“Are you checking out my girls?” Please say yes.
His mouth curves into a half-smile as he shakes his head. “Um, no.” He indicates my staff ID with a tip of his chin. “It looks a little like Hog-gen.”
“It’s not.” I take the lanyard from around my neck, and stuff my tell-tale ID into my bag. “So, let’s talk about the wedding…”
“You’re fine with it going ahead? I thought last night, maybe you weren’t…”
Oh, that’s right. I “admitted” to being into his brother—not sure what I was thinking there. “Well, it’s not like we can do anything about it. Byron and Isabella have already set a date. They’ve chosen the bridal party. You’re the best man and I’m the maid of honour.”
It’s sad how tickled I am to say that out loud.
“Yeah, you’re right.” From the hardness in his voice, I can tell he’s clammed up. The tight set of his mouth speaks volumes about his continued feelings for the bride. “You contacted the church yet?”
Oh, shit. I knew I forgot something. “I’m calling them today.”
He nods, pouring himself a glass of water, watching the action with blue eyes hooded by long, light brown lashes. After politely thanking the waitress for bringing his double shot of espresso, he takes a long sip like he wants to finish it and get out of here quickly. I half expect him to call the waitress back to cancel his food order. And I start to fear that my chance to get closer to Keats McAllister is slipping through my fingers.
I study his face, trying to read him. How can I get him to stay and talk to me? “What exactly do you want to happen with Isabella.”
I must have sounded properly sympathetic because he lifts his gaze straight to meet my eyes. “I want my girlfriend back.”
My throat tightens, threatening to choke me as something inside my chest constricts. Ouch. I’m so stupid. What did I expect? He only seemed interested in me last night when he thought I wasn’t so keen on the wedding going ahead. My instincts tell me to get up and run, because if this hurts now, it will only get worse the more time I spend with him.
I reach for my bag, but another idea comes to me before I can touch it. What if, for a change, I don’t run away from possible rejection? What if I see where this goes, maybe get Keats McAllister in my bed, and get him out of my system? Because, frankly, a crush since Year 7 is way too long. This unrequited stuff is bullshit.
And this isn’t high school. It’s not like I want to marry him, or anyone, anymore. I may not be cut out for close romantic relationships, but that doesn’t mean I can’t just have fun with him. He’s more of a jerk in person than I ever imagined. Maybe, if nothing else, time together would cure me of my infatuation?
I don my emotional armour and pretend his feelings for Isabella don’t hurt me. “So, you don’t want me to call the church?”
He shakes his head, absently running a finger along his almost beard. And suddenly I am fixating on his expressive hands that move and touch the handle of his cup and the table when he talks. “We can’t be that obvious. No, we need to plan the wedding like it’s going to happen. It’ll have to be Isabella and Byron’s decision not to get married.”
I shift in my seat, uncomfortable with the whole thing. Is he really planning to break up his brother and Isabella? “I thought you weren’t in love with her? Byron asked you flat out at the reunion, and you couldn’t answer.”
Keats’ brows shoot up. “You know about that?”
I nod with a sarcastic stretch of lips. “Everybody at the reunion heard that.” And he obviously hadn’t noticed me standing just a few feet away while he and his brother had fought over Isabella.
His eyes narrow like he’s trying to access that memory of me but can’t. “Well, I didn’t know if I was in love then,” he justifies, “but I’ve never been this messed up at getting dumped before—not that I’ve been dumped a lot, mind you. But I can’t eat…I can’t sleep…my work is going down the toilet…That’s love, right?”
Or hurt male pride. I don’t answer but I notice that his cheeks do look a little gaunt.
“Isn’t that how you’re feeling right now? Isn’t this just eating away at you?” He leans forward, forearms resting on the edge of the table top, fingers steepled in the middle, touching his chin.
I nod, even though the cause of my pain is not his brother’s feelings for Isabella. We pause while the waitress lowers our food before us.
Good. I’m starving.
I pick up my fork and start but Keats just glances at his club sandwich with little interest. I sit up, put my fork down and stop shovelling the lettuce into my mouth.
“So, this isn’t totally insane, right?” His eyes capture mine. The invitation in them for a roll between the sheets, unintended or not, pulls me in.
“Yes.” I belatedly realise that I said that word out loud. I was merely responding to the proposition in his eyes. Great. Now he thinks I agree with his crazy plan to break up Isabella and Byron.
A wide, relieved grin cracks his features, transforming his intense expression into a boyish one. He picks up one of the triangle-shaped sandwiches on his plate and takes a bite. I don’t know why I’m relieved—probably because now I can continue attacking my rabbit food again.
“All right,” he resumes after chewing and a forced swallow. “Byron sometimes comes home on weekends. I’ll work on him; you work
