parrot the marinade recipe back to her. “That right?”

  “Yes, but you need to wash the berries first. Fully submerge then in cool water and—”

  “Oh, come on, now you’re being ridiculous,” I say with a laugh. “I know how to wash fruit, Theodora. Go get dressed. You don’t want to be in your pajamas when Bridget gets here. And I haven’t seen you in your glasses since middle school.”

  “I wear contacts,” she says, still hesitating by the door.

  “You should go with the glasses sometimes,” I say, rinsing the lemons before setting them on the cutting board. “Very sexy librarian.”

  She coughs. “As if you’ve ever seen a librarian. How many days of senior year did you miss? Do you even know how to read?”

  “No, I don’t,” I shoot back, slicing the lemon in half before looking up at her with sad eyes. “I was hoping you would tenderly usher me into the world of book learning. Preferably while sitting on my lap wearing nothing but those glasses.”

  She props a hand on her hip, but I can tell she’s fighting a smile. “No boob stuff. That’s rule number two, and it still stands.”

  “I wasn’t talking about your boobs, Theodora, I was talking about your glasses. You never made any rules about glasses.”

  “You’re a mess,” she huffs.

  “I just want to learn to read,” I say, blinking pitifully until she rewards me with a laugh.

  “Fine, I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.” She turns to go but spins back almost immediately. “And thank you, Cutter. This is…very nice of you.”