“We’ll go shopping on our way to South Carolina tomorrow. For tonight, you can just wear something of mine.”
My sister did not pack my bag, so I know I have clothes.
“Fine,” Maren says with exasperation. “I’ll do that.”
I pull out a pair of basketball shorts and a T-shirt and hand them to her.
“Thanks.”
While she’s in the bathroom changing, I sink down on the chair. This is a disaster. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to endure this for five days. There is no way I’ll be able to ignore this ache for her. Not to mention, she doesn’t need me all over her. She was just dumped by the guy she was going to marry, which doesn’t exactly scream ready to jump into bed with me.
I know from personal experience that almost marrying someone doesn’t necessarily equal love. Hell, I watched the woman I loved date someone else immediately after we broke up.
I can’t put myself in a situation that I know is going to crash and burn.
Been there. Done that. Own the T-shirt company.
Rubbing my hands over my face, I take a deep breath and stand. I’m a strong man who doesn’t bend easily. I’ll just plaster a smile on my face, get through the next few days, and then come back to the life I’ve designed.
I unbutton my shirt, and just as I’m about to remove it, the bathroom door opens to reveal Maren still in that dress.
“I need you.”
I need you.
I need you to strip me down and make me scream for hours. Please, Oliver.
That’s not what she says. No, she actually sighs and shrugs. “I can’t undo my dress. Can you help me?”
Well, that’s kind of like stripping her down. It actually is stripping her down, but the rest of that sentence hasn’t been uttered . . . yet.
I clear my throat and walk over. She turns, pulling her hair over her shoulder, giving me a fantastic view of her back. She’s so damn beautiful with her hair completely down so it cascades like blonde silk.
Once I’m behind her, she turns her head, peeking at me from the side. My fingers move to the button at the top. “You know, I am kind of glad this isn’t really our wedding night,” I say as I fumble with each one.
“Why is that?”
“Because if you were my bride, I would’ve torn your dress off you.”
She shivers a little. “Really?”
“Absolutely,” I say with a deepness in my voice that I hope covers the desire flooding my system.
I couldn’t even last two minutes after that stupid pep talk I gave myself.
I focus on the buttons again and manage one more.
“Why is that?” Maren whispers.
Don’t answer her, Oliver. Don’t fucking do it.
“I would’ve needed you naked on the bed so badly that I wouldn’t have cared that the dress was on the floor in pieces.”
Maren’s breath jumps as she turns, facing the mirror. “I’m sorry that this isn’t your real wedding night.”
“Me too.”
She smiles a little as I undo the last button. “Thanks.”
You are so not welcome.
“Of course,” I say with an easy smile even though nothing feels easy inside me.
She steps back into the bathroom, closing the door behind her, and I get changed before falling into the chair that I’ll be sleeping on.
How the hell did I get myself into this?
After what feels like an hour, Maren emerges, wearing my shorts, which are folded about four times and look like she knotted them or something. My shirt is huge on her, and while it should be completely unattractive, it’s not. She’s in my clothes. Naked under them.
“Thanks for letting me borrow this tonight.” Her eyes dart to the floor. “It’s a bit big, but it’s better than the nightie.”
“Yes, better than that,” I agree.
I would’ve died.
I still might.
She walks to the bed and slides under the covers while I shift on the chair. Maren lets out a giggle.
“What?”
“You look ridiculous.”
“Thanks. Women often tell me that.”
“I’m sure they don’t.”
I move again, sitting up a little because my ass keeps sliding down. This chair was not made for sleeping.
“You should know this now,” I tell her. “You fake married a total loser when it comes to love.”
Maren starts to braid her hair as she shrugs. “Can’t be any worse than your fake wife, who got stood up before she made it to the altar and then literally begged you to pretend to marry her only to have you turn her down. Top that.”
“I have one failed engagement and then one almost engagement where I didn’t even get the ring on the second time. You . . .” I suck in a breath through my teeth. “You’re behind the curve, my friend.”
“Two? Wow. You really are a loser.”
“See, you’re welcome.”
Maren shakes her head. “Come over here, Oliver. You can’t sleep in that thing, and we are both adults. I’m sure we’ll be fine in the bed.”
I’m sure I will not, but there’s not a chance in hell I’m going to get any sleep in this chair. Plus, I don’t really want to look pathetic by refusing her.
“Fine, but you have to promise not to take advantage of me,” I say with a brow raised.
Maren smirks, tying off her braid. “I vow not to take your innocence this night.”
I toss the pillow at her, causing her to squeak, and then climb in.
We end up sitting side-by-side against the headboard, awkward and unsure of what to do next.
“Want to watch that movie?” I ask.
“Sure.”
I glance around the room again, wondering why the hell there is no television in here. “Is there a damn television?” I ask as I toss my legs over the side.
“Didn’t you design this place?”
“Stella had this room.”
“It is the honeymoon suite. I guess she figured they’d be doing other things?” Maren says as she searches. “Ha! I found it!”
I glance at her, finding her holding up a remote as if it were a prize. “Okay, now we just need to find the television.”
She climbs back into bed and pats the bed next to her. “Watch.” Pointing the remote toward the opposite wall, she presses a button, and what I thought was a beautiful piece of framed artwork becomes a television.
“That is impressive.” I move toward it, amazed because I never would have guessed it wasn’t art. It’s flush against the wall like a photograph and there is barely any backlight.
“I definitely need one of these,” Maren says as she turns on My Cousin Vinny, which is already halfway over. “I love this movie.”
“It’s a classic.”
She smiles. “Aunt Eileen can do her accent perfectly to match this movie. We used to watch it all the time and I would laugh as she’d recite it.”
Maren sits up on her knees and says the lines word-for-word.
We both laugh, and her cheeks turn red when her attempt at an accent fails. “That was pitiful.”
“I’d like to hear your New York accent.” Maren smirks.
“Forget about it!” I give it my best, which is just shy of truly pitiful, and she falls back on the bed, laughing hysterically.
Maren fluffs the pillow and grins. “Who would’ve thought this would be how either of us would spend a wedding night?”
“Sure as fuck not me.”