Something soft pressed into Bethany’s hand and she looked down to find Wes passing her a cloth napkin. “Oh, but it’ll ruin the table’s flow,” she mumbled, fanning her eyes. “You’re behind me. How did you know I was crying?”
“Maybe you’re not the only one who notices things, darlin’.”
Even as his low tone blew an unwanted shiver down her spine, Bethany turned slightly to slide him some side-eye. It was her default where Wes was concerned. Sighing in the face of her skepticism, Wes took off his cowboy hat and dropped it on the table. “Fine. Your ass was clenched.”
A surprise laugh rocketed its way out of Bethany. She threw the napkin at Wes and he caught it in midair. “Idiot.”
As Bethany went to greet her sister, she couldn’t help but notice the tears no longer threatened to erupt from her eyeballs. Wes had said the exact right thing. By accident, of course. And wow. Her standards must be dropping at an exponential rate if that jackass admitting he’d been staring at her ass was now the right thing to say.
Her man hiatus was responsible for this attraction to Wes. It had to be. Maybe it was time to consider getting back on the market. Because if she continued at this rate, she might actually start considering one of Wes’s not-so-subtle invitations to jump each other’s bones—and that surmounted to the worst idea in life. In history.
Not happening. Never happening.
Even if she didn’t hate him, even if he wasn’t seven years her junior, Wes was messy. Not literally. Gun to her head, she could admit he actually cleaned up pretty well. Very well, in fact. The removal of his cowboy hat had revealed his shock of dirty-blond hair that never seemed to fall in the same direction, amber eyes that held a perpetual humorous twinkle, and richly sun-loved skin that called to mind farmer tans and Texas back roads and—what was she doing? Writing lyrics for a country-western song now?
The man’s attractiveness was neither here nor there.
The real problem was, Wes knew she wasn’t perfect and put together and effortless. She hadn’t fooled him, not for a second—and that was unacceptable. His awareness of her faults was one of the main reasons Bethany had such a hard time believing he was actually interested and not just amusing himself with an older woman who could play a decent game of hard to get. But did he actually want to catch her? His irreverence made it so hard to tell.
Okay, so he had gotten hard for her when she’d jumped him to avoid the rat.
Wouldn’t a stiff breeze make a twenty-three-year-old hard?
Stop thinking about erections at your sister’s rehearsal dinner.
“Georgie,” Bethany breathed, finally having reached her sister. At the sight of Georgie dressed to the nines, hot moisture crowded the backs of her eyelids again and she almost wished for another inappropriate comment from Wes before she caught herself. “You look magical.”
“Did you have something to do with this?” Travis asked at her elbow, sounding as if he’d slipped into a daze. “How am I supposed to sit through a three-hour dinner with her looking like that?”
Georgie poked her fiancé. “You’re talking about me like I’m not here.”
“You’re not here. You’re a hologram. That belief is the only thing that’s going to keep my hands off you.” Travis dragged a hand down his face. “Can we move this dinner along, please?”
Unable to keep the smugness off her face, Bethany wedged herself in between the bride- and groom-to-be and guided them toward the table, standing behind their place settings. “Everyone, please take your seats.” She snapped a look at the college-student waiter and he lurched forward, pouring champagne into everyone’s glasses, one by one. When the final flute was bubbling with Dom Pérignon, she picked up her own and held it high. “Stephen gets to say his piece as the best man at the reception, so it’s only fair that I get to put in my two cents now.”
She sniffed, shooting playful dagger eyes at her older brother, who mostly looked confused as to why he’d been seated three spots away from his wife.
“It’s no secret that it took me a while to warm up to Travis. Decades. I’m still reserving the tiniest bit of judgment. We’re, like, ninety percent there.” She patted her future brother-in-law on the shoulder. “However. I am one hundred percent positive that no one else could make my sister this happy. Or get her, quite like Travis. They’re a match made in heaven and I’m definitely not bitter about being the last single Castle. Pay no attention to my mile-long therapy bill.” Bethany squeezed them close, emotion catching her in the throat. “On a serious note, I’m so happy for you both. I mean that. This is what the real thing looks like.” She raised her glass a touch higher. “To Travis and Georgie.”
“To Travis and Georgie,” repeated everyone.
Bethany eased out from between the future newlyweds and took her seat, enjoying the way conversation unfolded around her naturally, drinks being refilled before they were fully empty. The evening had been set into motion without a hitch. Second by second, the tension in her chest eased until she was once again all too aware of the man sitting beside her.
“Nice speech,” Wes drawled. “If I didn’t know better, I’d almost be fooled into thinking you have a heart.”
“Oh, but I do. In the same place as yours.” She sipped her champagne. “It’s located about nine inches below where your brain should be.” He opened his mouth to respond, but Bethany cut him off. “If you make a ‘nine inches’ joke, I’ll dump candle wax on your head.”
“Damn, girl, that’s kinky as hell.” He winked. “I like it.”
She ground her back teeth. “Is this why you wanted to sit next to me? So you could poke me all night?”
He bit his lip.
Bethany pinched her eyes shut. “Say it and die.”
Wes leaned back in his chair, wisely refraining from another innuendo. Yet she still couldn’t keep her knee from bouncing beneath the table. Why did this man thwart her composure like this? No one else could get under her skin with such efficiency. Or scramble her brain with a well-placed grin.
A grin that said, I see your flaws. I see them all.
God, she couldn’t stand him.
As if it wasn’t bad enough that Wes seemed to see straight through her, it was impossible to reconcile all of his moving parts (thank goodness she hadn’t said that out loud). According to Stephen . . . and perhaps some Web sleuthing, Wes was a good ol’ boy with a wild streak. She’d confirmed that one evening after too much wine via his long-neglected Instagram account, which was essentially just photo upon photo of him riding bulls, being treated for injuries in the ER—usually with a thumbs-up and a smile—or pounding a pint while his buddies egged him on in the background.
Such evidence should validate her utter dislike of Wes. She’d dated irreverent party guys who could become the center of her universe simply by being the most interesting dude at the bar. She was past men like that. They never failed to turn into bitter douchebags when they weren’t the center of attention.
And yet.
He’d come to Port Jefferson to raise his niece.
He didn’t seem to want a cookie for it, either.
Curious.