My phone buzzes with a text message, and not knowing what it says kills me. If I were alone, I’d probably pull over to read it, but since Mom’s in the car, I wait until we arrive at the cabin.
Sam: I can only assume that picture was my Christmas gift. I must have been a very good boy this year.
* * *
Sam
Liz: This is so embarrassing. I meant to send that to the other guy who uses me for sex.
Thank God I was alone when the picture came through. I’m in my office at the bank and haven’t been fit for company since. It’s bad enough that I can hardly sit at my desk without remembering the time she came here two years ago, nude under her skirt. She let me spread her legs and touch her while I whispered dirty words in her ear. It’s one of my favorite memories, though it would definitely rank higher on the list had I simply disabled the damn camera and fucked her on the desk like she wanted me to.
It seems like I have so many regrets where Liz is concerned. I look at the picture again and literally bite my knuckle. Because damn. It shows all my favorite parts—the spot at the top of her leg right under the curve of her ass, the flat of her belly, her pert tits, just waiting for my mouth. Fuck. Yes.
This is torture. I’m not going to sleep with her this weekend. That would be a terrible idea, but it’s going to be the hardest part about being her date at the wedding. Every time we hook up, she shuns me for months afterward, and if I’m going to date her to calm Della’s nerves while Liz works alongside Connor, I can’t have her shutting me out of her life. Never mind that sleeping with her when I’m using her to improve my reputation seems like a complete shit thing to do.
I consider my response carefully before sending.
Sam: Saying that I’m using you for sex implies that you’re not using me right back.
Liz: We wouldn’t want to imply any such thing.
Sam: See you tomorrow, Rowdy.
Liz: I’m looking forward to it. I feel like the whole evening might turn out to be . . . enlightening.
What does that mean?
“Hey, handsome.”
I look up from my desk at the sound of my office door clicking closed and find Sabrina Guy leaning against it. “Sabrina.” Fuck. “To what do I owe the honor?”
She sticks out her lower lip in a pretty pout. She looks so much like her mother it floors me sometimes. The same wild red hair, the same patrician nose, the same killer curves. They could pass for sisters. “Mom wants me to go to the fundraiser dinner for your father next week, and I don’t have a date. Would you let me spend the evening on your arm?”
I shift uncomfortably in my chair, grateful to have the desk hiding the effects of my conversation with Liz. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Sabrina, but I already have a date.”
“So cancel,” she says sweetly. She wrinkles her nose. “Just kidding. Kind of.”
“What brings you to town?” As much as I’d like to hustle her out of my office, I know I’m expected to play nice with the Guy family, so I’ll make polite if I have to. Anything short of faking some romantic interest in Sabrina that I just don’t have.
She sinks into the chair across from my desk and crosses her long legs, exposing a generous amount of skin between her knee-high boots and the hem of her skirt. She’s beautiful. I can’t deny that. But for reasons I can’t tell my father, there are lines I can’t cross. Sabrina is firmly on the other side of most of them.
“I’m here to campaign,” she begins, and I sit back in my chair, preparing for a long discussion of politics and family gossip.
Chapter Nine
Liz
The ceremony was perfect, and the reception is a dream. White lights and tulle are draped everywhere, adding a magical quality to the already majestic feel of a ballroom that boasts two entirely glass walls overlooking the hills of Brown County. Candles flicker from every available surface, and bouquets of deep red roses sit at each table.
Nate and Hanna are on the dance floor. Nate’s eyes seem to be constantly trained on her, as if she’s a precious gem he thought he’d lost. No one has ever looked at me like that. Probably never will. I don’t inspire that kind of tenderness.
Sam is fucking delicious in his tux. He’s tall and broad and fills the tux like a dream. But that’s nothing compared to what I know is underneath. He’s even sexier with his clothes off than on. And his package? Jesus. I call him cocky for a reason. I’ve barely talked to him since our bodies were pressed together in the storage closet together yesterday. I’ve been too busy with bridesmaid duties. But for the rest of the night, I get to be Sam’s “date,” whatever that entails, and later . . . later, I’ll be River’s.