Loving the Ladies’ Man by Kristin Canary
Chapter 7
I’m going to hurl all over Kayla’s Louboutins.
And possibly fall on my face because I never, I repeat NEVER, in my life have worn anything above a one-inch heel. And these puppies are spiked sky high. Pretty sure they’re going to be the death of me.
“I feel ridiculous.” I stare at myself in the full-length mirror in our bedroom, at the transformation my best friend has wrought. I’m no longer librarian Evie, but sexy-date-night Evie—and I don’t recognize this woman. My hair is freshly cut to just below my shoulders, highlighted, and curled. It looks impossibly soft and I actually really like how it catches the light now, much more than my drab brown color before.
But my outfit, well, that’s another matter.
The olive-colored ruched dress hovers mid-thigh and features a deep V neckline (I’m tempted to safety pin the sides together, but Kayla would kill me) that I’m fairly certain would make my mother faint outright. Although I can’t deny that Kayla found just the right piece of clothing to show off my curves and legs to my best advantage, I can’t help but feel … exposed.
Like I’m trying too hard.
“Well, you don’t look ridiculous.” Kayla is in the walk-in closet, searching her jewelry box for a necklace she claims will complete the ensemble. She emerges, triumphant and clutching a sparkly choker-style necklace with a long drop chain.
I hold back a groan as she places it around my neck. “Isn’t it going to draw the eyes, um, downward?”
“That’s kind of the point. Kidding, kidding.” Kayla steps back to scrutinize her work. “It’s the perfect complement.”
She says she’s kidding, but I’m not so sure.
That’s it. I swivel on my heel and nearly fall over. After clutching the top of my dresser for support, I hightail it to the closet and pull a sweater off its hanger. But before I can wrap it around my body, my supposed friend snatches it from me. “Evie Denmark, you are not going to cover yourself up. Not tonight.”
“But—”
“Do you remember nothing I’ve taught you this week?” Kayla holds the sweater far away from me and I’m tempted to lunge for it, but I’m pretty sure I’d break the heel off her pumps. And on my salary, there’s no way I can afford to replace the designer shoes.
“Yes, I remember.” How could I not? I’ve spent every evening for the last six days getting “confidence lessons” drilled into me, as well as some “Dating 101” tips and role-play exercises in which Kayla pretended to be Connor. (Can you say awkward???)
Except for a few moments that left us rolling with laughter, Kayla’s been a drill sergeant, whipping me into shape. And guess what? I’m really, really out of shape when it comes to dating.
Not sure I was ever in shape to begin with.
Thus, the roiling in my stomach and the pressing need to vomit up the crackers I managed to eat a few hours ago before getting dressed for the couple shower that starts in thirty minutes. Connor will be here soon and he’s going to take one look at me and know—know!—that I am an imposter.
He will also know that I like him.
Gah! I don’t want to, but he’s made it impossible with his cute little texts all week long. Because everyone is working from home until our office building is inhabitable again, I haven’t had to see him in person. (Thankfully, Kayla’s initial assessment about the earthquake was right. Most of San Diego fared well enough, and the injury count was low—a real miracle, actually.)
Unfortunately, I’ve now got a week’s worth of Kayla’s sayings volleying around in my head. (Things like, “Maintain eye contact!” “Don’t slouch!” “Remember to ask questions!” “Stop fidgeting—it shows your lack of confidence.”)
So who knows how awkward tonight is going to be.
My bestie can obviously sense my nerves, because she takes one final look at me, fluffs my hair, and pulls me into a quick hug. “You’ve got this, Evie. You are the total package. Everyone else knows it. Now you go and believe it too.”
All she needs are some pompoms and she’ll be the best cheerleader ever. I smile at her faith in me and salute. “I’ll do my best, Coach.”
She claps her hands in quick succession. The drill sergeant is back. “I want you to spend two minutes in a power pose to get those hormones flowing. Connor will be here soon.”
My muscles twitch at the thought. What is he going to think of this get-up? “Yes, ma’am.”
I still feel silly every time I do this, but I stand with my feet apart and place my hands on my hips, my chest puffed out. I’m like Wonder Woman without the cape (and the whip). Kayla made me watch this TED Talk about how our perception of ourselves can be changed by our nonverbal actions. Apparently when we feel powerless, we tend to make ourselves smaller. When we feel powerful, we make ourselves bigger. The speaker thought that by practicing these “power poses” before an important interaction, we can actually change our hormonal reaction to the situation.
It was fascinating. And I guess we will see if it works tonight.
The doorbell rings. Kayla holds up a finger. “I’ll get that. You still have one more minute in that pose. Then I want you to walk out of this room like the sexy, brilliant woman you are.”
“Okay,” I mumble.
“I can’t hear you!” Her annoying singsong tone is back and I kind of want to stuff a pillow in her face to muffle it.
But obviously, I don’t. “Okay!” I chirp out as enthusiastically as I can.
“That’s the spirit.” My friend winks and disappears.
A second later our housemate Lauren pokes her head inside the room. She’s wearing her usual fare—cute little cycling shorts (she teaches spin classes) and a tight tank that show off her extremely toned body—and her eyes widen as she emits a low whistle. “Where did those boobs come from?”
Lauren turns her head down the hallway. “Shelbs, Alexis, come here! Quick, before Evie changes her mind and stays in tonight.” She must see the deer-in-the-headlights look I’m sure is written all over my face.
But seriously, what am I thinking?
I drop my hands from the power pose and look frantically around for the sweater Kayla stole from me. There, on her bed! I dive for it but the stupid heels (the death of me, I tell you!) catch on the carpet and I plummet face-first onto the bed with a squeal. Somehow the momentum pushes my legs clear over my head and I land with a thud in a heap on the ground.
Ow. Ooooow.
There’s a commotion at the door, and before I can react, a pair of strong arms is lifting me from the ground—and it kind of feels like déjà vu as I turn to find myself in Connor’s embrace. “Um, hi.”
He’s wearing a suit and tie like usual, and he smells incredible—also as usual. His grin is magnetic as his hands grip me fast. “We have to stop meeting like this.”
And then I giggle like a deranged hyena. That’s how it sounds to my ears, anyway.
Oh, goodness.
I clear my throat and straighten, stepping away from him, my legs as shaky as a newborn giraffe’s.
The effect is worsened when his jaw drops at the full sight of me.
“I know.” My cheeks burn as I quickly double check whether my fall dislodged any of my assets (ahem), but thankfully the girls are tucked right where they’re supposed to be. “I went a little overboard with the dress, huh?” With trembling fingers, I adjust the necklace, which has moved slightly askew, then run my hands down my thighs to smooth out the dress.
As Connor’s eyes follow my hands, his silence speaks volumes—he knows, just like I do, that I can’t pull off this outfit. I can’t be all the things Kayla wants me to be tonight. Honestly, it would probably be best to call off this whole night, let Connor off the hook. I can’t stand the embarrassment anymore, so I pivot toward the door, stooping to pick up the sweater that started this mess in the first place.
But then I catch Kayla’s eye—and the eyes of all my other housemates, who are totally spying on Connor and me from the doorway. The rest of them whirl and leave, but Kayla stays and shoos me back toward Connor with a narrowed glare. She puffs out her chest and mouths “power pose” before leaving Connor and me alone.
I stop and close my eyes for a moment. Right. Before I go any farther, I lift my shoulders, drop the sweater, and turn back to Connor—who is still staring at me. But who cares what he thinks, right?
Tonight, I get to be someone else. And I’m going to enjoy it.
So I hold out my hand and plaster on a huge old fake-it-till-I-make-it grin. “Ready?”
He blinks and furrows his brow, then steps forward to take my hand. “Ready.”
“Great.” I turn to go, but he holds me fast. I look back at him, a question in my eyes.
“You didn’t go overboard. You look perfect.”
Surely he just means I look perfect to accomplish my task for the night—make David jealous. Or rather, prove to him and Stephanie that I’ve moved on.
And there’s no better way to do that than to show up with Connor on my arm, looking like a million bucks and practicing those confidence-slash-flirting skills Kayla’s been pounding into my brain all week.
“Thank you.” I say it with a smile and way more confidence than I feel. Squeezing his hand, I let go and grab my purse off the dresser. “Let’s do this, shall we?”
* * *
By the time Connor and I pull up in front of the La Jolla country club where the couple shower is being held, all of that bravado is gone. I’m going to need to power pose myself to death tonight if I’m to survive.
The whole way over, Connor has been fairly quiet. We’ve mostly talked about work, and a little bit about his manuscript, which I’m reading for the second time through (not that the last week provided a lot of free time). Overall, it’s really good, but there are definitely some things we need to talk about if he wants to get it published. We’ve set a tentative time a week from now to get together and chat about my notes.
Connor exits his Lexus and walks around to my side of the car, opening the door and lending me his hand. Every time he touches me, it’s like ice shoots into my veins—and in this particular moment, I can’t help but think of that part in the 2005 version of Pride & Prejudice (which is inferior in every way, except for this one scene) when Mr. Darcy helps Lizzie into the carriage and then flexes his hand afterward.
Not that Connor’s hand is flexing, but mine sure is when he lets go.
He tosses the keys to the valet and gives me his arm. I can feel his muscles bulging underneath his crisp blue jacket as we walk into the country club. When he asks the concierge where the shower is, they don’t point us to a ballroom like I expect, but toward the beach instead. We walk through the high-ceilinged lobby, which features a large diamond-encrusted chandelier and cream leather furniture, and take a path out the back doors through a throng of overhanging trees. Eventually the trail opens up and meets the sand of the country club’s private beach.
My breath whooshes as I take in the gorgeous landscape—the darkening sky like a blanket inlaid with a thousand glittering jewels, the faint outline of the coast to the south. People mingle on the sand, where about ten driftwood tables are draped with gauzy white-and-blue runners. Twinkle lights are strung from poles surrounding the tables, which are decorated with what looks like hurricane vases, candles, and seashells. Soft music plays from some invisible speakers, and the melody of the sea contributes to the peaceful harmony.
Connor whistles beside me. “Are all bridal showers this swanky?”
I’d forgotten how rich Stephanie’s dad is. And this is only the shower—no doubt the wedding itself will be even fancier. “Definitely not.” That’s all I can say, because of course David would rather marry into this family than mine. Although, Stephanie’s parents—especially her mom—were super overbearing the one time I met them. So actually, it’s David’s loss, because my family is amazing.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not intimidated by the scene unfolding before us.
“Look.” Connor points to our right, where a country club employee is standing behind a podium of sorts. A sign that reads Shoe Check is hanging across the front. “Is that like a coat check, but for shoes?”
“Apparently.” I point to a woman who is tugging off her heels, laughing as she chats with her date and follows him toward the tables.
“All right then.” Without hesitation, Connor plops onto the sand and pulls off his socks and dress shoes. He looks up at me, then down at my borrowed shoes. “You going to take off those monstrosities?”
“These cost hundreds of dollars, I’ll have you know.”
“Doesn’t stop them from looking very uncomfortable.” His hand darts out to touch my left ankle.
I’m so surprised, I almost fall over. Again. “What are you doing?”
“Figured you didn’t want to sit in the sand and get your dress dirty.” His thumb rubs light circles just above my ankle bone and sheesh, why does that tiny flicker flood my whole body with warmth? “Just lean on me and I’ll help you.”
I don’t respond except to do as he suggests, placing my hand on his shoulder as I extend my foot. When he slides off the heel, he doesn’t let go of my foot immediately. Instead, his index finger slides down the length of my arch, right where the glass cut me last week. “It’s healed up nicely.”
He says it so calmly. Meanwhile, I’m shivering from his touch. It’s all I can do to stay standing. “Mmm hmm,” is my insipid reply.
After he removes my second shoe, he stands and hands both to me. We walk them to the Shoe Check and then turn toward the party. Time to face the happy couple.
My insides start shaking and my shoulders round off. I crumple in on myself as I place my folded hands to my nose and forehead. “I don’t think I can do this.”
“Hey.” Connor curls his fingers around my forearms, gently prying them apart. Then he tilts my chin upward. “Remember, you’re the amazing Evie Denmark. You’ve got a killer job, an awesome support system, and best of all”—he winks—“a sexy boyfriend who loves you.”
My gaze darts away from his despite Kayla’s warning in my head that I “must maintain eye contact.” Because what Connor is saying isn’t true. Not the last bit, anyway.
Even though, with each passing interaction, I kind of want it to be.
Ack. What am I doing? Why do I have to keep reminding myself that this is a deal Connor and I struck, nothing more? He’s using me to get his manuscript edited and I’m using him to … well, my reasons don’t really make sense anymore. Because was it ever really about making David jealous or getting Stephanie to feel guilty?
Or was I lying to myself? Was it really about having the opportunity to get close to Connor, a guy I’ve always secretly admired even though he’s never thought of me like that?
And of course, it’s at that moment when David looks in our direction. His gaze skims right over us, but then his neck snaps back toward me. Rubbing his jaw, he stares for a long few moments, blinking and ignoring the older couple talking to him.
Dressed in a gray suit with no tie, he’s still as handsome as ever, though he’s gained a tiny bit of padding around his waist and his brown hairline has begun to recede just a tad. Today he’s wearing his contacts, and even from afar I can see his blue eyes—the ones I used to love making plenty of eye contact with, the ones I had memorized, the ones I was sure I’d see on my babies one day.
My insides prickle and I bite my lip as we stare at each other.
Then an elegant blonde woman in a white sheath dress walks up and touches his arm—and he doesn’t move. Stephanie’s doe-like green eyes widen when she turns and sees me. She darts a glance between David and me again before putting on a tight smile and tugging David across the beach toward us.
I want to run far, far away.
But before I can act on the pure adrenaline flooding my system, a hand slides around me, fingers pressing into my waist. Startled, I glance up to find Connor there, tall, solid. He uses his other hand to smooth a flyaway hair out of my eyes. “It’s going to be okay.”
Then he leans down and kisses me.
His mouth is soft and gentle—and gone before I can process what just happened. I just stand there, literally seeing spots.
Connor Bryant kissed me.
Holy buckets, I want more than just a quick peck. And the grin Connor is wearing tells me he knows his effect on me. He lowers his head once more and I eagerly close my eyes, waiting for another kiss. Instead, Connor whispers, “Let the show begin.”
Huh?
A throat clears and my eyes pop open as I spin to face Stephanie and David, who is glaring at Connor.
Oh. The show. Right.
Because this. is. not. real.
Get a grip, Evie. Remember why you’re here—even if you don’t fully understand it. But whatever my reasons for coming, I’m here. I can sort out my feelings later.
“David, Steph. H-hey.”
One of Connor’s arms is still around me but he reaches out with his other toward David. “Connor Bryant. Evie’s boyfriend.” The words wrap their delicious tendrils around me. “Congrats on the upcoming nuptials.”
David takes Connor’s hand and I can tell he’s squeezing hard by the veins popping on his neck. “David Atkinson.”
Stephanie looks between the guys, a look of expectation on her face. Then, all too chipper, she injects, “And I’m Stephanie, his fiancée.” Turning to me, she tugs me into a hug. “Good to see you, Evie.” The woman who once upon a time was my friend pulls back, brows in a downward V. “We weren’t sure you would make it.”
“Oh, well—”
“I mean, I wouldn’t have been surprised.” Stephanie shrugs and threads her arm through David’s as she leans into him. He’s still kind of oblivious—and staring at me. “We know what a workaholic you are. Not that we’d ever ask you to skip work to come to our little shower.” She lowers her voice. “We know you need the money to send home to your poor folks.”
I’m not sure she understands what it means to have a salaried job—or any real job, for that matter—considering she “works” for her daddy’s accounting firm as a receptionist sometimes, when she feels like going in. Still, her words hit their intended target. I find my fingers sliding along the rough edges of my necklace. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” My false laugh sounds like someone’s strangling me.
“Evie, you look …” David tugs at the collar of his shirt and clears his throat. “Different.”
He totally misses the evil glare that Steph tosses his way. She puts on a pout and inclines her head back toward me. “Yes, it’s really sweet that you got so dressed up for our casual little shindig.”
Not even David misses her patronizing tone, if his raised eyebrows are any indication. Just then a waiter walks by carrying a platter full of half-filled red wine glasses and I can’t move quickly enough to grab one. Maybe some alcohol will help this night go faster.
Connor, David, and Stephanie all take glasses too.
“So, Connor, what do you do?” Stephanie bats her eyelashes at Connor, and the memory of her doing the same thing to David—while we were dating—rises to the surface of my mind.
My whole body tenses and I stare into the abyss of my wine. The cold glass presses against my fingertips as I swirl the liquid inside. With a single swig, I chug it down. The bitter grapes hit my tongue and make me shiver because, oh yeah, I’m super picky about wine and this is way too strong for my liking. But that doesn’t stop me from trading my glass with Connor’s. Ignoring his surprised laugh, I drink half of his too.
“Um, I’m the marketing director at Evermore.”
“Oh, so you know Evie from work?” Stephanie leans in. “Makes sense that’s where you met. It’s the only place Evie spends her time. We have to practically drag her to dinner to see us, and I can only talk her into it once every six months or so.”
My nerves begin to hum. I’m such a lightweight and I haven’t eaten much of anything today, so I quickly recognize the heady feeling of an alcohol buzz. But it’s warm and it’s keeping me from lashing out at Stephanie, so I take another sip while Connor, David, and Stephanie continue this inane conversation.
And another sip, and another, till this glass is drained too.
Someone somewhere calls to David and he turns, waving. “Steph, we’d better go say hi to some of our other guests.”
“Right.” Steph stares adoringly into David’s eyes, and I’m suddenly struck with the urge to cry. Because I can see it so clearly now. She always loved him, was probably only friends with me in order to get close to him. And then, when his interest in me waned—when I’d worked too much and didn’t give him enough attention, when he grew tired of my dull looks and quirky personality—of course he’d turned to my vibrant, beautiful friend for companionship.
How did I ever consider her a friend?
She’s just another example of what a terrible judge of character I am.
But before the tears threatening to fall can hit my cheek, I remember Kayla’s words. “If you start feeling depressed, you power pose the crap out of tonight.”
And that’s why, like a crazy person, I widen my stance and lift my arms in a V like I’m celebrating a victory.
But here’s the thing about being buzzed-slash-drunk. It’s possible that you forget that you’re holding things—for instance, a wine glass. It’s also possible that said wine glass isn’t as empty as you’d thought.
An arc of unfinished alcohol arcs through the air right toward Stephanie’s white dress.
Sploosh.
Stumbling backward, Stephanie looks down at the splatters of red on her outfit and curses. Beside me, Connor is holding back a laugh. David is standing there, eyebrows lifted.
And I’ve got my hand over my mouth, my eyes wide with horror. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. Really.”
Her nostrils flare but somehow she holds in her anger—words wise, at least. Her murderous eyes are another story. “Of course, you didn’t. If you’ll excuse me, I need to see if I can get this out before it sets.”
She turns on her heel and stalks toward the country club building, David following on her heels like a puppy dog.
Then Connor breaks down, his guffaw slightly muffled as he tugs me into a hug and laughs into my hair. “That was brilliant.”
And where moments ago I’d been tempted to bawl, now I grow very tired and comfortable as I snuggle against him. If I were a cat, I’d be purring. My hands, which are pressed against his chest, drift under his jacket and glide across his silky shirt until they find their way around his taut waist. As I breathe in his rich cologne, my fingers inch up his back, skimming his shoulders all the way from the top of his spine to his amazingly defined deltoid muscles.
Connor’s body goes stock-still and I feel his heartbeat increase. We stand like that for several minutes, the rest of the party noise swirling around us. It’s just the two of us, under the stars, and I have no idea what is going on.
But I am here for it.
Finally, I speak the words that float to the top of my heart. “Thank you. I …” But I can’t manage the rest. Not without breaking the spell. Not without crying.
He shifts, pulling back slightly so he can look at me. His eyes study me for one second, two, but then he blinks and steps away, massaging the back of his neck. “Of course. Just fulfilling my end of the deal.”
The warmth of the moment is splashed with cold water, and my whole body is suddenly heavy. I place a hand on my belly. “Can you please take me home now? I don’t feel so good.”
And the cause isn’t merely the sloshing wine on an empty stomach—but Connor doesn’t need to know that.