The Worst Best Man Page 15

  Max doesn’t appear nearly as affected by our closeness as I am, although every so often he snaps his eyes shut and grits his teeth.

  “I’ll drive you over to the Starlight Barn,” Hannah tells us. “That’s a popular spot for receptions, and there’s an area next to it where we conduct most of our outdoor ceremonies.”

  “That would be great,” I say.

  Judging by Max’s knitted brows, nothing about this trip could even remotely be described as great. I’m sure he’s still annoyed about the car debacle, but it’s not as though I engineered the whole thing. “Hey, Hannah, any chance the inn has vacancies tonight?”

  She bites her lip apologetically. “Oh dear, not a chance. The inn’s completely booked. We’re hosting a couples retreat this weekend. Sorry about that.”

  “Is there another place we could stay until morning?” Max asks. “Somewhere not too far away?”

  “Not within an hour from here, no. But we can always put you up in the barn. You’d be surprised how comfortable hay can be.”

  “I’m sure that’s why so many people roll in it,” Max says under his breath.

  I elbow him in the side. “Quit it.”

  A particularly brutal bump in the road suddenly sends me careening against Max. Scrambling to soften the impact, I brace one hand against Hannah’s headrest and grasp onto Max with the other. Unfortunately, Max’s crotch is the body part I inadvertently grab. My body locks into place, as though my traitorous brain knows an opportunity when it feels one. I can’t look. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. Neither can Max apparently, because he’s still as a stone, too.

  The truck rolls to a stop and Hannah jumps out. “Here we are, folks. I’ll give you a few minutes to look around while I check my messages.”

  Now that the engine’s turned off, Max’s breathing is audible. And it’s labored. For that matter, so’s mine.

  “Um, Lina, can you unhand me?”

  He whispers the question; it’s no less embarrassing at a lower decibel.

  Slowly, as if a lack of speed will somehow make the movement undetectable, I turn my head to meet Max’s questioning gaze. My hand is on his crotch. My. Hand. Is on. His crotch. But I’m incapable of doing anything about it.

  “Lina,” he repeats sharply, the last vowel ending with a tortured moan.

  I gasp, yelp, and unhand him—in that order—and then I scramble to exit the car on the driver’s side. From Max’s perspective, I’m sure it’s just ass and elbows flailing, but at least I manage to get out physically unscathed. Mentally, though, I’m a big ol’ mess. If another disaster strikes during the remainder of this trip, I’ll know it was cursed from the outset.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Max

  I already know what I’ll be dreaming about tonight: hand jobs. Quick ones, slow ones, surreptitious ones, urgent ones. And because the universe hates me, the featured guest in my subconscious will be Lina’s hand. I didn’t set out for this to be the case, but here we are.

  Stomping after Lina, who’s power walking toward the barn, I try to talk myself out of my unruly thoughts: There’s nothing to see here. It was an awkward mistake and nothing more. She doesn’t think of you in that way. You shouldn’t be thinking of her in that way, either. Remember all the reasons Dean laid out for you? Jot them down on a Post-it and staple that shit to your forehead.

  When I enter the barn, Lina’s circling the space, pausing every few feet or so to ask Hannah a question. No one would ever suspect that she had her hand on my crotch only a minute ago. If she can put the episode behind her, so can I. Maybe.

  “How many seventy-two-inch round tables can we fit in this area?” she asks Hannah.

  “Comfortably?” Hannah says. “Sixteen. We could squeeze in two more, but that wouldn’t leave much room for a dance floor.”

  Lina points up at the roof. “Rainproof?”

  “Rain-resistant,” Hannah says. “It’s metal, and the panels are raised so runoff is good.”

  “What about gutters?”

  “Gutters and leaders replaced just two years ago.”

  Lina’s gaze darts from one end of the barn to the other as she ticks off her mental checklist. Her inspection is systematic and thorough. She even leans against a post to test if it creaks. Hannah takes it all in stride. I bet she knows a professional when she sees one.

  “And do you have a liquor license?” Lina asks.

  Hannah laughs. “Babette—she’s the owner—wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Lina ambles past me; she doesn’t even glance my way. Her uncompromising focus is one of her many strengths, and as I watch her, I try to imagine the marketing copy that would convey this particular benefit of hiring her. I easily picture the visual: Lina attending to her tasks and ignoring two families in formal wedding attire brawling in a working fountain.

  “How’s the barn powered?” Lina asks. “Generators?”

  Oh, right. A wedding needs electricity. I’d be so bad at event planning if someone put me in charge.

  “A couple of years ago, we ran power lines out to the barn, so it’s on the grid,” Hannah says. “What date are the Jensens contemplating?”

  “May of next year,” Lina says.

  “You’re in luck, then. We’re switching to solar power by the end of March. We’ll be able to run everything—lights, heat lamps, A/V equipment—courtesy of the sun.”

  Lina, plainly pleased with that news, nods enthusiastically. “The Jensens will love that. An environmentally friendly venue would be a huge plus for them.”

  Hannah checks her watch. “If you don’t have any other questions, I’m going to head back to the office before I leave for the day. When you’re ready to tour the inn, just head on out there. Someone will be able to show you the common areas, kitchen, and powder rooms.”

  Lina gives her a polite nod. “Thanks so much, Hannah. You’ve been incredibly helpful.”

  When we’re alone, I turn to Lina with what I’m sure is awe in my eyes. For people looking to plan a wedding, hiring Lina should be a no-brainer. “Confession: Many of those questions wouldn’t have occurred to me.”

  “Wouldn’t have occurred to my clients, either,” she says. “That’s why I include location tours as part of my services.” She motions for me to follow her. “Let’s head outside. I’d like to snap a few pics of the ceremony area. The website has a photo gallery, but I didn’t get any sense of scale.”

  The area’s a swath of grass surrounded by a circular stone path with a mix of pine and oak trees dotting the perimeter. “What if it rains?” I ask her.

  “We either move the ceremony inside or rent a tent as our Plan B.” She spins to face the inn behind us. “It’s nice that the dressing and sleeping areas are so close.”

  “It’d be nice if we could stay in one of those rooms tonight,” I say.

  True to form, she ignores me and takes photos with her phone. A few clicks in, it rings. She looks at the screen and breathes a sigh of relief. “It’s TJ. I hope he has good news.”

  I do, too. The possibility that we’d have to spend a night in the barn, even with a dozen comforters and heat lamps, doesn’t thrill me, and I have no doubt it would be awkward.

  Lina nods as she listens to TJ. “Okay, TJ. That’s great. So you’ll tow it here at what time?” She smiles at his response. “You’re the best. Thanks so much.” She ends the call and does a little celebratory dance. “A friend’s hooking him up with the new battery, and he’ll have it early in the morning. We should be able to get out of here no later than nine-thirty.”

  That’s lots and lots of hours in a barn. With Lina. Alone. “So what’s the good news?”

  She sticks her tongue out at me. “Goodness, you’re a ray of sunshine today. I know this isn’t an ideal situation, but I’m trying to make the best of it. At least we were close to the farm when the car broke down. We could have been in no-man’s-land and that wouldn’t have been fun.”

  Her casual observation sets off a chain
of unwelcome thoughts. Imagine if I hadn’t joined her? She would have been out here alone. I picture her stuck on the side of the road waiting for someone to give her a jump. Jesus. I know she prides herself on being self-sufficient, but she’s taking risks with her safety when she travels. I don’t like it. Worse, I’m mad at myself for how much I don’t like it. “That banana cab needs to be put out of its misery. First, it’s the battery. Next, it’ll be the alternator. Or the engine. If you’re going to drive long distances, you should get your car checked out first. We wouldn’t be in this mess if you’d done that.”

  Phone still in hand, she throws her arms over her chest and gives me a no-nonsense stare. “I get it checked out regularly, but I can’t predict car problems.”

  “Then you need to get a better mechanic.”

  “What is your problem?” she shouts, her eyes narrowed to slits of doom.

  The volume of her voice surprises us both, and it only adds fuel to the inferno burning in my chest. I respond in kind, not caring if anyone hears us. “You. You are my problem. And I wish to God that wasn’t the case.”

  “Everything okay, friends?” a tall, Black man standing in front of the inn asks. He’s wearing chinos, a white collared shirt, and a V-neck sweater complete with a tie. Any minute now, he’s going to ask us to please be his neighbor—or have a chat with a miniature trolley.

  “We’re fine, sir,” Lina says, swatting at the hair blowing in her face. “Just a little disagreement about a minor inconvenience.”

  “I wouldn’t call it minor,” I say, “but I suppose you’re free to interpret the situation as you see fit.”

  Chuckling, the man descends the steps and strides toward us. “Oh boy. You two need to hang out at the inn this weekend.”

  “We wish,” Lina says. “Unfortunately, we don’t have a room.”

  He comes closer, cupping his hand over his mouth as though he’s working out a solution in his head. “We always reserve an extra room, in case one of our couples needs a time-out. I wouldn’t fork it over for just anyone—everyone’s more comfortable when we’re the only guests at the inn—but for a couple that obviously needs to join our sessions, I’d certainly consider it.” He puts out his hand. “I’m James, by the way.”

  Lina takes it. “It’s nice to meet you, James, but he and I aren’t—”

  “Too sure about joining your retreat,” I say, throwing my arm over Lina’s shoulder. “What exactly would that entail?” I can sense Lina’s questioning gaze on me, but I’m hoping she’ll catch on quickly, because this . . . this is a gift.

  “The retreat’s already in full swing, but we could bring you up to speed,” James says. “We do a few exercises. One exercise is called I Wish and aims to get the couple talking about what’s holding back their relationship. We do physical exercises, too. It’s fun and challenging. Sometimes it gets heavy, but my wife and I have been doing this for more than a decade, and nothing surprises us anymore.”

  “How much does it cost?” I ask.

  “Four hundred for the entire weekend. Two hundred for today only. Plus the cost of the room usually, but since it’s already paid for as part of our agreement with the inn, we could waive that amount. I’d need copies of your driver’s licenses and you’d have to sign a nondisclosure agreement promising not to share what you learn about the other couples.”

  Two hundred dollars not to sleep in a barn overnight? Is there any decision to be made here? “Can you excuse us for a minute? I’d like to speak to my . . . her about the idea?”

  James salutes us. “Good thinking, young man. It’s always wise to make decisions as a couple when they affect you both.”

  “Right, right,” I say, pulling a dazed Lina away so James won’t be able to overhear us.

  We find a spot under the canopy of a weeping cherry tree, where Lina spins to face me, whispering her confusion through gritted teeth: “What are you up to, Max?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I’m getting us a room. With a bed.”

  “But we’d need to pretend to be a couple.”

  “For just one night.” I cock my head at her. “How hard could it be?”

  “Very hard, I imagine,” Lina says, a deep line etched between her brows. “We’d be lying to these folks. They’d be sharing stuff about their personal lives, and we would be eavesdropping. It’s wrong.”

  She has a point, but we’re smart people. We can figure out a way not to be around when other people are sharing. “What if we make excuses to miss most of the events? Or when other couples are doing whatever they’re supposed to do? If it gets to be too much, we can always skip out and spend the night in the barn. But for the possibility of being in a room, I say we go for it.”

  Lina chews on her finger as she considers the proposition. “What are we going to do about having only one bed?”

  “Easy,” I say. “I’ll sleep on the floor. Or we can split our time between the bed and the floor. Or put pillows between us. Whatever. And we can share the cost, too.”

  She bounces on the balls of her feet as she considers what to do. I’ve never seen her this indecisive. And I’m not above using any weapons at my disposal. “Let me ask you this, because I can’t remember if this came up earlier when you were talking to Hannah: Where are the bathrooms in the barn? Oh, and did you happen to bring bug spray?”

  Her head snaps back and her eyes go wide. “Shit.”

  “Exactly,” I say with a nod.

  In answer, she throws her arms around my neck and gives me a wink. “I’m going to be the best damn girlfriend you’ve never had.”

  The hair on the back of my arms stands on end as a shiver runs through me. Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. But hey, at least we won’t be sleeping in a barn tonight.

  * * *

  “It’s . . . cozy,” Lina says, spinning around and surveying the room. “That has to be a California King. Plenty of room for us to share.”

  “You think?”

  She puckers her lips and nods. “It’ll be fine. Much better than a barn floor, that’s for sure.”

  Yes, the bed’s big, but Lina’s glossing over the obvious: It’s a four-poster, complete with a gauzy canopy and silk drapes at each corner. There’s no question the bed is the room’s main attraction, everything else in it, from the small antique dresser to the plush matching armchairs, serving as accessories for the outfit. If I were working on marketing copy for this room, I’d use words like sensuous and decadent to describe this bed. Basically, it’s not helping an already tension-inducing situation.

  Lina hops on the bed, testing its firmness, then she falls onto her back, stretching her arms above her head. She’s not helping, either.

  “It’s so big, I can make snow angels,” she says, waving her arms up and down across the bedspread. “This is nothing like the twin bed I slept in when I was a kid.”

  Okay, you know what? She’s killing me. On the one hand, that’s fucking adorable; on the other, it’s torturous. Obviously we need to minimize our time in this room. I plant myself at the foot of the bed and catch her arms on the downswing, pulling her up to a sitting position. “Snow day’s over, Lina.”

  She lets out a surprised oh, glances at our joined hands, then jumps off the mattress, nearly toppling me in her rush to put distance between us. I stumble back, but it’s Lina who grabs my arms and draws me toward her so I don’t fall, and as a result every soft curve along the front of her body is pressed against the hard planes of mine. My apology gets trapped in my throat when I look down at her face and see the flare of awareness in her heavy-lidded gaze. She licks her lips, and my heart gets thrown out of its regular rhythm, pumping fast and then slow and skipping a few beats in between. If she tips her chin up, bringing her mouth closer, I may very well flatline.

  A loud, rapid knock on the door drags us out of the moment, and we spring apart like boxers rushing to our respective corners at the end of a round.

  “The retreat will be resuming soon, folks,” a voice outside
the door says. “Be on the field out back in ten minutes.”

  Her gaze downcast as she riffles through her bag, Lina says, “I’m going to freshen up a bit. Meet you out there?”

  I nod even though she’s not looking at me. “Yeah. That’s a good idea.”

  And frankly, we need all the good ideas we can get—mostly to counteract the reckless ones swirling in my head.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lina

  I’m sure I misheard him, so I raise my hand. “Excuse me, James?”

  He spins around and gives me a cheerful smile. “Yes, Carolina?”

  “I think the heat’s gotten me all”—I cross my eyes—“loopy. Did you say we’re playing ball? Like basketball? Baseball?”

  Before he answers, a large transparent inflatable ball with human legs appears from behind the barn and comes charging toward us. Everyone scrambles out of the way.

  “It’s the Kool-Aid Man!” someone yells.

  “Wanda, quit playing,” James shouts, his eyes crinkling with laughter. “We’re supposed to be the grown-ups here.”

  Wanda, James’s wife, bumps him and cackles when he stumbles back. James straightens to his full height and looks at me. “To answer your question, Carolina—”

  “Lina’s fine.”

  “To answer your question, Lina,” James says, “we’re playing bumper ball, and all that means is, you’re going to be the ball and you’re going to do the bumping.” He directs his attention to the rest of the couples—there are seven of us in all—and rubs his hands like an evil villain. “The goals are to have fun, let out some aggression, and work as a team. The object of the game is to stay within the orange cones. If you get bumped out of bounds, you’re done. The last couple remaining within the cones at any point in the game will be crowned the winner. Simple enough?”