Slowly opening my eyes, I stretch my arms above my head and point my toes toward the bottom of the bed. It’s been a long time since I’ve slept that soundly. This bed must be made of angel wings or something, because it is heaven. Yep, I totally said that. I’m not even sorry.
Glancing over, Lucas’s bed is empty with the covers pulled up like he made it. He makes his hotel bed. Who knew there were two of us? I always make my bed, even in a hotel. The room is quiet except for the sound of the shower running. Thoughts of Lucas showering send a shiver up my spine. A shiver I have no right to. A shiver that is highly inappropriate for an engaged woman, but a woman I am, and that man is sex personified, and I would have to be without a pulse to ignore him.
Ignoring the full bladder begging me to barge in on his shower and relieve it, I instead grab my phone to check the time. It’s not too early, so I might as well bite the bullet and call my mom.
The phone doesn’t make it a full ring before she’s answering in a huff. “Whitney Nicole. Where are you?”
When Jessi or any of the girls use my full name, I’m okay with it. I find it funny. With my mom? Yeah, I’m eight years old again. “Momma.” That always makes her feel good.
“Don’t you Momma me, Whitney. Where are you? Trenton is going insane with worry . . .” The rest of her rant is white noise at the realization the cheating bastard called my parents. How dare he? He knows damn well my mother will lose her mind if there’s a possibility this wedding isn’t happening. “Daughter? Are you there?”
“Did you just call me ‘daughter’? Really, Mom?”
“Cut the shit, Whitney. When are you coming home? Your wedding is in five days. There is too much to be done for you to have cold feet. Suck it up and get your ass home. Your cousins and the rest of the family start arriving tomorrow. You are not leaving me alone with Aunt Carla.”
“Mother, she’s your sister.”
“Yeah well, she’s a pain in the ass. Probably going to wear white. That would be just like her . . .” More white noise as she rambles on about my aunt and her need to be the center of attention. I love Aunt Carla and wouldn’t consider getting married without her there.
With my phone nestled between my ear and shoulder, I start picking at my cuticle when a cloud of steam fills the room, and I look up to see Lucas walking in from the shower. Dressed in a pair of shorts and yet another snug T-shirt, he’s drying his hair with a towel, and when he catches my eye, a bright smile takes over his face.
Zing.
Zang.
Electricity.
It.
“Are you listening to me?” My mom’s shrill draws my attention back to the call, and I hold my finger up to my lips telling Lucas to be quiet. With a nod, he turns back toward the bathroom, and I turn my attention back to my mother. A little arguing, a few promises, and a guarantee I will be back for the wedding day, my call with my mom ends.
“It’s all clear.”
Lucas returns to the room, the smile now a smirk as he arches a brow to me and says, “I feel like a dirty secret.”
Rolling my eyes, I toss my phone on the bed and hop from the bed with the bathroom my mission. As I pass him, I tap his arm with a smile. “Not much dirty happening here but secret, yes.”
As I enter the bathroom, I swear I hear him say something about getting dirty and a little flutter hits me right in the lower belly.
Portland is everything I hoped it would be and more. I don’t know why, but since I watched an episode of my favorite show on the food channel, I have always wanted to come here. Not only is this city known for its hipster vibe, but it has this beauty about it that makes me relax instantly.
I’ve grown up in California and know the beauty my state offers. The beaches, the mountains, and the desert are all only a car ride away. But the state of Oregon is that to infinity. Here in Portland, I have a desire to do so many things. I want to take walks, shop, go on a wine tasting tour, and most importantly, I want to go to the famous doughnut shop with the bright pink graphics before and after we visit as many food carts as humanly possible. Yep, I came to Portland to drink and eat.
Lucas pulls into the hotel parking lot, and before we exit, I turn to him and place a hand on his forearm. “I just wanted to say thank you. For convincing me to come with you and for being so kind.”
“We’re friends, Whit. I’m glad it all worked out.”
A nervous flutter hits me quickly, and I quickly remove my hand from his and turn to open the door when I feel his hand on mine.
Zing.
Zang.
Electricity.
It.
“Are you okay?” His voice reflects his concern for me, and it makes me feel good. After speaking to my mom earlier, I wondered if I’d have the guts to tell everyone what happened, to call off the wedding if that’s what I choose. I didn’t think it was possible. But here, with Lucas, I know I have people in my corner, people who care about me and who will make sure I’m okay.
Smiling, I nod and turn my attention back to opening the door. Grateful we won’t be sharing a room tonight, I hop down from the truck with a slight thud. Grace is not my middle name. Lucas laughs behind me, and I roll my eyes in response as I shut the door.
“Where do you put it all?”
Swallowing down a bite of my taco, I take a pull from my beer bottle before answering. I do have some manners. “My left leg, obviously.”
“So sassy. Come on girl, finish up that taco. I need to walk while I eat. This body has to be on stage in a few days.”
Finishing my taco in two bites, I toss my trash in a nearby garbage can as we walk through Portland’s own food-cart world. It was like stepping into an alternate universe. A universe where amazing food from all over the world convenes to create an absolute heaven. Fried food, grilled food, steamed food. It’s all here, in perfect harmony, and my food-loving self considers living here in the future so I can eat all this goodness regularly.
We walk for a few minutes, Lucas commenting on how many crunches he’s going to have to do to counteract the funnel cake I’m demanding we find. Suddenly, a guy on a skateboard flies in front of us. It takes a few beats for me to realize Lucas has grabbed my hand to tug me away from the wayward boarder. But then I notice he didn’t let go of my hand as we walk, and my heart leaps.
Leaps in my throat and down to my belly. Nervousness and excitement run through my veins, and I know I shouldn’t love it. I shouldn’t be smiling like a loon at the thought of a man, not my fiancé, holding my hand. But I do it nonetheless, and it’s at that moment Lucas must realize it too, because he drops my hand like a hot potato.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Don’t apologize. I didn’t mind. I probably should though.”
He doesn’t respond, and I don’t press the issue. Instead, we walk for a few more minutes, but when we find the funnel cake cart, it no longer sounds appetizing, and I pass on the yummy dessert and suggest we head back to our rooms.
“I have another idea,” he says, pausing and looking left to right before turning his gaze to me. “Let’s go have a few drinks. Tomorrow we head home, and I’m not sure when we’ll see each other again. I’d like to relax and have some laughs with my friend. What do you say?”
I shouldn’t. This is a bad idea. Me, Lucas DeCosta, and liquor is asking for trouble.
“I’m in.”