Decoy Date Read online

  Not anymore.

  This list of five appealing attributes was going to be cake.

  Gwen reached for her drink and took a long, dawdling sip. Then after an even breath, she straightened in her seat. Holding up one finger, she began.

  “First, you’re very nice.” She closed her eyes and nodded for emphasis. “And second, incredibly funny.”

  She paused. Brody’s chin had pulled back, his smile slipping from his lips.

  “Nice and funny?” he asked, sounding like she had just issued two insults instead of the compliments her comments were meant to be.

  “Yes, those are good things.” Important things. Things that mattered to her.

  “When you’re shopping for a new best girlfriend, maybe.” Bringing his pint of Guinness to his mouth, he took a deep swallow. Shook his head, and set it back on the table. “Gwen, you have to do better than this. No one, least of all Ted, is going to believe for one second that I’m getting under your skin if all they’ve got to work with are ‘nice’ and ‘funny.’”

  Fair enough. But she had other points as well. “Well, I haven’t gotten to the whole body business.”

  And there was the overconfident smile and gleam in his eyes that she’d come to expect from this man. He sat forward, the corner of his mouth pulling up. “Now we’re talking. This ‘whole body business’… Explain.”

  “Explain?” she asked on a laugh. He was priceless. “Are you that desperate to feed your ego? Because I can’t believe you don’t know exactly what I mean.”

  “I’m going to take it on faith that pretty blush means you don’t think I’m hideous. But remember what we’re doing here. We’re selling a growing interest. Which means that you need to be able to tell someone what you like about me. And that ‘whole body business’ doesn’t really do it. Especially on the heels of ‘nice’ and ‘funny.’ But this one is important, because my body is very different from Ted’s. He’s lean, naturally skinny, but not super athletic. While I’m built more like a—”

  “Lumberjack,” she supplied, waving her hand in his direction. “You know, with how big you are all over.”

  The words were out of her mouth before she thought about them. About how they might sound to the inner fifteen-year-old most guys carried around with them until they were fifty. It was too much to hope that Brody wouldn’t notice.

  One red-brown brow rose in question as his jaw shifted to the side, giving him a crooked smile to match the gleam in his eyes.

  “Some places even more so than others, but Gwen, I’m surprised you noticed.”

  And now she was fairly certain the pretty pink blush he’d mentioned was more like a blazing red burning across her face.

  “You know what I mean,” she chided once she was able to meet his eyes again. “You’re so tall and broad and muscly.” Especially the way he was sitting. When he leaned forward on his forearms like that, his shoulders and arms were massive. “And it’s not just for show. I mean, I know firsthand how strong you are, and I’ve got to say, it’s pretty hot how easily you can carry a woman with as many curves as I’ve got. We should move that to number one.”

  If her eyes weren’t deceiving her, it was Brody with the pretty blush now. And she got the appeal. Because that was something she could see herself working for again.

  Brody shook his head before looking up at her. “Glad to hear you think so. Because you’re the one who needs to sound impressed. In fact, if it’ll help, I’d be happy to offer a repeat demonstration.”

  For an instant, she let her eyes roam over his shoulders and arms, remembering the ease with which he’d handled her.

  She shook her head to clear the thoughts.

  “Very generous, but I’m good.” Then it was back to business. “Okay, four, your cocktails are unparalleled. And five, you’re very handsome. There. Five selling points for Brody O’Donnel. Satisfied?”

  His expression was lukewarm at best.

  Crossing her arms, she sat back in her seat. “Seriously? What’s wrong with my list?”

  She’d thought it was pretty good.

  “Let me show you how it’s done.”

  She couldn’t wait.

  “One, that laugh.” He closed his eyes, giving his head a slow shake as he rubbed a hand over the center of his chest, the motion drawing her attention to both. “There’s nothing like the sound of it. And damn, it gets me right here, every time.”

  His eyes opened, one brow raised in what she could only assume was some kind of I-told-you-so fashion. And yeah, that was definitely different from what she’d given him.

  “Two”—he leaned in even closer—“her mouth. When she smiles, fuck, it’s like the whole room lights up or something. And her lips…she wears this light berry gloss that keeps me up nights wondering if she’d taste as sweet as she looks.”

  The lips in question parted on a breath, and she blinked.

  “Three, her eyes are like whiskey. This warm brown… And I swear, when I look in them too long, I get a little drunk. Four, she’s a teacher. A kindergarten teacher. And every time she talks about the kids in her class, you can hear how much she cares about them. How much she loves her job. You know, those are the luckiest little kids in the world. Except for maybe the boys, which brings me to number five. Because the curves on this girl…” He raised his hand to his mouth and bit his knuckle before letting out a short laugh. “I’d bet Belfast that fifty percent of that class is already in love with her and will be through time eternal.”

  For a moment, Gwen just sat there, staring at the man across from her. Too stunned by his list to move. But when she did, she had to concede, “That was amazing. Quality lines, and very convincing.” She took another sip of her drink and then licked her lips, tasting the lingering berry sweet of her gloss mingling with her cocktail.

  Maybe a little too convincing.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you some kind of player?”

  Brody slid off his stool, straightening to his full height and stretching out his shoulders for a moment before stepping over to her chair and helping her up.

  “No, I’m observant. And for the record, I noticed all that before.”

  Gwen stumbled, her eyes cutting quick to his. “When?”

  Throwing his big arm around her shoulders, he drew her in, ducking his head so he was speaking quietly into her ear. “Before I figured out you were hung up on that pencil-neck Ted.”

  Chapter 4

  Thursday morning, Ted honked from the street below at ten. Grabbing her overnight bag, Gwen stopped by the mirror across from the front door and checked her hair and makeup. Her eyes lingered on her glossy lips, and she wondered whether Ted ever thought about what her mouth tasted like, if he thought about their last kiss, if he—

  Another honk, and she was fairly confident the only thing he was thinking was that she needed to hurry up.

  Gwen locked the door behind her and skipped down the stairs outside to where Ted was waiting behind the wheel. Leaning over the passenger seat, he waved to hurry.

  She laughed, climbing in and closing the door behind her as he took her bag and tossed it into the back seat beside his.

  “Take it easy, Ted.” She buckled up and sat back. “There’s plenty of pie.”

  “There’s no such thing as plenty of pie. Especially not the way your dad goes after it.”

  The Normandys had been joining the Danes family for Thanksgiving since before Gwen was born. It started the year the two couples had moved into neighboring houses around the same time. Neither was close enough to visit their own parents, so Gwen’s mother had decided to do the big meal at her house and invite the neighbors. She’d always joked that fateful invitation had been all about the side dishes. She wouldn’t have been able to justify making the full spread with just the two of them, but with another couple there, she’d been able to cook to her heart’s con
tent. And as the years went on, the tradition continued. Gwen’s family always hosted Thanksgiving, and Ted’s hosted Christmas Eve. And since Gwen and Ted both lived in Chicago and she didn’t own a car, he always drove them back to Dobson for the holidays.

  After navigating through the city, they started working their way southwest, exchanging one highway for another, bickering over the radio, and chatting the way only friends who had been as close as they were for as long as they had been could chat. It was easy with Ted. Comfortable. Almost perfect.

  They arrived at her parents’ house just after noon, and Ted didn’t even bother taking his bag into his own house before running up the stairs to hers. She laughed, watching him wrap his arms around her mother as he begged her to tell him how many pies she’d made.

  The man was obsessed.

  Her mom really did make good pie, so Gwen got it. But as she watched his face light up, a part of her—the most ridiculous, pathetic part—wondered what it would take for him to be that enthusiastic about her. If she could ever be something he would run to.

  Once all the greetings had been made, the hugs exchanged, and the first glasses of wine poured, she headed into the kitchen with the moms. They wanted to know about everything. Whether she’d been to any museums or shows lately. How the crime was in her neighborhood, because they’d read something in the paper and hoped she didn’t have to worry about that sort of thing where she lived. They asked about her roommates and Claudia’s wedding coming up on New Year’s Eve and, of course, whether she was seeing anyone. These two women were so much a part of her life, both of them mothers to her over the years, both of them privy to more secrets than she’d shared with anyone else. But there was one thing they knew nothing about. Her feelings for Ted.

  She’d never told them about the kiss down by the lake when she was sixteen. Or what happened in the car that last summer before college, or the handful of other moments she and Ted had had between them. She’d always justified the omissions because she and Ted were just friends, and she wouldn’t want their parents to think there was more going on. She wouldn’t want them to get their hopes up.

  But as she stood in her childhood kitchen preparing to make yet another pie, just in case, Gwen had to wonder if part of the reason wasn’t more about her. If maybe she’d been afraid to get her own hopes up. Like maybe if she’d allowed herself to voice what had happened or what she wanted, it might hurt all the worse when she didn’t get it.

  Ted’s warm laugh rang out from the living room, as familiar as any noise in her house.

  She hadn’t gotten what she’d been wishing for all those years, but it didn’t hurt. Sure, there was the occasional pang that still caught her by surprise, like when she’d noticed his attention on Janna after the shower. But mostly she was all right with the way things were.

  When she looked up, Ted was walking through the doorway, her favorite crooked grin on his lips. “Oh, Gwennie, are you making another pie for me?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You know I am.” Closing the distance between them, he wrapped his arms around her from behind, slowly pulling her in to his chest, making her head spin and her belly somersault. “Marry me.”

  Emphasis on the mostly.

  She’d heard it before and knew not to put any stock in that throwaway proposal. But still, the words made her smile, reminding her of too many daydreams to count.

  But whether this cockamamy plan of Brody’s panned out or not—and she wasn’t holding her breath—she knew how lucky she was to have Ted as her friend.

  * * *

  By eight o’clock, the meal was done, the dishes had been washed, and everyone had found a spot around the living room while they played Trivial Pursuit without a board. It was part of the tradition, along with the movie in the background and the pumpkin spice candles her mom always lit for the holiday. As was the case every year, the game started out strong but became less intense as the hours went on. Eventually, it was limited to someone breaking the silence now and then when they found a question they wanted to ask.

  The fire was going, and Ted was beside her, his arm stretched out along the back of the sofa. It was as comfortable as an old shoe.

  Or blanket?

  Gwen chuckled to herself, wondering where that had come from. Where else but Brody.

  “What’s funny?” Ted asked, bumping her head as he reached for the bowl of mixed nuts.

  “Something Brody said. One of those things you had to be there for.” When he didn’t say anything, she stood up. “More wine?”

  She was met with a chorus of yeses, and Ted got up to help her collect glasses, each with someone’s name scribbled on it using the metallic glassware pens Gwen had sent her mom for her birthday the year before.

  Back in the kitchen, Gwen dropped the freshly drained wine bottle into the recycling and was about to take the overflowing bin out when her phone rang.

  Ted looked over at her from the counter where he was opening another bottle of white. “Sales call?” he asked, looking annoyed on her behalf.

  She grinned, shaking her head.

  “Brody O’Donnel,” she clarified, bringing the phone to her ear. “Hey, happy Thanksgiving.”

  “To you too, gorgeous. Is it late enough? Are you guys through with your meal?” he asked, his voice a low rumble against her ear. A nice one.

  “We finished a while ago. How about you?”

  “Hours ago. Spent the afternoon with the friends I do most of the holidays with, but now I’m back at Belfast.”

  “You’re working?” she asked, surprised that he would be back at the bar on Thanksgiving.

  “It’s a slow night, so the only staff here are the ones who want the extra check. And I stay so another manager doesn’t have to.”

  “That’s sweet of you. Are you always so accommodating, or are you just trying to impress me?”

  Ted’s head came up, and he gave her a curious look. She shrugged and smiled.

  From the other end of the line, Brody laughed, and she couldn’t help but notice what a good laugh it was. If he asked her for five more things to like about him, that laugh would be one of them.

  “So, Gwen, are you surrounded by family and friends right now?” he asked, ignoring her question.

  “Just Ted. We’re on wine duty.”

  “You have a few minutes? Promise I won’t keep you too long, but you’ll need to give me at least ten.”

  “Hmm, you with the rules. Now you’ve got me curious.”

  “Excellent. How about you give me a little giggle just to keep Ted guessing and then sneak me into your bedroom.”

  She giggled, then waved a hand toward Ted, signaling with a jut of her thumb she was going upstairs. The deepening furrow between his brows suggested he hadn’t translated, but he’d figure it out. Grabbing her glass, she headed upstairs where she purred into the line, “There, I’m all yours.”

  Another rich laugh from across the miles.

  “So what’s with ten minutes?” she asked when she’d closed the door to her bedroom.

  An approving hum sounded. “I’m glad you ask. The idea is to make sure Ted knows that I’m calling for something more than a simple question. This isn’t about whether the jacket left behind at the bar was yours or if you’ve got someone else’s number. It’s about me calling to hear that pretty voice. And ten minutes seems like the right amount of time for a short chat, without monopolizing the time you should be spending with your family.”

  “Nice. Very thoughtful. You’ve got a real knack for this stuff.” She swirled her wine. “Or maybe this isn’t your first rodeo.”

  She didn’t love the idea of Brody pulling out some playbook he’d perfected with another woman. Though, really, it shouldn’t matter… But that twist in her gut told her it did.

  “Believe it or not, this is my first time building a fake relationship with a woma
n, just so she can go out with another man, figure out he isn’t what she wants once and for all, and move on with her sorely lacking love life.”

  She snickered, stretching out against her ruffled pillows. Reaching above her head, she ran a finger around her favorite cast-iron flower on the bed frame. “So I’ll be your first,” she teased.

  Another one of those deep, satisfying laughs, and she thought she might be getting spoiled from them. “And I’ll always remember you for it. Just be gentle with me.”

  This time, she was the one laughing, closing her eyes and shaking her head as she told him how ridiculous he was. Then, “So what’s ten minutes of conversation get me? What’s this supposed to look like, you know, if it’s real?”

  Was it possible to actually hear someone smile through the phone?

  “If this were real, I’d be calling because I couldn’t not call. Because I’d know I wasn’t going to see you for a few days, and not talking to you would be eating at me, driving me a little more crazy every hour. I’d be calling to hear your voice and to hear how you were.” His voice dropped lower, each word plucking at her senses. “To find out what your bedroom looked like so I could imagine you in it as we talked.”

  This guy was good.

  Either that or she’d had too much wine.

  Or maybe not enough.

  “So sort of a PG version of asking me what I’m wearing?”

  “Exactly. Because even though I’d desperately want to know what you were wearing—and even more, what you were wearing under that—we aren’t there yet. So I’ll settle for details about your bedroom. The walls are pink, aren’t they? And tell me you’ve got a boy-band poster above your bed.”

  “Nick Jonas,” she admitted, earning more of what was rapidly becoming her favorite sound.

  He made her laugh and grin and giggle, with all his if I were nonsense, and because it was just so easy to get caught up in the conversation with that man, the call lasted closer to twenty minutes than ten.