Mai Tai'd Up(25)

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.

“Oh—yeah, a bit. Same long blond hair, same green eyes, but you’re a bit taller and slimmer than her.”

“Hmm. I’m surprised that Marge has been playing matchmaker, then.”

“I know, could she be more obvious? Every morning when I get to work, she greets me with an update on how things are going up here, how pretty you are, and how she wonders why no one has taken you out and shown you the town. I usually get another update at lunchtime.”

“Oh my God, I’m so embarrassed,” I moaned, lying back into the truck bed. His face appeared over mine.

“Don’t be embarrassed; she does it with everyone. I’ve just never been in her sights before.”

“If she knew that I’d just bro—that my fiancé and I had just broken up, she wouldn’t be so quick to play matchmaker,” I said, digging my hands into my hair. “Setting up two people who’d be sooooo on the rebound is not good.”

“Yes, rebounding off each other sounds like a terrible idea.” He chuckled quietly, and I peered up into his face through my fingers.

“It is a terrible idea. Which is why you and I, Mr. Blue Eyes, are not going to let Marge be in charge.” I scrambled to sit up, pushing my paint-encrusted hair out of my face. “This would be a mistake of epic proportions. Especially if you started dating some new chick who looks just like the girl who just . . .”

“Fudged me over?”

“Yes. Can you imagine? Everyone would be talking.”

“But I bet you’re nothing like her. Unless you’re a pageant girl too. That would be just too weird.” He laughed.