When their server came down the hallway, trying to decide to go between them or around, a pair of women with full bladders behind her, he could have backed up again, but his brain was so haywire these days, he grabbed Freya and pulled her out of the way, right into his arms. Her breasts, pelvis… everything pasted against him to make room for the crowd. All the blood flooding south in a rush of throbbing heat, he clutched her hips and held on for dear life.
She melted into him, her eyes swimming with every reason this wasn’t as easy as they’d both been banking on. As he moved to release her, another pair of women came down the hall. Freya plastered herself against him again. Damn, she smelled so good; she’d hit the shops while he got a haircut, and she smelled like lavender and sage, fresh and earthy and of everything home should be.
Biting the corner of her lip, her gaze dropped to his lips. Breath coming fast, heat radiating from every point of contact, he leaned in.
Movement at the end of the hall shattered what shouldn’t have been a moment to begin with. Pippa held out his phone, an apologetic smile on her face. “Sorry to interrupt. Zane, your phone’s been blowing up. Your dad’s calling.”
Shit. He released Freya and she brushed past Pippa, her hand grazing her cousin’s shoulder on the way by. Pippa looked devastated to have interrupted, her brow scrunched with sincere apology. Asher had described her as sensitive, but Zane suspected she took every emotion in the room personally.
“Thanks,” he said. He played the voicemails as he walked back to the table. Stomach churning, pulse pounding in his skull, he slumped back into his seat. He looked at Freya, “My parents will be here in two weeks.”
Hand linked with his as they eased back to the table, she nodded, “Okay. Whatever you need.”
He dropped onto his stool and added, “And they want to stay at my place for the weekend.”
“Why?”
“Fuck if I know. Apparently everywhere in Foothills is booked for the rest of the summer, and they wanted to be close so we can go hiking and all that touchy-feely bullshit. Not a good time to decide to be parents of the year.”
“Ugh,” she groaned. “We’ll make it work.”
He turned to the rest of the table, “My parents are crazy. I may have told them I got married to get them off my back, which may actually have been what precipitated the drunk idea in the first place, and, well, shit, they’re coming for a visit. Mind pretending that we didn’t get trashed and elope and are looking to have this annulled? But that we actually know each other?”
Asher laughed out loud, nearly crying in his enjoyment. “What’s your story?”
Eyebrow raised in a plotting nod, a little spooky like she was accustomed to scheming, Freya locked eyes with Zane, “Naturally, I’d go visit Asher regularly, and you came home with him a number of times. It was love at first sight. We wrote to each other while I travelled, and while you were deployed, you’d sneak messages to me. Of course, we regularly engaged in phone sex and sending naked pictures. Now and again we’d meet up in some far corner of the world and make love until dawn.”
“Naturally,” he nodded, suppressing the groan as he listened to her sultry voice describing what would have been an ideal relationship, particularly the globally-separated erotica where there would be no pressure to be home in time for dinner or offense that he hadn’t called on time, even when he’d been entrenched in a mission.
“Then the day you got out, you said the word and I came home, as I’d been planning. I met you halfway and we tied the knot in Tahoe.”
Sophie smiled. “Sounds incredibly romantic. And suits you both.”
Sitting back, Grady sipped his beer, the corners of his mouth turned down. Pippa nudged him, “Don’t be such a downer.”
He shrugged, “Going to be risky, pretending to be married. You might not get that annulment if you get caught. Marriages are rarely declared invalid anyway, so it won’t take much to have it denied. I mean, a divorce would be more straightforward since you have no shared assets.”
A pit forming in his gut, Zane shook his head, “I can’t go through another divorce. Even a clean cut one.”
“Just keep a low profile.” Grady took a long pull on his beer, then stared at the glass for a minute. “This isn’t nearly as good as the beer Asher brought over.”
“That’s half the reason I make my own.”
“What’s the other half?” Grady asked.
“Gives me something to think about. Takes focus and patience. And it’s never monotonous. Doesn’t always turn out the way I intend. Sometimes it’s predictably acceptable. Other times, I go to all that work and it tastes like feet. Or, maybe a recipe gone wrong turns out to be fantastic.”
“Did you know we don’t have any craft breweries in Foothills? Nearest is in North Bend. With the number of tourists we have here in Foothills alone? Not to mention the folks passing through on their way to the trails and national parks? Craft brewing is huge in Washington. There’s a market.”
“Really?” Zane’s chest clenched around that odd pang again. A hope that had the power to crush him if gave in to it.
Nodding, Grady snagged a slider from the tray. “Really. Just saying. I mean, it’s mostly selfish; I like good beer.”
As the pang sank into his gut, it wrenched and folded over on itself. Cool idea, but probably more than he could manage.
Asher kicked his foot. “Dude,” he scowled. “You were always
