One of two things were going to happen tonight.
Either she was having drunken rebound sex with a moody Navy SEAL who somehow knew the key to her heart was deep dish pepperoni with extra cheese.
Or she was upchucking pizza-flavored chardonnay all over a hand-sewn gown from Vera Wang’s iconic Bridal Collection, followed by a raging case of the spins.
The jury was still out.
She’d maintained her faculties long enough to book a non-smoking king room at The Tumbleweed Motor Lodge, so there’d be a bed for the former, should it happen, and a toilet handy for the latter, which was more likely.
Since she had to lean against the stall in the women’s restroom to keep from falling in, vomiting was in her future.
“Do not have sex with him,” Laurel said, the pragmatic voice of reason.
“Uh, I don’t think you heard me correctly. Is our connection bad?” Tessa jostled her phone in the air to check the signal strength, trying to hold both herself and her bustled skirts up at the same time.
The bathroom floor was clean by roadside bar standards, but only to the naked eye.
“I repeat, he’s sexy like a pirate. Like an outlaw. Like one of those guys who goes willingly into a gunfight, all lunatic unhinged, then swaggers back out once the bad guys are all dead, and the village women swoon and flash him their tits.”
“Do not flash him your tits.”
“I couldn’t if I wanted to! This goddamn dress has me trapped. I’m literally booby-trapped, Laurel.”
Red cowboy boots in the stall next to her laughed, then said, “If I were you, sweet pea, I’d tear my bodice open like a two-bit hooker in a dirty Western and hold a pearl-handled pistol to his head until he motorboated me.” The toilet flushed, the stall door banged open, and a rush of water flowed from the bathroom’s lone sink. “But I’m thirty-some years his senior and he’s my nephew by marriage, and even though that was two husbands ago, that ain’t cool, as the kids say. Plus, he’s a wanderer and those boys will break your heart.”
“Do not hold a gun to his head,” Laurel said, overhearing. “That was pure crap, as far as advice goes.”
Holy shit, help was only a thin metal door away!
“Oh, ma’am, wait,” Tessa pleaded, trying to open the tricky lock on her stall. “Can you help me get undressed, please? Wait, okay? The door’s stuck and I can’t get out.” Holding her dress up without dropping her phone, she yanked hard on the stuck latch. “I need your hands! Or a pocket knife.”
But by the time the sticky hinge slid free and she backed up to clear herself from the swing of the door, the red cowboy boots were gone.
And she’d dunked the bustled hem of her dress in toilet water.
“Oh no,” she gasped. “No, no, no!”
Dripping everywhere, she held the skirts away from her body and escaped the demon stall.
“What’s wrong?”
“I hate wedding dresses, that’s what’s wrong. I hate them, and I’m never gonna wear one again. I’m a prisoner in my own body.”
Rinsing out layers of ruffled chiffon in the sink, she thanked the Lord above for giving her the good sense to flush prior to her door jam, and for the guts to put the kibosh on a loveless marriage.
“I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem,” her sister advised. “You’ve established a reputation for being an unreliable bride. Not sure any guy’s gonna wanna take that chance. Mac was mortified.”
“He was mortified?” She was aghast, the phone held precariously to her ear by her shoulder as she dropped her wrung skirts and washed her hands like a surgeon prepping for an organ transplant. “Was this before or after he sodomized a slut in the room where Father John prepares his sermons?”
“Can you imagine,” Laurel mused, “what was going through that girl’s mind?”
“Probably the same thing that would go through mine. How can one man be so bad at sex? I’m telling you, Laurel, I might look like a crazy woman right now, but…” She paused at the sight in the mirror.
Ropes of hair hung every which way, and she had a sunburn that would sting like mad once the wine wore off. Layers of wrinkled lace and silk that cost more than One Posh Place’s monthly rent surrounded her, the damp hem dragging the floor.
“But?” Laurel prompted.
“But, I feel good. Downright happy, truth be told. As free as a bird.”
“Well, there you go. Reason enough to flee a wedding which included a small orchestra and fine dining for three-hundred immediately following the ceremony.” Sighing, Tessa pictured her pouting. “I was really craving that lobster risotto, you know. Couldn’t you have taken one for the team? I would’ve helped you file for an annulment.”
“Did the buses make it in okay? The wedding coordinator assured me the resort wouldn’t hassle my revised guest list. And they can stay as late as they want. The room is paid for until midnight.”
The grand ballroom at the Vistancia Resort and Spa was the location for the McAllister-Johns wedding reception, featuring a prime rib and sea bass dinner, an open bar, and live music.
Rather than seeing it wasted, Tessa called her local rescue mission. A place where displaced women and children found shelter, free of charge and for any length of time. The mission was small but clean, and at capacity due to demand. Even cramped at three to a double bed, the blankets were warm and smelled like green apples.
They helped people. No questions asked, no payment needed, no judgment given.
Many of those children, their lives redirected by positive role models and sheer determination, repaid the center as adults. With time. With money.
With a lovely dinner that included a six-tier chocolate marble cake for dessert.
“Yeah, good idea to call in a charter service. The buses were a big hit. They felt like celebrities going to the Oscars. In fact, I’m still here, watching the wait staff clear tables as their shrew boss shouts orders and scribbles on a clipboard. Kinda like the boss I have.”
“Funny,” Tessa replied glibly. “She prefers an iPad.”
“She still shouts. And I’m having them load the leftover cases of champagne into my trunk. Mimosas are on you and Mac for the next year.”
“Maybe I should’ve added an ice cream station.” The bus service had come through for her with only a two-hour notice. The chef was paid to make changes on the fly as well. “The Mothers selected classic vanilla to pair with the chocolate cake. That’s boring for little kids.”
“Tessa.” Laurel used her big sister voice. “You did a wonderful thing tonight and made the best out of a batshit crazy situation. Every kid left the hotel with a full belly and a silver balloon with iridescent streamers. Every woman left with a white lily from the bouquets tucked into her hair. It was a happy party. The most joyful wedding reception I’ve ever attended, and that includes my own. Patti’s proud of you. I am too.”
Biting her lip, Tessa stared at her watery reflection. To a kid with no home, a silly balloon was a big deal. It was something of their own, not to be taken away by someone you were learning the hard way not to trust.
“Christ, now my mascara is ruined.”
Older by nine years, and as much a mother figure as Patti, Laurel laughed. “And I can’t lie to you. I ate lobster risotto tonight. So much, Phil’s gonna think I’m pregnant again.”
Dabbing her eyes, Tessa took a deep breath—as deep as the binding corset allowed—pulling herself together.
“I gotta go before the pirate thinks I fell in.” Her billowy skirts were cumbersome as she shuffled to the door, and she looked down. “Son of a bitch, I did fall in!” Banging her head against the metal door, she groaned. “Fuck my life, Laurel.”
“Stop complaining,” her sister chastised. “You have a great life. You’re beautiful, you have a successful business, and you didn’t marry a man you didn’t love. That’s great, if I’ve ever heard it. Now go finish your dinner and have another glass of wine. Then go straight to your hotel and get a good night’s sleep. Call me first thing.”
“All right.”
“Do not have sex with him.”
She groaned again, hating the voice of reason. “Oh-kay.”
“Do not show him your tits.”
“Fine,” she whined, banging her head one last time.
“And whatever you do, do not cut that dress. I’ll sell it on eBay and we’ll take a kickass girls’ weekend to Vegas. Phil can keep the kids alive for two days. Worst case, he knows the way to the E.R.”
“I’m not in charge of the dress. The dress is in charge of me. Buh-bye.”
Lifting her limp skirts off a floor gritty with discarded peanut shells, she navigated her way through the bar, weaving in and out of a respectable crowd.
The Last Stop had filled up once the sun went down, a mix of country and classic rock on the jukebox, competing with loud conversation and the crack of pool cues. A few women milled about, though none seemed approachable enough to ask if they’d undress her.
The long looks and snickers she’d been getting all evening were decreasing, either because the novelty of a disheveled bride in a dive bar was waning, or because Jason was giving them the death stare.
Moving from the barstools to a table once the pizza arrived, they’d eaten their meal in comfortable silence, and she found him in the same spot now. A surprise, really. He could’ve bailed, leaving before things got weird. Before she knew anything more than his name and profession.
His jagged brow arched. “Everything okay?”
“My epically shitty day just got shittier.” His handsome face scrunched up and she snorted, plopping down in her chair. “Not that. Don’t be gross.”
“Use more accurate words then. You come out of the bathroom saying shit, I think shit.”
“There was an incident. Turns out, I’m being held hostage by a dress that attracts water. No matter the source,” she pointed out, eyeing the last piece of pizza. “Use your powerful mental conditioning to imagine that. And I think I met your aunt in the ladies’ room, which was awesome ’cause I needed her to strip me naked, but she vanished after giving some very questionable advice.”
Tessa searched the crowd for red cowboy boots and came up short. Pizza would have to console her.
No apparent care in the world, he leaned back in the chair and did that thing again. Where he stared at her like he could see into her soul. This time, he absently rubbed his bristled cheek, adding to his ultra-masculinity.
“Go ahead,” he said, lips quirking as he indicated the last piece.
The sandpaper sound of that five o’clock shadow wasn’t good for her new mantra.
Do not have sex with him.
Do not show him your tits.
“No slice left behind.” She scooped it up, not caring if her clothes were too tight tomorrow. “I’ll keep bingeing on carbs and chardonnay until a woman offers her services or I locate a sharp instrument. Cutting myself free is a last resort, but I’m nearing my breaking point.”
“What would you say if I told you I had a knife in my boot?”
Freezing mid-bite, she spoke around a mouthful of pepperoni.
“You have a knife in your boot?” She glanced around the bar suspiciously. “Are you on the job? Is there a high-level target you’re trying to get the drop on? Laurel will be pissed if you get blood on this dress. She’s a top seller on eBay and we’re going to Vegas with the money this’ll bring in.”
“You watch too many movies. Who’s Laurel?” Avoidance was a tool he used often. “And why didn’t you take that thing off hours ago?”
Tossing her crust on the plate, she wiped her hands and sat back, mirroring his body language.
“Laurel is my sister. My one and only sibling.” And per her orders, Tessa motioned to Rusty for another glass of wine. “And the short answer to the dress is… I didn’t bother to take the time. I needed to escape.” She noticed his change of beverage, water in front of him. “Are you on the wagon now?”
“Driving home soon,” he murmured, the obvious reply somehow surprising her. “What’s the long answer?”
Driving home soon. Unlike her, he probably had somewhere to be. Someone expecting him. It put a dent in her drunken sex plan.
“Where’s home?” She could divert a conversation too. “And is there a girlfriend, a wife, or a dozen kids waiting for you?”
Sober, the question was presumptuous. But since she was two glasses past sober, and after the whole, my-eager-cock-in-your-mouth thing, it seemed appropriate.
“Coronado, no, no, and no. What’s the long answer?”
She added up the no’s. They equaled free and clear.
“So, picture this,” she said, settling in. “I’m in the bride’s room at the church, the ceremony set to begin in T-minus thirty minutes. The flowers, the priest, and the guests ready to go. And me, knowing I’m about to make a huge mistake, by the way, but not sure how to get myself out of it, as I’m fully festooned by now”—she swept a hand over her body—“a noble feat that took two determined people and six months without bread to make happen.”
Smiling over her fresh glass of wine, she noticed the ink on his right arm. A thick tattoo peeked below the short sleeve of his t-shirt.
“The hassle of removing a dress glued to your body isn’t reason enough to marry a man you don’t love,” he pointed out.
“Spoken like someone who’s not trapped inside a torture device known as a corset.” She held up a hand. “And I already know what you’re gonna say, so here’s the reason why I’m still stuck in it. Laurel and Patti rushed me back to my house, but Mac and The Mothers were on my tail. He thought he could sweet talk his way out of being caught with his pants down, but at that point, I was so furious, I wanted to maim him with my stiletto. To avoid jail time, I grabbed my suitcase packed for Bali, hopped into my car, and hit the freeway. Palm Springs was the first city that came to mind.”
“And then your tire blew?”
She choked out a laugh. “Yes. In ironic similarity to the rest of my day, it totally blew.”
“And at no time did an opportunity to change arise?”
“At no time,” she confirmed, rolling her eyes at his formality. Lowing her line of sight, she scanned the bar for red cowboy boots. None appeared. Maybe she’d hallucinated, and his aunt was a drunken apparition. “But I had enough foresight to drag my suitcase with me. The wheels are a little worse for wear given the concrete’s as hot as a thousand suns, but I couldn’t leave it in the car. Letting Urban Decay makeup melt is a bigger sin than screwing another woman a half hour before your nuptials.”
“That’s the story I wanna hear.”
“Not one I wanna tell,” she said with an animated head shake, then gripped the arms of her chair when the floor moved. “Whoa. Was that an earthquake?”
He smiled without smiling. “No. That’s one too many glasses of wine.”
“And I’m not done yet.” She drained her current glass and motioned at Rusty again.
“I’d slow down, if I were you.” He looked around the crowded bar. “There’s at least a dozen guys in here devising a strategy to get underneath all those ruffles and if you’re drunk, it’s only gonna make it easier.”
“What about you? What’s your strategy, not-a-jarhead-not-a-soldier?”
“If I wanted under those skirts, I’d be there already, babe. I’m only here because you’re amusing. Though that’s starting to wear off.” He checked his phone as if to prove his point.
“You can be a real asshole at times, you know that?”
“I’m a real asshole all the time. Ask around.”
She laughed, flattening a hand against the table so the earth didn’t move. Every customer who’d come into the Last Stop had approached him with near awe, shaking his hand like he was the newly-elected town mayor.
“I know something you don’t.” Leaning toward him, she tapped the top of his hand with her index finger and whispered, “You’re not as scary as you make yourself out to be.”
He leaned in as well, their faces an inch apart. His whisper wasn’t seductive and playful like hers. It was lethal.
“I’m scarier, Tessa Johns, Train Wreck. You’re just too drunk to realize you’re in danger.” Then he sat back and crossed his arms, not breaking eye contact. “Easy prey.”
Maybe it was the wine, but his eyes seem to glow green when he said that. Like the big, bad wolf on her doorstep.
“Mmm, then this is where I crack a joke about you eating me.” Okay, that was definitely the wine talking.
“Would you let me?”
“Would you ask?”
“No. Refer to my aforementioned skirt comment.” The wolf smiled, baring his teeth, and her stomach dipped as she imagined that stubble scraping her inner thighs, his tongue scraping… her. “But I don’t wanna take a stiletto to the eye, so I’ll pass.”
The sexual tension eased with his lighthearted comment, aided by the jukebox playing a cheesy country song as tone-deaf customers sang along, and Tessa and Jason circled each other awkwardly.
Well, she was awkward. He looked like he was used to this kind of thing. Getting hit on by sex-starved done-wrong women on a regular basis.
A sharp, desperate need to pull that shirt off and run her tongue over his tattoo assaulted her, their public location be damned. Discerning the design, tracing the pattern, then following where it may or may not flow across his torso seemed like a fabulous way to spend her wedding night. But it wasn’t meant to be.
Driving home soon.
“I just drank that entire glass of wine and didn’t think about Mac once.” She sighed, the sorry state of her life worming its way back in. “He was almost perfect. I could’ve looked the other way and had an almost perfect life. Finally.” She looked to Jason for answers. “Why couldn’t I just love him and be happy?”
“Because love sucks, babe. And not in a good way.” He gestured to Rusty for their tab, calling an end to the evening. “Be glad you learned that little fact before it ruined you.”
Wobbly in her chair, she ordered one last glass before he grabbed their check. Her legs were jelly and if she stood, they’d probably give out, but the wine was blurring the sight of Mac boning Pink Hair.
She managed to fish out a credit card from her purse, pleased her hand-to-eye coordination still worked.
“I got it,” Jason said, handing it back. “Call it a wedding gift.”
“Thank you.” Swilling chardonnay, she saluted him with her goblet. “Better than a four-piece toaster.”
“I like toast.” Watching him pull cash out of his wallet, she saw his lips quirk despite himself. “Give me four pieces at once and I’ll happily look the other way while my fiancé ass fucks somebody else.”
There it was again. His charm. It came and went like a cool breeze on a hot summer day. And her curiosity got the best of her.
“Did it ruin you?” The loaded question was barely louder than the jukebox.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he murmured, playing dumb.
“Love. Did it ruin you?”
Smirking, he dismissed her question as laughable. “No. Love can’t touch me. I’m untouchable.”
“Is that what Tin Man means?” He seemed surprised, his eyes guarded. “Your buddy? The guy you were drinking with when I came in? He called you Tin Man.”
“Yeah, so?” But it wasn’t a question. He was telling her to drop it.
“The Tin Man has no heart.”
“And your point?”
“He wants one. In the Wizard of Oz, the Tin Man is sad because he doesn’t have a heart. He’s looking for one.”
“I’m not sad. I don’t want, nor need, a heart. And I’m sure as fuck not looking for one. I’m doing just fine, Tessa Johns, Train Wreck. I was doing fine when you walked in here, I’ll be doing fine when you walk out. You’re the one with the fucked-up life, not me.”
“Well, that was unnecessarily harsh,” she replied sarcastically, setting her wine glass down with a thud. “But I get that I might need some tough love right now, so I’m gonna let your insensitivity to my situation go.” Pointing at him, she spun her index finger in circles. “Because a guy with no heart, which is medically impossible and figuratively stupid, by the way,” she added, his sudden grin making her pulse jump, “doesn’t know diddly squat about relationships.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“And my life isn’t fucked-up,” she fired back, trying not to slur her words. “I’m a business owner.”
“A drunk business owner.”
Pitching backward, she gripped the edge of the table with both hands and felt a sticky, oozing substance under her fingertips. Groaning in frustration, she closed her eyes and fought tears.
First, ass fucking. Second, blown tires. Third, toilet water.
Now? A wad of something you needed a black light and a lab test to correctly identify.
How much more was she supposed to take?
Cracking an eye open, she stared at the handsome man across from her. The one who didn’t have a heart and was probably a hundred times happier because of it.
“You’re wrong about one important thing, Jason.” His big body was swimming in front her, but she saw his jagged brow lift in question, the pirate replacing the wolf. “I won’t be walking out of here. I may have to crawl.”
The announcement was anti-climactic. It was her only comeback.
“How’s that my problem?”
“A gentleman would make sure I made it to my motel room.”
“What makes you think I’m a gentleman?”
“Jesus, you ask a lot of questions! You shared your pizza.” Swooping her skirts up, she stood on jelly legs. “Never mind.”
Grabbing her arm to steady her, his mouth brushed her ear. “I shared my pizza in lieu of shooting my cum all over your chest.”
The tingling in her body increased tenfold, his hand on her bare skin heightening her awareness.
He smelled good. Woodsy and strong. Trustworthy.
The crowd split as he guided her toward the door. A catcall rang out and he stopped, glaring at the person who dared to whistle at her. A demure, “Sorry, man,” sounded from the crowd, and it must’ve satisfied him because he propelled her forward again. Her heels barely touched the floor as he held her upright, his arm around her waist.
He wasn’t gentle, but she couldn’t say he was rough, either.
It was an odd paradox and one she should be wary of. He was a stranger, and dangerous with a capital D. The wine might be making her body soft and pliable, but her mind was firing on at least one cylinder, and she knew he could easily overpower her.
So why wasn’t she afraid?
Because she wanted him. Jason Reynolds.
She wanted to forget Mac, and the pink-haired woman who attracted him more than she did. She wanted to forget the reason it took something that despicable before she’d listen to her heart.
Nodding when Jason grabbed the suitcase tucked close to the exit and held it up, correctly assuming it belonged to a runaway bride, she stared at him with desire and something else. Something even stronger. Envy.
She wanted to forget today, and every July twenty-ninth that had passed before and would come again.
The day that made her wish she was a Tin Man too.