Mai Tai'd Up
Page 18

“How’d you get involved with them?” I asked as he stacked the last bag. For every one bag I lugged across the yard, he fireman-carried three. He wasn’t even out of breath, and I wondered what it took to make him pant a little. I further wondered why I was already a bit sad he was leaving for twelve weeks, when I barely knew him.
“Let’s just say I needed to get out of town for a while,” he said, his eyes darkening a bit.
“I totally understand. That’s why I’m up here. I couldn’t stand being in San Diego any longer,” I said, playing with a leaf that had fallen into his truck bed as he sat on the truck gate.
Looking intrigued, he said, “Oh, you have a story too? I bet it isn’t as bad as mine.”
Well, fudge. Now I was intrigued.
“Oh, mine’s pretty bad,” I warned, twirling the leaf.
“I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours?” he asked.
“You think I’m just going to whip out my sad tale to see if it’s as big as yours?” I teased.
“Yes, that’s the general idea.” A last ray of sunshine beamed through the gathering clouds, gilding his face.
“You go first,” I said with a sigh.
As he began, his shoulders fell a bit. “Well, it’s very simple. Boy meets girl, boy and girl fall in love. Boy and girl date all through the end of high school and through college. Boy asks girl to marry him. Girl agrees. Boy and girl plan wedding, boy and girl move in together, boy and girl are very very happy—boy thinks. Then minutes before they’re to be married, boy gets left at the altar when girl decides she doesn’t want to be stuck in a small town the rest of her life. Girl leaves church, packs a bag, and moves to Los Angeles, leaving boy to explain to everyone in the church where the hell the bride has gone. Boy knows where, because girl was thoughtful enough to send a bitchy note with an even bitchier bridesmaid. Boy hears about a spot that just opened up in Guatemala, and takes the chance to get the hell out of town and away from everyone with their sad faces. Not unlike the one you’re making right now, although the gaping mouth is a nice touch I haven’t seen before.”
I closed my mouth immediately. “Let me get this straight,” I began, shaking my head in disbelief. “Your fiancée walked out on your wedding?”
“She did.”
“Oh, fudge.”
“Sorry?”
“Nothing,” I said, eyes wide. “Continue.”
“That’s about it. We’d been together for a really long time; we’d practically grown up together. I knew her better than anyone—at least I thought I did. I just . . . I still can’t believe it happened. When someone you trust can do something like that to you . . .” He trailed off, his voice dark.
“I know,” I echoed, my brain whirling.
“Anyway,” he said, life sparking back into his eyes. “I showed you my sad story. Now . . .”
“You want to see mine?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.” He grinned.
I felt my heart pitter-patter. And also an icy stab—how could I tell him my story? His fiancée had ripped his heart out in front of everyone, and now he wanted me to tell him I essentially did the same to Charles?
Technically, Charles never made it to the altar. And technically, mercifully, we never had the kind of love it sounded like Lucas had with his ex. So technically, I could tell him and make him understand.
Yet this wonderfully sweet and ridiculously handsome guy was looking at me with those piercing eyes and that sexy half grin, and dammit, I wanted to keep those eyes and that grin on me a little bit longer. So . . .
“Oh, well, it’s not that interesting a story. Just recently got out of a long-term relationship, is all. I was engaged too, until very recently, as a matter of fact.” I plowed ahead, punctuating my words with a little toss of my hair and shoulder shrug. Minimize. Minimize. Minimize! “But I’m not anymore; that’s all over. So yeah, no stranger to heartbreak here.” I sounded like a country-western song. And not even a good contemporary one, more like an old twangy one.
“You were engaged?” he asked, sympathy apparent.
“Yeah, but you know . . .” I started to shrug, when I saw his eyebrow go up at my nonchalance. “I mean, yeah,” I said, maudlin, “you know.” Sigh. Blink. Blink.
Oh, what tangled webs we weave, when first we practice to pretend to be more broken up about leaving your fiancé than you really are. Hey, it was poetic inside my head.
“So your engagement fell apart, and I got left at the altar,” he said, that slow grin beginning to reappear.
“So it would seem,” I agreed.
“So we’re both pitiful,” he said, holding my gaze. For exactly three seconds.
Then we both broke into crazy laughter, mine because I’d successfully sidestepped this land mine for the moment.
We began to quiet down, the twilight settling in around us, the air fresh and beginning to fill with the sounds of the hillside. Crickets, birds heading home, a few bumblebees making one last honey run.
“Want to hear something weird?” Lucas asked, bumping my shoulder with his own.
“Always.”
“You look like her.”
“Her who?”
“My fiancée. Ex-fiancée.”
“Oh, fudge, really?” I said, covering my face.
He laughed, grabbing my hands and placing them back in my lap. “What’s with the fudge?”
“Hmm?” I asked, not paying attention to his words since his hands had just been on my skin. Something my skin apparently enjoyed immensely, as it was all zingy now.
“You just said ‘oh, fudge, really,’ and when you dropped a bag of dog food earlier I’m pretty sure you said ‘fudge it.’ So . . . fudge?”
“Oh, yeah, well. That’s a holdover from my mother. A lady never swears, you know. It’s simply not done,” I answered, making my voice go higher and poshier.
“Ah, so fudge means . . .” He trailed off.
“Yeah, fudge means . . .” I echoed.
“What does it take for you to say the real word?” he asked, his blue eyes teasing.
“I have to be pretty worked up,” I admitted, becoming aware of every single point of contact between us, everywhere the right side of my body was connected with his left side. Thigh, yes. Hip? Uh-huh. Elbow? Hell, yes. “So, I look like your ex, huh?”
I’d just thrown a virtual bucket of water on us both. Whew.