Love Ever After: Eleven All-New Romances! Read online

  “Why? Are you coming to the bachelor party?”

  She gave him a look.

  “I’ve been talking to your brother about it. Don’t worry.”

  Oh, that wasn't good. A man telling her not to worry almost guaranteed there was something that needed to be investigated there. “Don’t let Davis talk you into clubbing. Chase will hate that.”

  Audrey was the youngest by a long shot, but that just meant that as long as she could remember, she’d been exposed to their much-older lives. Karen was thirteen years older than her, Chase ten years older, and even Davis, the closest in age, still had six years on her. So by the time she was six, Karen was off at college, Chase had been recruited into the OHL and was finishing high school while playing competitive hockey in Peterborough, and Davis had been the oldest kid at home.

  And he’d been a hell-raiser.

  Time hadn’t changed that in the least.

  Her world-traveling brother liked to work hard and play harder, and on the rare occasion that he came home, he invariably tried to drag Chase out to have fun. When that failed, of late, he’d been taking Audrey. Unlike their older brother, Davis had no problem with Audrey being an adult now.

  Plus she made a kick-ass wingman.

  “Not Davis,” Sam rolled his eyes. “We went to school together, remember? I know he’s the best man, but since he doesn’t get in until tomorrow, he’s left the bachelor party to me. And Mari would kill me if it wasn’t exactly what Chase wanted. Beer, poker, and a pay-per-view boxing match. I even rented those ridiculous poker tables.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him over her drink. “You don’t sound thrilled. What would you rather be doing?”

  He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. This hoopla makes my sister happy, that’s all that matters.”

  “And you’d rather strippers or something?”

  On the other side of the bar, Heath choked on a cough. Or a laugh, maybe. She shot him a look, too. Looks all round, that was the rule of the day, apparently. He cleared his throat when he realized she was seriously asking them that question. “Do you want him to answer?”

  “Yes.” She swivelled her head between the two men. “What?”

  Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. “Audrey, it’s a bachelor party. Other than the groom, who probably cares most about not pissing off his bride—and in this case, since that’s my sister, I fully support that—yeah, the guys like strippers. Naked boobs are awesome. And don’t give me that look. Seriously, you’re scary good at that. You should be a kindergarten teacher or something. But you’re not my mom or my sister or my girlfriend, so you get the cold hard truth. Boobs are awesome. Now drink your girly drink and shut up.”

  “You can’t hire strippers for my brother’s bachelor party.”

  He laughed. “I know. And I clearly can’t tell you to shut up, either.”

  “This isn’t a reassuring conversation,” she muttered. On any level. She peeked at Heath, who’d busied himself with drying already dry glasses. “You agree with him?”

  “About boobs being awesome? Yeah. Pretty sure that’s true.” He winked, but then put the glass down and crossed his arms again, suddenly serious. “I don’t know about the rest. But I don’t think Chase is the kind of guy to care one way or the other, and there’s no doubt he only has eyes for Mari, so chill.”

  Chilling wasn’t in Audrey’s wheelhouse. “I’m going home,” she announced, draining her glass. “Thank you, sir, for the drink.” She nodded at Heath. “And you—” she stood and pointed at Sam. “If there are strippers, I will personally hold you responsible.”

  — —

  Sam watched Heath watch Audrey head for the door, his eyebrows furrowed. “You worried about her driving?”

  Heath shook his head and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Nah. She moved into Mari’s old apartment when she moved back to town.”

  Two doors down.

  “Ah.” Sam should probably know that, but seriously, Audrey Miller was high-fucking-maintenance. The less he knew about her the better. She was best left to someone like Heath, who looked like he was more than up for the challenge.

  “She’s not—”

  Sam lifted his hand and cut Heath off. “It’s fine. And you know as well as I do that there aren’t any strippers to hire around here. Not like that. We’d have to go into the city and nobody cares that much.”

  Heath nodded, granting him that truth.

  One downside of living in the country, for sure—if you were a frat boy. Sam didn’t care about strippers, that was for damn sure. He’d just said that to goad Audrey. He wasn’t against them, per se, except for the unnecessary expense of hiring the fancy ones that would come to a bachelor party.

  He couldn’t get over the outlay already expected. Poker tables and catered sandwiches. Craft beer and single malt whiskey.

  It wasn’t that he begrudged his sister and her fiancé a once-in-a-lifetime experience…except for the part where he thought that was all fucking ridiculous.

  So maybe he did a little. They already were stupidly happy. And Chase didn’t even like people, in general. Sure, he’d been pretty decent to Sam and his brothers and parents. He was a good guy, just not a social one.

  Why the hell did he need a party thrown the night before the biggest party of his life?

  If it were Sam getting married, he’d just want to lay low with his bride-to-be. Although given the fact that Wardham had zero single women that weren’t related to him or best friends with his sister, the chances of him getting married were slim to none.

  Plus nobody would want to marry a farmer who lived on a trailer at the back end of his parents’ farm, anyway. The only thing he owned to his name was his truck. So instead of being the groom, he was the groomsman, and the host—at Evan West’s house, because he didn’t have a house of his own—of a bachelor party that he was pretty sure neither he nor the groom cared about attending.

  “You look like you want another pint,” Heath said from the far end of the bar, where he’d wandered when Sam drifted into his own head.

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  The younger man poured Sam his drink and then left him alone. Sam watched him unload the dishwasher and take another pitcher of beer to the guys in the back of the bar, then settle against the bar with a book.

  He lifted his voice. “What are you reading?”

  Heath looked up. “Studying, actually.”

  “Sorry.” Sam returned his attention to his drink.

  “No, it’s fine.” Heath moved closer and slid the book across the bar. Regulatory Craft.

  “What the hell are you studying?”

  Heath laughed. “Regulatory compliance. I’m thinking of starting my own business, providing assistance to companies too small to have their own in-house staff ensure they’re compliant with different international standards.”

  “Shit, kid. That went in one ear and out the other. That’s complicated stuff.”

  “Only when I use the unfamiliar terms. You know how you have information sheets that come with the supplies you need to use at the farm? Those are different around the globe. A local company who makes an organic feed supplement can’t sell it in Mexico or Spain unless they provide all the regulatory data in Spanish—and that can all be outsourced, but how do they know if it’s accurate? I can help with that.”

  Sam sat up a little straighter. “Again, I say shit. That sounds like a good idea.”

  Heath grinned. “I know.”

  “Might impress Audrey.” The grin disappeared. Wrong thing to say, clearly, and it was none of his business. “Or anyone else. Everyone, probably. I’m sure there’s nothing I can do to help, but if there is, you let me know.”

  Heath didn’t answer immediately, but he didn’t look away, either.

  Moments like this, in Sam’s experience, were what separated the boys from the men. Whatever it was, Heath had to want it enough to stake his claim to it. And if he didn’t…

  “Introduce me to Evan West,” He
ath blurted out, then stood up a little straighter. “Please. I have a whole business pitch. It’s short and to the point—just enough to get me a meeting with him to present the whole plan. I can run it past you if you want.”

  Sam grinned. He liked this kid. “Not necessary. You want to come to a bachelor party on Friday night?”

  — FOUR —

  Mari tried—and failed—not to glower at her fiancé as he pulled on a t-shirt, ignoring the fact that she was naked and on all fours on their bed.

  “I won’t be long,” he promised.

  “Lies.” She flopped onto her belly and didn’t move when he came over, which earned her a light swat on the bottom. “Don’t do that if you don’t mean it.”

  “We’ve spent the last day doing that and more,” he teased before kissing the top of her head. “The county sports planning committee only meets once a month, on the second Friday. Which happens to be today. I don’t want to miss the only meeting on my schedule for two weeks just because I’m getting married tomorrow. You could come with me.”

  She wrinkled her nose. She could. That would be reasonable. Or they could stay in bed, being filthy together, because she was apparently turning into a teenage boy or something. “No, go. I’ll steam out the bridesmaid dresses and paint my nails.”

  He laughed. “You’re going into the studio, aren’t you?”

  “Well if you’re going to work, so am I.”

  “And that’s why I love you.”

  He shifted, ready to move away from the bed, but she reached out and grabbed his hand. Scrambling back to her knees, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I don’t just want to you stay home so we can have sex, you know,” she whispered in her ear. “I miss you all the time. And no matter how much I touch you now, I’m never going to get my fill of you.”

  Cupping her face, he kissed her softly, long enough to make her heartbeat pick up. “I’ll be back in two hours. I promise.”

  She sighed as she thought about the schedule. “And then we have the rehearsal dinner and then we’re going in two different directions for the night.”

  He winked at her. “But tomorrow I get to put a ring on it, right?”

  “Don’t say it like that.” She stuck her tongue out at him. He stuck his right back, swiping the tips of their tongues together and making her dissolve into giggles. “Gross.”

  “Shush. Okay, an hour and a half. We can have a quiet snuggle before we head out for the rehearsal.”

  On that promise, Mari conceded they could be apart for a bit, and pulled on some workout clothes. Then she went to the kitchen and found a tub of cream cheese and a container of bell pepper and cucumber slices.

  She’d already worked out plenty in the last thirty-six hours, and had the deliciously achy muscles to show for it.

  As she headded toward the studio at the far end of the house, she heard a knock at the door. She kept going.

  “Are you hiding somewhere?” Stella hollered after letting herself in.

  Mari laughed and lifted her voice. “Studio!”

  She put her snack on her desk and turned just as her best friend barrelled in and collided with her, wrapping her up in a big bear hug.

  “I’ve missed you so much. And you’ve been home for two days and have done nothing but Chase.”

  Mari blushed. “Sorry. It’s just…”

  Stella waved off her excuses. She got it. They’d been best friends since forever and didn’t need to be the first visit or anything. That’s why they were besties. “Besides—tonight is going to be amazing. Everyone is coming to Audrey’s apartment for your bachelorette party, and we’ll get lots of time to talk then.”

  Audrey was living in Mari’s old place, and while it was small, it was also cool by Wardham standards—cute and funky by more urban metrics—and close enough for everyone in town to walk.

  “And it’s not like we don’t talk constantly,” she continued, moving around the desk to grab a clipboard off a hook on the wall. In the last three months, Stella had slipped into the role of Mari’s…something. Assistant sounded weird. Right-hand woman, maybe. It had started when Mari’s phone had fritzed at the same time as her laptop accidentally went to the wrong city and she hadn’t been able to post to social media for a few days. In a panic, she’d called Stella and in a few short minutes, she had her calmed down and the situation under control.

  It turned out that her best friend was a good person to mimic her online personality, because she paid attention to everything Mari posted. Knew that she did a giveaway on Thursdays that stretched over the weekend and Mondays were for music she liked. Even knew what kind of pictures to put up on Instagram and how often tweets should be going out—and who to tag in them.

  Stella was a quiet workhorse, and since that panicky call, had been doing most of Mari’s social media stuff. It only took her a few hours a week, so Mari could afford to pay her a reasonable wage, too—despite Chase’s wealth, she was committed to doing the music thing as much on her own two feet as she could. And that definitely stretched to hiring staff.

  Especially staff who were likely to gossip on the job—something Mari strongly encouraged, of course.

  “Have you and Chase talked about what what wedding pictures will be circulated? And how?”

  Mari wrinkled her nose. “No. He keeps changing the subject when I bring it up.” Which she’d only done twice, because it felt like a conversation that would never get anywhere. Her fiancé was a stubborn butt when it came to privacy—a fact she appreciated, but it made it an extra challenge to build an online platform. She knew he wanted to wait to release a formal wedding photo once it was safely in the past, but that wasn’t how the internet worked.

  “Well, I have some ideas.” Stella pulled her cell phone from her back pocket, typed in her password, and handed it over. “Here are some wedding announcements on Instagram that capture moments without actually showing very much. Do you think he’d be okay with something like that?”

  On the screen were a series of pictures that looked like a magazine spread of an intimate, romantic wedding—all without showing anyone’s face or location details. Mari grinned. “I love these. Yes, something like this would be perfect. A lot of these, actually—maybe four or five, over the course of the day?”

  “Got it.” Stella took her phone back and pursed her lips. Aha. The gossip tangent. Mari laughed before her friend even said anything. “What? I didn’t say it?”

  “You don’t need to. Yes, tell Audrey about the plan so she can check it off her list and put it in her binder.”

  “Has she been super annoying this week?” Stella made a face. “I’ll admit, I love her to death, but if I ever get married I’m eloping. She can’t help herself with the planning takeover.”

  “Actually, I appreciate it. I do! Look at what you’re doing for me. I can’t handle Facebook and Twitter, I can’t be left in charge of a wedding. And then with the tour coming up…she’s been a godsend. A bossy godsend, but still.”

  “Good good. What else should we talk about before I leave you to it?”

  Mari filled her in on a potential Australia-Asia tour that would cover a good chunk of the winter, and how anxious she was to get back into the studio and record a full-length album. “It’s hard to choose, you know? Like it feels like these tours are a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I don’t want to say no to anything, but I also want—no, need—to come home for more than a week. To work, but also to spend time with Chase. And you guys, too. Of course.”

  Stella blew a raspberry at her. “We will always be here. Except for Audrey, of course, who might go bounding off on another adventure somewhere. But then she’ll come back, too.”

  “I love you, Stell. So much. This whole wedding thing is making me hardcore nostalgic and weepy, so brace yourself for more of that at the end of the night, okay?”

  “Sure thing. One of the best things about weddings is all the feels.” Stella beamed for a second, then looked down at her clipboard. “For th
e two days after the wedding, when you guys are in Banff before rejoining the tour, you want radio silence online, yes?”

  And just like that, they slipped back into work mode.

  — —

  Sam had never been so glad to hang out with a bunch of dudes—and only dudes. For a guy that lived alone in a trailer, he’d been surrounded for what felt like days by women who alternated in a random, unpredictable pattern between over-the-top giddiness and bizarre weeping. The feelings that weddings seemed to bring out in people were unreal.

  Evan was on the phone when Sam arrived, but he waved him in and pointed to the open-concept kitchen that looked like it had never been used. Two wait staff were setting up the catering for the night. Sam stood there, suddenly unsure of himself—he’d never done this before.

  Luckily the staff had. “Are you Mr. Beadie?” one of them asked.

  “Yeah.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “This looks great. Thank you. Should I settle up with you now?”

  “Mr. West took care of the balance owing.” She smiled at him like that made all the sense in the world.

  Sam’s face burned up. It only made sense if everyone had already accepted that it was better if Sam didn’t foot the bill.

  Damnit. He was no charity case. He’d agreed to have the bachelor party here because it made sense, but…ah hell. It wasn’t like any part of this had been within his control, not really. He scrubbed his hand over his face and pulled out his wallet. Extracting two fifty-dollar bills, he folded them individually and handed them to the servers. “Well, thank you again, then. This is an extra something for the help tonight.”

  After they took their tip, he left them to their work and went to find Evan to have an awkward conversation about money, but the man had disappeared somewhere. And then the doorbell chimed.

  On the other side stood the official best man of the wedding, and possibly the only person in the entire spectacle that Sam actually knew well—they’d only been a year apart at school and played hockey together for years. His face cracked into a relieved smile and he held out his hand. “Davis, you jerk, nice to see you show up at last.”