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“And you? Ringleader of the Bitches? What proof do you want?” he demands of Paisley. “Want to know Janey’s favorite drink? Red Bull—strawberry apricot flavor. Toothbrush? Purple. Sleeps? Middle of the bed. Tattoo? Right here on her hip. It’s my good luck charm, and every time I think of her, I like to grab ahold of it.” He echoes his words with action, firmly gripping my hip right over my flower tattoo as he yanks me to his side. “Position? Knees thrown over my shoulders as I worship her,” he finishes with a crude lick of his lips. “Want to see it right here or are you satisfied?”
My cousins are red faced and horrified. I’m about to attack him and demand what he just described because it sounds amazing, and like his kiss, something I’ve never experienced. And I have no doubt that Cole can deliver.
There’s a knock on the door. “Uhm, ladies?” Uncle Teddy asks from the other side. Judging by his tone, the door is thin enough that everyone’s heard this part of our conversation too.
“We have to go,” I ramble. “Right now. Right now,” I repeat as I grab Cole’s hand and drag him out of the restroom, through the room of people, who are definitely looking at me now, and out of the restaurant.
“Janey Susannah Williams,” Dad shouts, but I keep hustling without so much as a glance his way.
“Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God,” I mutter over and over as Cole walks me to his truck. “What the hell just happened?”
“I shut your bitchy cousin up and made sure that, on the eve of her wedding, all she’ll be thinking about is you getting fucked like you should be. And like she never will be, judging by Max.”
“What?” I screech.
Am I mad? Am I impressed? Have I gone crazy and imagined that horror show?
Maybe all three. Probably all of those and more.
Except Cole’s smiling like he’s proud of himself as he starts the truck and waves to the crowd of people—my family!—who followed us out of the restaurant. The last thing I see is Mom’s frown. She doesn’t look disappointed, though. No, she looks like she expected as much from me.
CHAPTER9
COLE
Janey’squiet the whole way back. I’m pretty sure this is her version of furious. She doesn’t turn her anger outward, shouting it from the rooftops and raging against others. No, her anger burns deep and hot, hurting her more than anyone else.
When we get back, I park behind her little yellow SUV that hasn’t moved all week. I don’t want her to bolt in the middle of the night. She probably wouldn’t, but I’m taking no chances. It’d be too dangerous, and I’m not done with this job. Or her. And I’m not sure what to expect from Pissed Off Janey, but running away isn’t going to happen, even if it takes blocking in her car and propping up against the front door to catch a few Zs. Holding her hostage? Not an issue for me.
I go around to open her door, but she’s done it herself, hopping out of the truck to the dirt, purposefully not letting me help her as an act of rebellion. She wobbles slightly in her heels, and I reach out to catch her, but she jerks her arm away and marches past me, into the cabin.
Shit.
Inside, Janey’s opening and closing the handful of cabinet doors like she’s looking for something, but I suspect it’s more about the slamming doors than a kitchen scavenger hunt. Her heels click-clack across the floor, and she occasionally huffs in annoyance when a cabinet doesn’t have the thing she’s looking for, whatever that is. Probably my head on a silver platter.
She wouldn’t be the first or the last to hope for that particular menu item.
“That could’ve gone better,” I start.
Janey turns gray eyes on me that are surprisingly fire-filled. There’s a spitfire inside her after all, and I’m glad to finally meet her.
Where was she when Henry was being an asshole? Why didn’t she come out and tell her cousins to fuck off tonight?
This Janey could’ve done both of those things easily. But she’s beginning with me. I can take it. If Janey needs to rage at someone, let it be me. I’m virtually a stranger and will be out of her life after the wedding, so I’m safe. I’ll gladly let her use me for target practice.
I lean against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest as I watch her flit about the kitchen. I risk asking, “What’re you looking for?”
“The corkscrew. After all that” —she waves her hand around wildly in the vague direction of the restaurant— “I need a glass of wine,” she answers shortly, still opening and closing things—drawers now.
I open the fridge, take out the wine we started last night, and pop the cork out with my teeth before setting it on the counter closest to her. Janey takes one look at it and lunges for it, upending it in two hands to take a solid swallow. When she’s had enough, she drops it to the counter with athunkand swipes her lips with the back of her hand. Her gloss is long gone, leaving her lips bare and pouty.
“Better?”
“No,” she snaps as she bends over to undo her heels. She kicks them off carelessly, standing barefoot, but when she looks at me again a moment later, her eyes are the tiniest bit softer thanks to the alcohol. “What the hell was that? We talked it through—go in, be charming and cute, a couple they’d all believe. You were supposed to bolster me up and help keep my family at arm’s length, like my own personal bodyguard or something. Lay low, draw no attention, be completely forgettable to them like I usually am.” She takes another drink.
“I mean, yeah, later, I’d have to face facts and tell ’em we broke up or something, but that’s a problem for Future-Janey. This Week-Janey” —she points at her chest— “wanted to make it through the rehearsal dinner and the Wedding from Hell with zero drama. That’s it. Butpfft!, there went that plan.” She’s pacing, randomly turning this way and that in the tiny space.
“That was never going to happen and you know it,” I argue, keeping my voice steady even though I want to shake some sense into her. Her family is a nightmare and she damn well knows it. I’d even venture to say that as bad as she made them sound, in person, they’re worse. “Paisley wasn’t going to let you waltz in, with or without a boyfriend, and leave you alone. You’re her favorite punching bag and she’s not done playing with you. The question is, are you done letting her?”
