Yes, while Bethany was totally thrilled for her sister and best friend, she could admit to being a little baffled by how the blind trust/unconditional love thing worked. She might have purported on occasion to being somewhat well versed in the world of men, but truthfully? She didn’t know a damn thing about the opposite sex—and it had taken her until exactly this second to admit it. To herself, anyway.
In high school and college, she’d dated liberally and without major commitments, more focused on getting her degree in design and carving out a long-term way to practice what she loved. When she’d settled back in Port Jefferson after four years at Columbia, she’d started seeing men in a more permanent light. Her first serious boyfriend was a bond trader named Rivers. They’d dated exclusively for six months before she found out he’d been back together with his old girlfriend for five. And thus had begun a steady stream of handsome, exciting, successful men who would later prove to be less substantial than dust.
She’d been on a mighty tear the night they formed the Just Us League, in this very room, as the theater director boyfriend she’d been seeing had made for greener pastures, claiming her work schedule didn’t leave enough time for him. A lot of her boyfriends had made this same complaint. A lot of them had pursued other female company because of it, when in truth, her working hours weren’t that demanding.
But the more time she spent around someone, the higher the chance that they would see her faults. They might force her to accept that she wasn’t the warm, fuzzy relationship type, and in reality, she was kind of . . . cold when it came to men. When it came to a lot of things, really. She didn’t seem capable of relaxation or contentment. Her agenda always seemed to include moving and planning. If she stopped and let herself try to enjoy life, enjoy men . . . maybe she wouldn’t. Couldn’t, even. Maybe some of her past boyfriends’ claims that Bethany was cold were correct.
So, simple solution, right? Avoid men.
She avoided her own boyfriends.
“Bethany?” Georgie hip-checked her. “You’re thinking about Wes’s nipples covered in sweat, aren’t you?”
“What?” Well, now I am. “No.”
“Is anyone following the moves?” Kristin demanded from the front of the class, scanning the room as if there were a hundred people present instead of three. “I’m not just up here for my health, you know.”
“You don’t exercise for your health?” Georgie asked.
“Oh, hush, smartass. You know what I mean,” their sister-in-law scolded, cradling her nonexistent baby bump with a scowl. She turned back around with an elaborate shoulder roll and fell into rhythm with Katy Perry.
“Pregnancy is making her mean,” Rosie remarked with a shiver.
“Yeah, maybe we better dance,” Georgie muttered, beginning the most basic of foot shuffles. “Keep talking, though.”
“Yeah,” Rosie whispered, cautious eyes on Kristin, like she might turn and spew venom at any moment. “What did Wes say when you told him there wouldn’t be any benefits?”
“Nothing. He said nothing,” Bethany answered, too quickly.
“Come on,” Georgie said. “That man never says nothing.”
Bethany sighed. “He might have said”—she fluttered a hand around her high bun—“sex is no longer an option, anyway.”
Georgie stopped dancing. So did Rosie. They stared at her.
And promptly burst into laughter.
Bethany spoke over them. “I, of course, told him it was never going to happen in the first place, so his point is moot.” She searched for a way to distract them. “And then a rat scurried over my foot.”
“Oh, ew,” Rosie said, consoling her with a pat on the shoulder.
“Yeah.” Sober now, Georgie reached for her throat. “I’m so sorry.”
“I bet you feel bad about laughing now.”
“Not really,” Georgie said with a straight face.
Rosie shook her head. “Sorry, no.”
“You two are the worst,” Bethany grumbled. “There is nothing going on with Wes. Nothing will ever go on with Wes. If we make it through this without clubbing each other to death, I’ll be grateful.”
But a few minutes later, when Kristin browbeat them into silence, Bethany thought of how her legs felt wrapped around his hips and wondered if clubbing each other to death was what she should be worried about.
Chapter Five
Wes checked his reflection in Buena Onda’s glass door, giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts before heading inside. He was still getting used to having . . . people. Making friends during his temporary stay in Port Jefferson was something he definitely hadn’t expected. Casual acquaintances were more his stride. But a few beers with the guys after work had led to a standing happy hour hangout . . . and eventually transitioned into this. An invitation to Georgie and Travis’s rehearsal dinner.
There might have also been the bonding experience of traveling into Manhattan like a pack of scorned idiots to drag home the womenfolk when they’d had the utter nerve to take a ladies’ night out, but he digressed.
Apparently he had friends now, but he was still getting used to that fact . . .
And knowing Bethany would be there tonight had gone a damn long way toward his decision to put on nice clothes and call the babysitter.
His gaze found her the second he walked into Buena Onda.
Since she was busy fussing with a flower arrangement and paying him no attention, he stopped just inside the door and allowed himself a few moments to appreciate her. Good Lord. The woman had no right to be so fine. No right.
It was Friday night and the restaurant was packed. Waiters and waitresses in black, white, and red moved with seamless choreography through the maze of tables, dropping off drinks and clearing dishes. Sconces flickered, highlighting the gold walls and framed photos. Colorful scenes straight out of Argentina. Snippets of conversations reached his ears from nearby tables, emerging and weaving back into the overall drone of the crowd.
Wes only registered his surroundings in passing, because Bethany had his attention and that’s where it would stay, mainly to get her all worked up and flushed. It really wasn’t fair of him to take these precious moments to prepare himself for their upcoming battle. It gave him an advantage.
Then again, maybe he needed an edge. Continuing their war of words wouldn’t be easy when she looked like a fucking queen tonight. Bethany Castle never had a hair out of place, but there was something extra happening with her this evening and it damn near made his blood run backward.
Her hair was in a perfect ponytail—and he knew a perfect ponytail when he saw one. Laura pointed them out on the Disney Channel stars constantly. See, Uncle Wes. That’s what a ponytail looks like. Not what you do.
All right, so his technique was a work in progress.
Bethany’s smooth waterfall of blond hair brushed the center of her bare back, drawing Wes’s attention to her delicate shoulders, only a slim strap of ice blue decorating them. Silk. She was wearing silk and Wes could hear the sound of it brushing her glowing skin. The hem of the dress met her knees, but the modest length did nothing to curtail his hungry thoughts. How many nights had he lain awake in bed, imagining himself standing behind Bethany, gathering her dress in his hands while exploring the curve of her neck with his tongue?