The Trouble With Love (11 page)

Mitchell glared at her. “Not here I don’t.”

“Yeah, of course here,” Julie chirped, tilting her head. “He can’t say no to you here.”

“Oh, I absolutely can,” Cassidy said, raising his glass in Mitchell’s direction. “But you might as well get it over with. Is it about the triathlon we talked about, because I’m totally in—”

“Shut it, Cassidy,” Riley said, stuffing a piece of baguette in his mouth. “Let Mitchell do the talking.”

“Because he’s so good at that,” Jake said, earning the middle finger from his friend.

Mitchell ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I, well, the thing is—”

“Oh, I’ll do it,” Julie interrupted. “So, Cassidy, you know we get married in a few weeks. . . .”

Cassidy slowly chewed the bread Riley had stuffed in his mouth before replying. “I am aware of this.”

“Well, Mitchell here has, like, zero friends, because he’s antisocial.”

“Introverted,” Mitchell ground out. “The word you’re looking for is
introverted,
and we introverts have small, selective circles of friends.”

“Hear, hear,” Emma said.

Mitchell winked at her.

“Yeah, okay, whatever,” Julie said, waving this aside. “Anyway, one of the people in his ‘selective friend group’”—Julie put this last part in air quotes—“is this guy from college. Whose baby was just born.”

“Oh, yay!” Grace said.

“Well, yes. Yay. Except the wee one was four weeks premature, and while she’s just fine, she’ll need to be in the hospital for a while while her lungs develop. So no flying from California to New York on
this
family’s agenda. So . . .”

Julie glanced between Mitchell and Cassidy and wiggled her eyebrows.

Cassidy stared at her blankly. As did Jake and Sam. All four women rolled their eyes at the sheer density of the male mind.

“He wants you to be a groomsman, stupid,” Riley said. “Probably would have asked before if Emma hadn’t been a bridesmaid and the whole thing hadn’t smelled
awkward
back then.”

“Oh, and it’s not awkward now?” Sam muttered.

Julie glanced from Emma to Cassidy. “Well, we understand how things are now. And we know they’re not weird. Right?”

Emma didn’t look at Cassidy. He didn’t look at her. But they answered in unison. “Right.”

“So, Cassidy . . . you in?” Julie asked.

Everyone looked at him. He grinned. “Hell, yes, I’m in.”

Emma watched as Cassidy and Mitchell man-hugged and wondered how she felt about this little development.

She, Grace, and Riley were all bridesmaids in the wedding. Actually, Grace was maid of honor, thanks to a rousing round of rock-paper-scissors. And Jake and Sam were groomsmen, thanks to the fast friendship that had formed among the men, as well as Mitchell’s otherwise limited friend group.

Emma had never thought much about the fact that Cassidy hadn’t been asked before now. She knew that Mitchell was perhaps closer with Jake and Sam thanks to the “coupley” things they did with Grace and Riley.

But she also knew that Cassidy and Mitchell were running buddies, had been to a couple Yankees games, and had the same sort of quiet alpha vibe going on.

It made sense that he’d ask Cassidy, albeit a bit late in the game.

But it also meant that she and Cassidy would be standing up at the altar.

Together.

Something they’d never done on their
own
wedding day.

Emma swallowed.

She could do this.

She could stand next to her best friend on her special day without remembering that day.

Couldn’t she?

By the time everyone sat down to dinner, Emma had more or less pushed the thought out of her mind. Right up until the conversation came back to Julie’s wedding.

“Cassidy, do you own a tux? Or do want me to set you up at the same place I made an appointment for Sam and Jake?” Julie asked.

“I still can’t believe I have to wear a penguin suit,” Sam muttered around a piece of chicken.

Riley clucked him under the chin. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Jake turned toward Grace. “What about me? Will you make it worth my while?”

“Don’t even pretend that you mind wearing a tux,” Grace said, topping off her wine glass.

“Bond,” Jake said in a low voice. “James Bond.”

Sam paused in his chewing. “Okay. Okay, I think you’re on to something. I might be able to get excited about the tux. I’m going to 007 the shit out of this.”

Julie rolled her eyes. “Cassidy?”

“I do own a tux, actually,” he said, wiping his mouth neatly with his napkin.

Sam and Jake gaped. “You own one? What the hell for?”

“Hey,
I
own one,” Mitchell said from the head of the table, sounding indignant.

Jake waved a hand at him. “You have season tickets to the opera. You probably own
two
.”

Mitchell shrugged, completely unashamed.

“I’ve had it for awhile,” Cassidy said. “I’ll need to make sure it still fits, but it did last year when I wore it to my cousin’s wedding, so I should be good.”

Grace shook her head. “You men don’t understand how easy you have it. You buy one good tux in your life, and it never goes out of style. Can you imagine if we wore a dress from . . . Cassidy, how old is your tux?”

Emma was sitting next to Cassidy, so she didn’t have to see his face, but she could tell from the slightly stiff way he cut a bite of his chicken and deliberately took a bite that he did not want to answer that question.

And there could be only one reason why he wouldn’t want to explain.

Emma wasn’t the only one to figure it out.

Riley groaned. “It’s your wedding tux, isn’t it?”

“Awwwwkward,”
Jake said, in a fake dramatic voice before giving Cassidy a shit-eating grin.

“What was I supposed to do, burn it?” Cassidy asked.

“Actually, yes,” Riley said, jabbing her fork at him. “It would serve you right for ditching our girl on your wedding day.”

Emma froze. Hell,
everyone
froze. Emma and Cassidy may have made peace with their past. They may be able to participate in the same wedding. They could sit beside each other at a dinner party.

But they never talked about that day. Not with each other. Not with their friends.

“Ri,” Sam said in a warning voice, and Grace and Julie shot her shut-the-hell-up glares.

But Riley, was, well, Riley. She was as good a friend as there was, but she had a very low tolerance for bullshit.

And Emma was almost grateful. They had to rip this Band-Aid off sometime.

“No, it’s okay,” Emma said, setting her hand on Grace’s arm before Grace’s glare could bore a hole in Riley’s forehead.

All eyes turned to her and Cassidy, and Emma fiddled with her fork.

Riley tilted her head. “You did abandon her on her wedding day, right?” Her voice was quieter now. More hesitant.

Cassidy lifted his wine glass. “She mentioned that bit, did she?”

“Because it
happened,
” Emma said, refusing to let Cassidy get away with talking about her as though she weren’t there.

He hesitated. “It did,” he said slowly, cutting her a brief thoughtful glance as he swirled his wine glass before turning his attention back to Riley.

“Did Emma also mention that the night before her wedding, she threw her engagement ring at my head?” he asked.

Attention shifted from Cassidy to Emma, and all eyes were rather wide. Including the guys’.

She lifted her finger in protest. “I assure you, it was
well
deserved.”

“Tell me something, Jake, since you’re the only married guy,” Cassidy said, leaning forward so he could glance down the table at Jake.

Jake leaned back in his chair to avoid Cassidy’s gaze. “I am not here. I can’t see you, I can’t hear you. . . . Please for the love of
God
leave me out of this.”

Cassidy pressed on. “If Grace had told you
the night before your wedding
that you were the last man on earth that she would ever consider marrying, would you have shown up the next day?”

“Emma!” Julie gasped. “You told him that?”

“Trust me,” Emma said, waving her fork around at the group. “You would have thrown your ring, too, and had words if you knew the full story.”

“But you still showed up the next day?” Grace asked Emma, her voice gentle.

Yup. Emma had shown up the next day. Cassidy hadn’t. Her sister had had to drag her away from the church and had patiently fed a couch-ridden Emma nothing but root beer floats for two weeks before quietly insisting that Emma was too young to throw her life away.

So Emma had gotten off the couch. Brushed her hair. And moved to New York City, and
never
looked back.

“It doesn’t matter,” Emma said, when the silence stretched on. “It was a long time ago when we were both immature and stupid. We’ve moved on.”

Cassidy nodded once in agreement. “We’ve moved on.”

But from the looks going around the table, Emma had the sneaking suspicion that she and Cassidy were the only ones who believed that.

Chapter 12

Alex’s day had been complete shit.

Two copy editors had quit within an hour of each other. Then one of the printers had gone on the fritz. A major advertiser had declared bankruptcy and pulled out of a prime spot in the December issue.

And just as he was thinking it was impossible for the night to be any worse than the day, an epic thunderstorm rolled in on as he walked home—without an umbrella.

All Alex wanted was a glass of the French Malbec he’d opened the night before and the spy thriller he’d been trying to finish for weeks but just couldn’t quite find the time for.

Alex caught the elevator at his apartment building just as it was closing, running a hand through his wet hair, only to glance up sheepishly when he realized he wasn’t alone.

“Sorry,” he muttered at a guy he didn’t recognize.

“No worries,” the man said in a British accent. “Coming down rather hard out there, isn’t it?”

Alex glanced at the man, whose reddish-brown hair was perfectly styled and not the least bit wet. Neither was the bottom of his gray suit pants water-marked like Alex’s, and his Burberry jacket didn’t show so much as a drop. Even the umbrella in the man’s hand was dry.

Clearly he’d taken a cab. Or had a personal driver.

“Sure is,” Alex said grumpily.

Belatedly he realized he hadn’t pushed the button for his floor, but the man was also going to twenty-four.

“Just move in, or visiting someone?” Alex asked.

The man smiled politely. “Visiting someone.”

“Ah.”

“An ex-girlfriend, actually,” the man muttered, as though a little disbelieving.

“Ouch,” Alex said in sympathy. “Picking up a box of forgotten items, or having one last ‘talk’?”

“Neither. I haven’t even seen her in a year or so, but she’s a journalist and doing a story on ex-boyfriends, and since she’s one of the noncrazy ones, I figured . . . why not help her out?”

Alex closed his eyes.

Incredible
.

He should be putting his shitty day behind him with a good book and a glass of wine, but here he was, all but escorting his ex-fiancée’s ex up to her apartment so that she could write a story that Alex himself had pushed on her.

He’d barely seen Emma since the dinner party at Julie and Mitchell’s, but when he had, the mood had been downright glacial.

Their chilly relationship, which he had thought was beginning to thaw, had taken a turn toward the next ice age thanks to the spontaneous dinner conversation about their ill-fated wedding day.

But Alex was not inclined to share the blame for that little development. If it had been up to
him,
they’d have kept dodging their friends’ questions about their past.

Instead Emma had green-lighted everyone else’s curiosity and gotten answers—or a lack of answers—that she hadn’t liked one bit.

Well, too damn bad, Em. I didn’t like your answers much, either.

He was the bad guy. He got that.

Preferred
it, even. Because being cast as the villain was a hell of a lot better than everyone knowing that you’d spent your wedding day half-drunk, feeling like there was a crater where your heart should have been.

Alex suspected that was the real reason for the coldness of his and Emma’s current relationship. There was something numbing in all of those icy exchanges.

And numbness was better than pain.

Most of the time.

But today?

Today he wasn’t numb. He was mad. Mad at the world. Mad at this British chump who’d somehow dodged the rain. Mad at himself for caring that another man was headed up to Emma’s apartment.

Mad at Emma . . . just for being Emma.

He forced a smile at the guy. “Oh, you’re going to see Emma Sinclair?”

The guy smiled in response. “Yes. You know her?”

“Sure.” Alex smiled and extended a hand. “Alex Cassidy. Emma’s neighbor and boss.”

“Jason Grint,” the other man said, accepting the handshake. “Neighbor
and
boss, huh. Poor Emmy.”

Emmy
.

Alex pulled his hand back before his grip tightened in response to the stupid nickname.

“Yeah, it’s a long story,” he said, as he held the elevator open for Jason. “Say, you mind if I tag along for your interview? Emma and I keep having to reschedule our usual meeting, and I’m dying to see how she’s coming along with the story.”

“Um, sure,” Jason said, looking a little unsure for the first time as he followed Alex down the hall. “So, you work for . . . what’s the magazine’s name? The girly one.”

“Stiletto,”
Alex said, pausing in front of Emma’s door. “And I’m actually just the interim editor-in-chief while the real boss is on vacation.”

“Huh.” Jason said. “That must be—”

“Surreal? Trust me, it is,” Alex said.

Then he knocked on Emma’s door.

Her reaction when she saw him standing next to Jason was everything he’d hoped for. Disbelief. Annoyance. Alarm.

“Look who I found in the elevator,” Alex said, resting an arm on her doorjamb and leaning in just slightly.

Her eyes narrowed. “How delightful.”

“Very,”
Cassidy said. “We had lots to talk about. Lots in common, actually.”