How to Ruin a Wedding(39)

But when I see Anders, my brain doesn’t move on to the next thought, it only burns with the feeling of finding him so sexy it feels like the world might end if I can’t have him inside me.

And it’s the first time I’ve felt it in such an all-consuming wave. The attraction runs deep—visceral, bone deep, and between my legs.

Just my luck it’s for the most unreadable, unattainable man I’ve ever met.

I push harder. It’s not enough to move him, but he blinks, then pulls back, righting me to stand, before stepping away. My knees buckle, and he swoops in again, wrapping an arm around me.

“How much did you drink?” he asks, mistaking my shaky legs for drunkenness rather than lust. He leads me to the bench, sits me down, and leans in, fingers massaging through my hair, pulling out tiny strands. After the second pass, I notice wood chips under his nails before he flicks them away.

I chew my lip, gaze down. Each time he leans in, his scent orbits me, and the warmth from my cheeks spreads and spreads.

“Do you feel okay?” he asks.

“Why are you here on your own?” he asks.

“Are you upset with me?” he asks.

His fingers pause their exploration. “Are you on a silent strike?”

“No,” I say. “I’m just trying not to embarrass myself.”

His hands slide to my cheeks, thumbs pressing into the high points. “What are you talking about?”

“I know with how you met me, this silly little job, and my failure to actually do it right before—you may think I don’t have any pride. But there’s a sliver of it left. And there are only so many times I can be drunk in front of you before you start thinking I have a problem.”

His brows furrow. “Don’t speak for me,” he says. Firm, not argumentative, but close. “The only thing I have a problem with is you being out after midnight, drunk and alone, not answering your phone. You’re not from around here, you don’t know anyone—you should’ve called me.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I know that I don’t,” he says. “Is it a problem that I do?”

“I think we had this discussion when you took me out to dinner, and it feels like you’re disregarding that.”

“No. I believe I said, ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’ And I have. And I don’t think caring about your safety is as big a deal as you’re making it out to be. You should expect basic human decency and concern from other people.”

Something tightens in my chest.

It’s not that I don’t deserve it, but that I’ve gotten used to not expecting it. It’s been a while since I’ve been in a real relationship, and the ones I was in before didn’t offer much care. There was a turning point for me, a pivotal moment in my life’s path of failed relationships and excessive self-deprecation, where I learned to view care from others as a luxury, not a bare-minimum act from another human being.

Right. Good. It’s not a big deal to him. Just human decency. Which means it shouldn’t be for me. Good. Great.

The warmth that enveloped me quickly cools off. Every time I think I’m getting mixed signals, Anders is quick to remind me that this is just how he is.

It’s me and my eager little heart and imaginative mind that muddle things.

“Okay, then.” I wave him off, removing his hands from my face. “I am drunk. I got drunk with your sister, and I think she really likes me.”

“Of course she does,” he says, settling beside me on the bench. “She cursed me out for leaving you out here on your own—despite me not knowing you were here at all.”

I laugh. “Oh, she’s so far gone.”

“If”—he points a finger right at my nose—“you end up on some drunken excursion again, you call me. Okay?”

I press the tip of my finger to his. “Okay.”

He leans his head back and takes a deep breath. “It is a nice night.”

Nice enough that he pulls up the sleeves of his black top, and I know I should tear my gaze away a moment after I catch it snagging on the veins wrapped around his arms like knotted rope.

“She invited us on a double date,” I say, since business is the only reason I’m here. “It’s progress. And I think she likes me, but she’s a little bit suspicious of me too. She doesn’t know exactly why, but she knows I don’t exactly fit with you.”

“Says who?” Anders frowns.

I decide, right now, that every time Anders gives me a round of butterflies, I have to deflect and move on quickly. He sends them fluttering in the pit of my stomach too easily for me to maintain focus. Better to just breeze past every moment.

“We’re going to some billiards place tomorrow. I didn’t get much of a feel for John when he came to get Valerie—it was too quick—but I’d like to speak to him more when we meet.” I lean in. “Would you make your girlfriend share her location with you?”

“Is she going on a trip?”

“No, just in general. To keep an eye on her.”

“Well.” He scratches his neck. “I’m not sure. I wouldn’t think to ask for that unless I was worried she was going places she shouldn’t be. And if I didn’t trust her, I’d probably just want to separate before doing that.”