How to Ruin a Wedding(41)

“Why?” she asks. “He’s right there.”

“I’ll get too emotionally attached.” I look over my shoulder, making sure the door is shut. “If I could sleep with him and be done, then I would—God, he is so beautiful.”

“I knew it! You slut; you sexy little slut,” she says, delighted. “What’s wrong with getting emotionally attached? From what you’ve said, it’s not like he’s a bad person.”

“Right,” I say, looking in the full-length mirror, adjusting my hair’s middle part. “But we live in entirely different states. He’s technically my client, so if I sleep with him, that’s way too messy. And once this is all over, realistically, what’s going to happen? We’re going to live happily ever after when his family finds out what I did?”

“Lucy, look at me right now.”

“We’re on the phone.”

“Look at me in my soul eyes. I know you can feel me staring at you,” she says. “Honestly, who cares? I think you’ve earned the right to be a little selfish. If you want to have sex with a man—regardless of the consequences or mess—then that’s your God-given right as a woman. If God didn’t want you to hook up with hot men, he wouldn’t have made you so beautiful. You’re actually going against your duty here.”

“I can feel Dad getting upset with your blasphemous use of God’s name right now.”

“If he has a problem, why doesn’t he put those dusty little bones together and come fight me, then?”

“Taina!”

“Am I wrong?”

“Yes,” I say. “And okay, fine—if I’m honest, I’m pretty sure there is some sexual tension between us, but I also know that I’m so deprived of any romantic relationship, something casual feels incredibly more intense for me than it might for him.”

“Here’s an idea,” Taina says in such a condescending tone I instantly try to tune her out. “Instead of wondering if it’s as intense for him, why don’t you just ask him?”

“Anyway,” I say, not admitting that her words hold weight—or that the encouragement to explore Anders eases some of my jumbled thoughts—“on to vastly more important things: How are you?”

I can feel her rolling her eyes. “I’m fine. Bored. Mathew and I are having dinner tonight with some friends. In two weeks he’ll be gone for a work trip. I’ll be all by myself, then. If only there were someplace warm, someplace with beaches, someplace with someone whom I love so much and would love to tan with, that I could go visit . . .”

“Well, hope you find the place.”

“Lucy,” Taina snaps, “let me come visit.”

“And stay where?”

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I wouldn’t want to cockblock. I’d get a place nearby. Only see you when you’re free.”

I chew on the inside of my mouth. It would be nice to have Taina nearby. And if Mathew is going to be away anyway, he won’t be able to say I’m taking Taina from him. As long as this trip is out of boredom, and not Taina coming to rescue her pathetic older sister, he shouldn’t have a problem with it.

Somehow my gut tells me he’ll find one anyway.

“I’ll think about it,” I promise. “I have to go now.”

“Okay, I love you. Have safe sex—”

I hang up on her and exit the room.

Anders waits by the island in the kitchen, sipping from a mug that reads Best Uncle Ever.

“Sorry for the hold-up,” I say, dropping my phone on the counter. “Did a life check with my sister.”

He smiles at that, the dimples at the corners of his lips denting, and my heart speeds up.

“Tea?” he asks, gesturing to a second, plain mug on the counter.

I’m about to say no, because I’ve always believed tea is the equivalent of sewer water, but I see the steam rising from the cup and realize that he’s already made me one.

“Thanks,” I say, grabbing it with both hands, and before I can cop out, I bring it to my lips. It’s exactly what I thought: hot, stagnant, and muddy. I lick my lips and nod, as if it’s to my exact taste.

Anders reaches over and pulls it from my hands. “That was insultingly bad acting.”

I bark out a laugh. “No, no, no!” I try to snatch it from him. “I love it so much.”

“Yeah, right.”

“It’s my favorite drink of all time.” I grab it and try to pull. “Just delicious.”

He chuckles, and the sound feels like hundreds of feather tips tickling my skin.

“Get out of here.”

“No, let me drink it.”

He places his hand on my forehead and pushes gently. “You don’t have to drink it because I made it. It just means more for me.”

“Well”—I lean back—“if you’re that thirsty . . .”

He gives a full-on laugh that lifts my mouth into a smile. “You’re so generous.”

When I wink at him, his smile mirrors mine.

“So.” I clap my hands together. “Ready for our double date?”

“Whenever you are,” he says. “Anything you need from me?”