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“Yes, you were,” she puffs, and then she starts hyperventilating while rambling to no one in particular. “This is perfect, absolutely freaking fantastic. As if having half of the people at this wedding hate me wasn’t enough. Oh, no. My sister had to blab personal details of my life to the other half as well. So,everyonehere can hate me.”
I blink. “I don’t hate you.”
She refocuses on me and gives me a once-over. “But you judge. I know who you are. You’re the missing best man.”
I bend in a half bow, saying, “In the flesh; pleased to meet you.”
“You can switch the charm off,” Summer snaps. “My sister has warned me about you.”
I straighten up and place a hand over my heart. “You wound me, and who’s judging now?” Her mouth gapes open.Ah-ha, gotcha. I take advantage of her momentary lack of speech to continue. “May I still introduce myself?” And before she can say no, I extend the hand resting over my chest. “Archibald Hill.”
She reluctantly takes it. “Summer Knowles.”
A spark of electricity runs through me as our hands touch, and I know at that moment that I want her. It’s a cliché, but true. I can feel it. The chemistry is there, inexplicable but real. Up close, she ignites in me the same gut attraction she sparked from across the lobby.
Our eyes lock, and I smirk. Summer lets go of my hand quickly, as if she’s holding a hot potato, and returns my smirk with a subtle glare.
Beautifulandfeisty. This is going to be fun.
“So, where is everyone?” I ask. “Do you guys have dinner plans?”
“You just missed them; Logan, Winter, and Tucker went into town to eat. But you might still be in time to catch up with them.”
“And you’re not going?”
“No,” Summer replies, glacial, and before I can ask why, she adds, “Well, it was nice meeting you. See you around.”
Without another word, Miss Uptight spins on her sinfully thin heels and stalks off in her tight skirt, hips swaying tantalizingly.
Oh, I willsee you around, Summer Knowles. Nothing better to whet my appetite than a bit of a challenge.
* * *
Up on the fourth floor in my room, I drop off my bag, change into a clean T-shirt and sweatpants, and ten minutes later I’m already bored to death. I could call Logan and join the others in town as Summer suggested, but they must already be ordering dinner by now. Instead, I grab the remote and turn on the TV. I zap through the channels for something interesting to watch and land on ESPN. It’s hockey night. The Stanley Cup final, game one, the Los Angeles Kings vs the Chicago Blackhawks.
This ought to be an exciting game. I might as well go downstairs and follow the match while enjoying a beer and a burger. I don’t bother changing back into proper pants and am half-tempted to leave still wearing the hotel slippers, but that’s where I draw the laziness line. I pull on a pair of white sneakers and head to the resort’s sports bar.
As expected, the game is being shown on every TV screen around. What I don’t expect, on the other hand, is the company. And what a wonderful surprise, I might add. The only other patron of the bar is seated on a high stool, impossibly thin stiletto heels wedged in the metal footrest, and a now-familiar curtain of white-blonde hair covering her entire back.
I grab the stool on her right, unleashing my most dashing smile. “Hello, again.”
Summer turns to me and drops the burger she was eating onto the plate, licking barbecue sauce off her fingers. “Hi?” she says.
A question more than a greeting.
“Hockey fan?” I ask, sitting down and signaling to the bartender to come my way.
“Yes,” Summer replies curtly.
We’re interrupted by the guy behind the bar. “What can I get you?”
“A bacon cheeseburger with fries and a beer, please.” I look at Summer’s half-empty glass of red wine and ask, “You want another one?”
She studies me for a long moment and then nods almost imperceptibly.
I turn to the barman with a bright smile. “And another of the same for the lady.”
“Will you be charging this to a room?” the barman asks.
