It Happened One Wedding (15 page)

Sidney studied him, musing over something. “I’m curious. How is it that someone who grew up with such a nice, loving family ends up being so anti-marriage?”

“First of all, I’m not ‘anti-marriage.’ I think people who want to settle down should do exactly that. It’s just not something I, personally, am looking for right now.”

“Fine. Maybe you’re not anti-marriage in that sense. But this playing the field attitude of yours . . . is that the way it’s always been? Have you ever been in a serious relationship?”

“As a matter of fact, I have,” he said, taking a bite of his breadstick.

Sidney blinked.
Wait—what?
Then she raised a skeptical brow. “By ‘serious’ I don’t just mean that you actually called the same girl more than once.”

“Actually, Little Miss Snarky, I dated someone for over a year.”

Well, this was a surprise. “You did? When? What’s her name?”

“Six years ago, and her name is Cassidy,” he said.

“Why did you two break up?” Sidney gave him a withering look. “Do
not
say you cheated.”

“I don’t cheat. In fact, I like to think I’m honest to a fault with women.”

Sidney rolled her eyes—
whatever
—but let that one slide so she could get to the juicy stuff. “So, Cassidy. Tell me more.”

He shrugged. “We dated, we decided we wanted other things, and then we split up.”

“But ever since, you haven’t been in another serious relationship. Why is that?” She studied him, trying to figure out this puzzle. “Maybe . . . Cassidy broke your heart and you’ve never been able to recover, so you became this rakish man-about-town to hide your pain.”

He cocked his head in amusement. “Man-about-town? Do we still use that term?”

“We do when we’re trying to be polite and not say ‘man whore.’”

“Tell me how you really feel, Sinclair. Don’t hold back.”

“Come on,” she said, with a grin. “You’ve heard the story about my ex. Heck, I even told you the part about walking up the stairs with no shoes.”

“And I still say you should’ve chucked them at the asshole.” Vaughn sat forward, resting his arms on the table. “All right, so here’s the story. When Cassidy and I dated, I was only a couple years into my career with the FBI. They assigned me to the squad that investigates violent crimes against children: kidnappings, sexual abuse, and online predators. It’s typical to assign guys like me to that area: meaning, guys who don’t have kids themselves. And, generally, they only keep you in that squad for a couple years because it gets to you.

“Don’t get me wrong. Out of my entire career, I’m most proud of the work I did on that squad. Whenever you tell someone you’re an FBI agent, they ask you about terrorism or organized crime or serial killers—but sometimes it’s the smaller cases, the ones that don’t get any media attention, that make you realize you really are making a difference in people’s lives. I once carried a seven-year-old girl out of a basement where her stepfather had locked her up and had been abusing her for nearly two years. That’s something I’ll never forget.”

He paused there. “But on the flip side, seeing that kind of stuff day in and day out is tough. It wears on you. About six months in, after seeing the sort of sick bastards that are out there, it got to the point where I didn’t think I’d ever want to bring kids into this world. Cassidy, however, really wanted a family. And since I wasn’t in a place to give her that, we decided to go our separate ways.”

Sidney sat there, not sure what to say for a moment. “I didn’t realize you’d done that kind of work with the FBI. I can see why that would scare you off of having kids. Wow.”

He nodded. “The good thing is, once they moved me to a different squad, and I got some distance from those cases, things eventually got back to normal. I started doing undercover work, and that’s been a really good fit for me.”

“That’s great.” And Sidney was glad to hear it. But . . . she was missing something. “And when things got back to normal, and you once again were in a position to have a committed relationship, you decided to keep playing the field because . . . ?”

“Because . . . I realized it’s fun to date lots and lots of women?”

She did a mental head-thunk. Of course that was his answer.

He held out his hands. “Look, I’m sorry if I don’t have some deeper, darker reason. I fell into this lifestyle because of my job, and then I realized I like it. What else can I say?”

She shook her head. “You know, I was with you as you were telling the FBI story. Hell, I even started to feel a little bad for the things I said at the coffee shop. And then—
poof—
we’re right back where we started.”

“You’re irritated with me again.”

Sidney thought about that for a moment. Then she sighed. “No, not irritated. You’re right—at least you’re honest. You’re a known commodity, Vaughn. I guess there is some merit in that.”

A long silence fell between them.

“So how did your date go yesterday?” he asked, changing the subject. “You never texted me back.”

Great
. Another fun topic—her as-of-yet-fruitless quest to find Mr. Right. “You were right about High School Guy. As soon as I busted him on the ‘not dating anyone
right now
’ thing, the date went completely downhill.” She ran her hands through her hair and sighed. “Is it too late for me to realize that I’m a lesbian? Sure, I like penises, but I’m a smart girl—I could figure out what to do with the lady bits if need be.”

“As hot as it is to imagine you figuring out what to do with the ‘lady bits,’ I don’t think you need to worry. You’re the total package, Sidney: smart, gorgeous, successful . . . dynamite in bed, too,” he added, with a knowing grin. “It’s not going to be long before some really lucky guy figures that out.”

She rested her hand in her chin, and smiled genuinely at him. “That may be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Vaughn Roberts.”

She waited for him to make a joke or say something dry or sarcastic, but instead he just looked at her with the strangest expression. “What?”

He blinked. “Uh, nothing.” Immediately, whatever that look had been, it was gone.

“So I’m dynamite in bed, huh?” Sidney preened a little, hearing that—especially coming from such an expert. After Brody had cheated, there’d been a small part of her that had wondered if perhaps she hadn’t been sexy enough compared to his twenty-four-year-old lover.

Vaughn looked her over, his eyes suddenly a warm dark green-gold. “Baby, you are as fiery as that tiny landing strip of red hair between your—”

“Okay, got the picture. Thank you.” She took a sip of ice water, then set down her glass. “Stop looking at me like that. I know what you’re thinking.”

There was that devilish smile. “What am I thinking?”

“That I’m going to sleep with you again because I’m feeling dejected about men and you”—she took in his broad shoulders, lean muscles, and ruggedly handsome face—“are a pleasant enough distraction.”

“Pleasant enough distraction?” He gave her a get-real look. “And for the record, you’re wrong. I couldn’t sleep with you today even if I am thinking about it. I have a seven-day rule.”

“What’s a seven-day rule?”

“I don’t have sex with the same woman twice in one week. That starts to get too couple-y.” He saw her roll her eyes. “Oh, you can have a checklist with thirty-four items, and I can’t have one rule?”

Touché.

 • • • 

THEY PARTED WAYS
on the sidewalk outside the restaurant.

“You’re heading back to the office, then?” Vaughn asked.

She nodded. “As much as I would love to play hooky on a Friday afternoon like this, I need to get back. I’m trying to steal a CEO away from PetSmart.”

“If I had a dime every time a woman used that old excuse to ditch me.”

She smiled. “So tomorrow’s the big day, huh?” she said, referring to Simon’s bachelor party.

“Yep. For you, as well. Do you have some crazy girl’s night out planned for the bachelorette party?”

“Maybe,” she said, being cryptic.

Vaughn thought about Sidney being out on the town, drinking, wearing another one of her sexy dresses, getting wild with the rest of the girls, and probably flirting with guys. He felt a stab of something oddly possessive—which he quickly brushed aside. Sure, perhaps he felt a little protective toward her. That was only natural; they’d gotten close over the last few weeks. In fact, the stuff he’d told her about the dark phase he’d gone through after working on the child victims squad was something he almost never spoke about. He liked talking to her, and hanging out with her, and he sure as hell enjoyed sleeping with her. But that was
all
it was—they were just having fun together. They wanted completely opposite things, and they both knew that.

“Just don’t do anything tomorrow night that I wouldn’t do,” he told her.

“Well, that doesn’t eliminate much, does it?” She winked and turned confidently on her heel, long auburn swinging.

Probably he should’ve phrased that a different way.

FIFTEEN WOMEN, INCLUDING
Isabelle, let out a collective cheer when the waiter arrived at their table carrying a tray of lemon drop shots.

He served Isabelle first, setting one of the shot glasses in front of her. “For the bride-to-be.”

Isabelle took a tiny sip and her eyes widened. “Wow, that’s strong.”

When the other women had been served their glasses, Amanda, who’d bought the round, raised hers in toast. “To Isabelle and her romantic whirlwind courtship with Simon. I think I speak for everyone at this table when I say . . . girl, I thought for sure you were pregnant.”

The group burst into laughter.

Isabelle lifted her glass. “Bottom’s up to that.” She polished off the shot in one gulp. While everyone else was drinking, she winked at Sidney, who sat at the opposite end of the table.

Unbeknownst to all, Sidney had promised their waiter an extra twenty percent in gratuity if he served Isabelle virgin versions of whatever drinks everyone ordered for her. The plan had similarly worked like a charm earlier that evening at RPM Italian, where they’d had dinner. By now, Isabelle had drunk two virgin cosmopolitans, a virgin French martini, and three nonalcoholic lemon drop shots, and likely was flying high on a sugar rush from all the cranberry, lemon, and pineapple juice.

Sidney shared a conspiratorial smile with her sister, and was struck by a sudden bout of nostalgia. To cover, she looked out at the striking view to her right. They had a VIP table on the terrace of theWit Hotel’s rooftop lounge, which, at twenty-seven stories up, looked out over the city’s impressive nighttime skyline.

She’d wanted to go all out for this bachelorette party because she knew that Isabelle had been stressed with the wedding planning and because things likely weren’t going to get any
less
busy for her sister anytime soon. After the wedding, Isabelle would move into baby-prep mode, and five months later she would be a mom. Thus, in some ways, this bachelorette party felt like a final hurrah to the old days, the many years when it was basically just the two of them, the Sinclair sisters.

“Man, your sister can drink,” said Trish, seated on Sidney’s left. “I’ve only had half of what she’s had, and I’m already feeling it.” A breeze blew through her blond hair and she sighed contentedly. “It’s so good to be out.” She looked at Sidney. “Don’t tell the other moms in my play group that I said that.”

Sidney smiled. Trish had joined a neighborhood “new moms” group and, as the only woman who worked full-time, had been feeling a little like an outsider. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Trish took a sip of her drink and then sat back in her chair. “So, catch me up. Tell me how things are going with your dating plan.”

“I had drinks with Chad Bailey the other night. Remember him, from high school?”

“Ooh, I remember him being very cute. What’s he like now?” Trish asked eagerly.

“Pretty much a jerk.” Sidney filled her friend in on all the details of her date.

“Huh. So these tips about men that Vaughn is giving you. What’s in it for him?” Trish asked.

“Unfortunately, so far, the satisfaction of being completely right,” Sidney said dryly.

Trish cocked. “Is there . . . any chance he’s trying to steer you away from other guys because he’s jealous?”

Sidney snorted. “Ah, no. Guys like Vaughn don’t get jealous. He won’t even sleep with the same woman twice in the same week because he doesn’t want any ‘emotional entanglements.’ As for why he’s giving me these tips, I guess it’s because we’ve kind of become . . . friends.”

Trish stared at her in disbelief.

“I know,” Sidney said. “I heard the word come out of my mouth and I’m just as shocked as you.”

They both started laughing—an amusement undoubtedly aided by the drinks they’d already consumed that night.

“Do you have bend-me-over-the-couch sex with a lot of your friends?” Trish asked.

“Heck, maybe I should, after this.” Still giggling, they clinked their glasses together.

“It’s that good, huh?”

Sidney leaned in conspiratorially. “Oh my gosh, Trish. You should see the shape he’s in. When he takes his shirt off, it’s like . . .” She paused, trying to come up with a good analogy for naked Vaughn Roberts. “Remember when we went to Vegas, the dessert bar at the Bellagio buffet? It’s like that. So much I want to try, I don’t even know where to start.”

“I told you that you needed this.”

“You were definitely right.”

“And I don’t need to be concerned that you’re starting to actually like the guy? Normally, you don’t
befriend
the Mr. Right Now, I don’t think.”

“That’s just because of this whole wedding thing. And actually, I think it’s good that the two of us can have a conversation now without me ending up thoroughly annoyed.” Some of the time. “I’m going to be running into the guy forever, you know.” She looked at her friend without any hesitation. “You don’t have to worry. I’ve got this, Trish.”

“Got what?” said a voice, coming from behind Sidney.

She looked over as Isabelle took a seat in the open chair on her right. “We were . . . just discussing who’s going to buy the next round of drinks.”

“Cool. Guess what? I have some good news,” Isabelle said excitedly. “Simon’s coming here with the guys.”

“He is?” Sidney asked, surprised.

Isabelle was doing her dreamy, glowing thing again. “He’s been texting me all night, asking how things are going.” She threw Sidney a secret look that suggested Simon was, once again, feeling protective of his pregnant fiancée. “He says he pitched the idea of coming here to the other guys, and once he told them that I had a cute, single sister, they were all on board. I think he must be pretty drunk.”

“Thanks,” Sidney said.

Isabelle laughed and squeezed her hand. “Not because he said you’re cute. I meant that over the course of the evening, his text messages have gotten increasingly . . . sentimental. He says he misses me, just being away from me for one day.” She looked at Sidney, beaming over this. “You don’t mind that they’re coming, do you?”

“Not at all. It’s your bachelorette party, Izz.”

Isabelle left to tell the other women the news, practically dancing around the table along the way.

Sidney and Trish exchanged looks. Both of them started giggling.

“My God, it’s like she’s in a Disney movie,” Trish said. “Please tell me I was not that giddy when it was my turn.”

“Giddy? No. But I do seem to recall somebody getting a little choked up when Reid’s best man told that story about your first date during his toast.”

“So my eyes were a little watery. It was allergy season.”

“Sure it was.” With a knowing smile, Sidney took a sip of her martini.

 • • • 

DESPITE HOLDING A
firm belief that seeing one’s fiancée on the night of one’s bachelor party went against the natural order of things, Vaughn found himself crammed in an elevator with Simon and thirteen other guys, headed up to the rooftop terrace at theWit Hotel.

After an afternoon spent gambling on a riverboat casino, and then dinner at Zed451—an upscale steakhouse in the city’s River North neighborhood—the original plan had been to stop next for drinks at the rooftop bar at EPIC. But then Simon, who’d sailed over the line between good-and-buzzed to outright drunk about an hour ago, had started texting his bride-to-be, messages that were undoubtedly even more schmaltzy than usual, given his inebriated state. And just like that, the plan switched.

They’d encountered one near obstacle: the bouncer in the lobby, who hadn’t been particularly enthused about admitting such a large party of guys all at one time. Fortunately, a quick flash of Vaughn’s FBI badge, accompanied by a generous tip, had taken care of that problem.

After the group got off at the twenty-seventh floor, Vaughn held back to wait for Cade and Huxley, who’d taken a separate elevator. He’d invited his friends, both of whom knew Simon fairly well, to tag along for the night.

The two men exited the elevator and checked out the place as they walked over to the railing, where Vaughn waited. It was a large bar, divided into multiple indoor/outdoor sections, with enough people to make the space feel crowded but not packed.

“If you like it, Morgan, we might want to book now for your bachelor party,” Vaughn said, only half-joking.

Cade casually tucked his hands into his pants pockets. “I don’t believe I’ve announced anything.”

“Yet,”
Huxley said, as the three of them walked toward the bar on the patio. It wasn’t exactly a secret, they both knew Cade planned to propose to Brooke soon.

“Hmm,” was Cade’s only response.

Vaughn and Huxley exchanged looks, letting that non-answer sit for a moment. When they got to the bar, Vaughn ordered three glasses of Macallan 18.

Then he studied Cade. Now that he thought about it, his friend had been acting a little squirrelly all evening. “Something’s up.”

“What makes you think that?” Cade said.

“Instinct.” Vaughn glanced at his partner. “What do you think, Agent Huxley?”

Huxley sized Cade up. “He’s holding out on us.”

Cade threw his hands in the air in disbelief. “I swear, I don’t know how you two do it. From the moment I first got together with Brooke, you’ve had an eerie sixth sense about these things.”

“First of all, the reason Hux and I have a sixth sense about these things is because we’re bad-ass FBI agents who know everything.”

“Word,” Huxley nodded.

“But more important”—Vaughn grinned at his best friend—“Holy shit, Morgan. Did you ask Brooke to marry you?”

Cade smiled. “Yesterday.”

“And . . . what did
she
say?”

Cade laughed at that. “She said yes.”

Vaughn grabbed Cade’s shoulder. “Hell, yeah, she said yes.”

“Congratulations,” Huxley said, raising a glass. “Ah, it seems like just yesterday that you were threatening her with obstruction of justice charges and she told you to kiss her ass.”

They toasted, drank, and reminisced for a while, until Cade switched subjects. “So how long are you going to keep us in suspense here?” he asked Vaughn.

“Keep you in suspense about what?”

“Which one is Sidney?” Cade nodded in the direction of Isabelle’s bachelorette party, which Simon and the rest of the guys had quickly infiltrated.

Auburn hair at two o’clock, smoking-hot black dress, holding a half-finished pink martini in her right hand.
“Sidney . . . who’s Sidney?”

Huxley snorted. “I’ll go out on a limb and guess that she’s the redhead by the railing who you can’t stop checking out.”

Realizing that the gig was up, Vaughn allowed himself a good, long look. With her hair falling past her shoulders in sleek waves, smoky eyes, red lipstick, and a black dress that dipped to a V in front, she looked every inch the vixen right then. She was talking to a blond woman—Trish, if memory served from the bridal shower—and they seemed to be . . .

His mind went blank when Sidney moved, giving him a glimpse of the slit in her dress that parted all the way up to her midthigh.

Sweet Jesus.

Vaughn cleared his throat and turned back to his friends. “Anyhow.”

Cade laughed. “Anyhow? Huxley and I just went and played two rounds of pool during the time you were ogling her.”

“So I checked her out.” Vaughn shrugged. “She’s an attractive woman.”

“Please. We’ve been here for twenty minutes, and you haven’t said one word about the brunette in the blue dress who’s been eye-fucking you this whole time,” Huxley said.

“What brun—” Looking across the bar, Vaughn spotted her now. Wow, Hux was right, she really
was eye-fucking him. “Well, that’s not happening.”

“Because you’re smitten with the maid of honor. Just admit it,” Cade said.

“I don’t do smitten, my friend.”

“So if some guy walked up to Sidney right now and started hitting on her, you’d have no problem with that?” Cade asked.

Vaughn felt another one of those annoying twinges—which, like the other one, he promptly shoved aside. “If some guy walks up to her, I give it all of about five minutes before she sends him packing. Her checklist is like a fortress—nobody’s getting through.”

“Are you willing to bet on that? Because I think we have a situation here.” Huxley leaned in toward Vaughn, his eyes trained on something across the room. “Your ten o’clock. Light brown hair, black shirt, about six feet tall.”

Vaughn quickly identified the suspect. He watched as the other guy stared appreciatively at Sidney from across the room.

“Think he’s going to make a move?” Huxley asked.

Vaughn’s jaw tightened. “I’d say that’s very likely, Agent Huxley.”

Cade peered over his shoulder. “What are you two talking about? Is something happening?”

His eyes trained on the suspect, Vaughn watched as Black Shirt grabbed hold of his drink and turned around, leaning against the bar while fully checking out Sidney.

“Some guy is about to approach Sidney,” Huxley said.

Cade looked at Vaughn. “You’re not going to stand here and watch while another dude hits on her, are you?”

Vaughn thought about that. “That guy looks like a douchebag—she won’t want to talk to him. I mean, really . . . I suppose I’d be doing her a favor by going over there and intercepting this guy.”

Cade and Huxley exchanged looks.

“You do that,” Cade said, his lips twitching in a smile. “Be a hero.”

“Yes. Right.” Vaughn nodded. “Just so we’re all clear that I’m doing this for
her
.” Right then, he saw Black Shirt push away from the bar and head into the crowd in Sidney’s direction.

Enough of the chitchat—he had a douchebag to intercept.