Because jackass or not, how could Drew not regret his fuckup? Losing this woman had to be cause for going to the hospital to check for alarmingly high levels of relationship remorse.
She smiled, and it did something funny to my chest.
Something funny that I shoved into a dark corner of my mind, determined not to examine.
I hooked her arm through mine, then we left her building and slid into a waiting Uber.
In the car, I reminded myself of our roles, and that quick reset was all I needed to ignore that dark corner of my mind.
At the wedding, it was easy, so damn easy to pretend she was mine, but that wasn’t because she was all dolled up.
It was because we knew each other. We had an ease between us. A rhythm.
During the reception, her ex strode over and introduced himself. “Pleasure to meet you. Drew McAllister the third.”
Are you fucking kidding me?
I held out my hand. “Oliver Harris the twelfth,” I said, since two could play that game. “Congrats on the wedding.”
“Yes. I particularly love the favors. I’d been hoping for a pen with your photo on it,” Summer put in.
“Thanks. They’re great for signing things,” Drew said, completely missing the point.
“As pens are,” I added, affixing a most serious look to my face. “Do they also work for taking notes?”
“Yeah,” he said, giving me a confused look. Drew scrubbed a hand over his jaw and glanced from Summer to me and back. “Have you two been together long?”
I looped my arm around her waist. “No, but when something is right, it’s just right, isn’t it?”
And since I had no more interest in him than I did in his bride-and-groom photo pens, I took Summer to the dance floor and twirled her around.
“Did you know you can also use a pen as a whistle?”
“Did you know you can use a pen to poke your brother or your cousin?” she tossed back.
“Some pens double as back scratchers,” I said.
“And don’t forget—nearly all can be used to hit that hard-to-reach reset button on modems.”
I spun her around, and when she made a full circle, I added, “And this concludes our discussion of other uses for pens. By the way, Drew the third, dullest man in existence, is not only a douche but a total douche.”
Her blonde hair spilled behind her, and she smiled. “Was it the third or the personalized pens that sealed the deal?”
I shook my head, tugging her up. “No, it’s that he’s holding a wedding on a Sunday. Who does that?”
“What’s wrong with Sunday? Don’t tell me you hate Sundays.”
“It’s too close to Monday.”
“Aww, poor Oliver hates Monday,” she said, patting my chest as we danced. “Ollie and Garfield.”
“Don’t call me Ollie,” I growled.
“But comparing you to a cartoon cat is okay?”
“It’s better than being called Ollie.”
“You know why I call you Ollie,” she said, a hint of seriousness in her tone.
“I know,” I replied, partially serious too.
“And I think you like it, even though you pretend not to.”
“Try me, woman.”
Her lips curved into a fantastic grin as she taunted, “Ollie, Ollie, Ollie.”
Maybe, just maybe, I didn’t entirely mind it from her. Still, I wasn’t a man for diminutives, so I clasped her tighter.
“Now I must punish you.” I dipped her precariously far. But Summer was the girl who liked to cliff jump into the ocean. She was the daredevil who’d skateboarded down the hilly street we lived on as teens. She had a lion-tamer’s ferocity and a fearless heart.
“That’s your punishment for Ollie?” she fired back.
“Watch it, or spankings come next.”
“Ooh, is that included on the fake boyfriend menu?”
I brought her back up again, flush against my chest, and for a flash of a moment, I had an image of where dancing might lead.
