The Best Man (Chesapeake Shores Book 2) Read online

  “Uh, yeah. And so did your sister.”

  “Big deal.”

  “Says you. She’s not going to question you about your sexual escapades.”

  “Jesus. Let’s stop this conversation before it goes any further. And while we’re at it, I propose a truce.”

  “Really? How magnanimous of you.”

  “I think it’s ridiculous that you’re pissy with me just because you’re sexually attracted to me, Molly. I’m hard as fuck for you right now, but I’m not pissy. Not even mildly annoyed. Nope.”

  Hard as??? I take the exit and pull off into the parking lot of a Burger King. I put this dream of a car in Park and turn toward Everett. “What did you just say?”

  “You heard me, Molls.” He turns in his seat to face me, adjusting himself as he does it, and God, I’m sixteen again. In about three minutes, we’re going to be half naked in the back seat, getting each other off.

  “Look, I want you. I’m a grown-ass man and to pretend otherwise is foolish. You want me, too. You’re not ready to deal with it, you’ve got shit to work out, fine. But let’s not pretend that we’re not interested. That’s some bullshit. And I’m sticking around for a while and making this my temporary home base. I still have to travel for work, but I’ll be coming back here in between meetings for the next month or so.”

  “Ugh.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Have I mentioned that it also pisses me off when you make sense?”

  “No big deal. It kind of turns me on when you get pissed off. And everything I say is logical and sensible, so I fail to see the problem here.” His cocky side is showing and damn if that doesn’t turn me on, too. God damn my need to have sex with this man again.

  “Okay, fine. You’re right. We need to get along because you’re obviously sticking around for a while and Simon and Elaine have asked us to do them a favor. A favor I am perfectly capable of doing on my own—-”

  “Look, I get that. But she’s my sister. And I’ve got to admit that I haven’t been the best or most attentive big brother. So, yeah, it’s a little late in the game, but I’m here. And I’ll do whatever she asks.”

  The seriousness in his tone gets to me. Elaine hasn’t said too much about their relationship, but I definitely know that he’s been distant. Not bad per se, just rarely around. It’s clear that he’s making an effort and if I thwart that for my own selfish reasons, I’d be hurting Elaine. And there’s no way I’m hurting Elaine.

  “Alright, so we’re a team for the foreseeable future.”

  “A dynamic duo,” he quips.

  “But only in terms of this wedding mission,” I caution. “Nothing else, Mr. Sexypants.”

  “Mr. Sexypants? You need to work on your nickname game, Molly. And, what the hell?”

  “Don’t you raise those eyebrows at me. Don’t you come at me with that smolder. I meant what I said. Do I want to have dirty, raunchy, sweaty sex with you? Yes, yes I do.”

  “Great. Me, too—”

  “But I won’t.”

  “Uhhh...”

  “Look, I told you back in December that I don’t do commitment. I wasn’t lying or exaggerating. I don’t. I used to, it blew up in my face a few too many times, so I got wise and stopped. And don’t even come at me with those puppy dog eyes and tell me we could have a no-strings arrangement. That is so much bullshit. There’s no such thing. We’re going to spend the next 4-6 weeks together planning a wedding. If we’re also having sex, that’s going to blur the lines.”

  “So, instead, we’ll be friends who’ve had sex, but aren’t currently having sex, and are also planning another couple’s wedding,” he says slowly and methodically, as if he’s trying to reason it all out in his head. There’s no sarcasm, just pragmatism.

  “That about sums it up.”

  “You’re the boss.” He winks. Mr. Sexytimes fucking winks. And I know he’s teasing me, baiting me, reminding me that he was the boss during our night together. But if he thinks those words, that wink, and that sexy, infuriating-as-hell attitude are going to intimidate me into submission, he’s out of his Goddamn mind.

  “Ah, now you’re getting it,” I say, as I gun the engine.

  My life has become an unending series of practice in futility.

  I feel like I’m on a damn hamster wheel and no matter how fast I run, how hard I push myself, I’m not getting anywhere.

  I hate feeling like this. I am not used to being useless.

  I’m not familiar with frustration.

  I’m the king of getting things done, so I’m out of my element these days.

  My job is a fucking nightmare. Nathaniel and I worked tirelessly to tie up a deal that should have been closed weeks ago. Unfortunately, the lead on that acquisition, Joel Peretti, is a complete ass, so the whole thing was botched and nearly unsalvageable. But, I’m good at what I do and Nate’s not too shabby either, so it looks like we’ve got a chance of making it work.

  So, we’ll fly off to Chicago to clean up someone else’s mess. And what fucking kills me is that I used to live for this shit. Coming in clutch at the last minute, saving a deal that was fucked up beyond recognition? That’s always been my specialty.

  Now, it’s just annoying the hell out of me.

  So, I’ll hop on a flight tonight, which is nothing new. Except it is now. For the past eighteen years, I’ve lived at least half of the year on the road, and I’ve always preferred it that way. I earned my MBA at 22 and have been on the fast track ever since. Traveling the country on the corporate dime, enjoying lush accommodations, and wheeling and dealing my way through life proved to be ideal.

  And I wasn’t the only one who loved that schedule. My being gone at least half the year suited my now ex-wife just fine. Turns out it’s a lot easier to cheat on your spouse when he’s rarely around.

  So now, I’m packing up some belongings from one hotel room just to fly halfway across the country to stay in another one. The difference is, I’ll return to this one.Yesterday, I let Mrs. Kovak, the inn’s proprietor, know that I wanted to extend my stay by a month. It’s the off-season, so she was happy for the steady income.

  And when I texted Elaine that I planned to stick around for several more weeks, minus the occasional work travel, she was ecstatic. She said she hoped she could convince me to stay close by long term, or at least to visit more.

  I screenshotted her an image of the confirmation that my boat had been moved and docked to a local pier as confirmation that I’d be around a lot more.

  She sent back that GIF of the girls from Friends jumping up and down and screaming.

  She said her baby would be so lucky to have Uncle Ev around and that she couldn’t wait for me to take him or her out on the water.

  Uncle Ev.

  Damn. I never thought that would be a title I’d get to go by, but I’m thrilled.

  I don’t want kids of my own, never have, but I can’t wait to be an uncle, and it feels good to know my sister is excited to have me here.

  I think Molly is the only person who’s not thrilled I’m sticking around. But I’ll change her mind. I have no doubt of that.

  Yea, things were a little rocky earlier today when we went to check out a potential wedding venue. My girl was a bit prickly, but that’s likely due to the fact that I kept inquiring about their honeymoon suite and wedding night accommodations.

  It’s just too much fun to piss her off.

  And that’s new for me.

  Not the pissing people off part. No, I’m pretty sure I do that on the regular. It comes naturally to me.

  But the fun part? That’s new.

  I’ve never been a fun guy.

  Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a total asshole. I know how to have fun.

  I just don’t do it all that often.

  I’m not the guy who jokes around with a beautiful woman. I’m not the guy who spends ten minutes crafting a text. I’m not the guy who looks forward to seeing a woman, even if it’s just to mess with her a bit and grab a quick lunch.


  Well, I never used to be.

  Molly Randall has turned my world upside down, and yet, she refuses to acknowledge that or do anything about it. See? This is part of my frustration.

  And I’m not even talking about sex, though, God Almighty, that night with her in December is etched in my brain as the best sexual experience of my life.

  So, sure, I’d definitely like to pursue the physical aspect of our relationship. But I’d also love to have the freedom to spend time with her because we enjoy each other’s company. Right now, all of our social interaction—digital and personal—is related to another couple’s wedding.

  And that bothers me more than it should.

  After all, Molly has made it clear that she’s not interested in a relationship, just a friendship. And I fully respect that.

  But are we really friends?

  This past week, since promising Simon and Elaine that we’d act as their wedding planners, all of my dealings with Molly have revolved around the wedding. And maybe it’s left over bitterness from my divorce...okay, there’s no maybe about it. I hate the feeling that I’m only good for one thing. With Victoria, that was a hefty paycheck and lavish lifestyle, with the added bonus of frequent absences.

  With Molly, it’s this wedding. And I don’t want to be one-dimensional to her. I don’t know much, but I’m sure of that.

  If I’m even thinking of comparing Molly, who’s all spice and sass, to my ex-wife, who’s all ice and apathy, I clearly need help.

  Or maybe I just need a drink. The buzzing of my phone tells me I’ve got twenty minutes until the car arrives to take me to the airport. I pour two fingers of Scotch and sip, taking in the suitcase that lays before me on the bed. I run its contents against my mental list, toss in the half-full bottle of Glenlivet, wrapping it securely in a sweater and some workout clothes, and consider myself fully packed.

  Ev’s been gone all of sixteen hours, and I miss him, which is ridiculous. I’m ridiculous.

  I’ve got work piling up in my inbox, and instead of dealing with it, I’ve been staring at my phone for twenty minutes, trying to figure out how to respond to his text. I feel like I’m in high school.

  Ugh. Maybe I should ask Ava for advice. She’s what, a junior?

  This shouldn’t be hard!

  I’m known for my witty banter and easy conversation. And yet, nothing about Ev Madigan is easy. Well, ok, the sex was easy. It was effortless. But that was ages ago. And we’re not doing that anymore, no matter how much I want to. And, for the record, he’s tempting as hell. But I’ve been down that relationship road before and it never ends well for me. Sometimes it ends in me pressing charges. So yea, I’m ignoring my hormones on this one.

  I stare at my screen for the 47th time, hoping inspiration will strike.

  Ev: Good morning, gorgeous. How’d you sleep?

  What do I say to that?

  Do I tell him that, though I may be gorgeous, I’m not his?

  Do I tell him that my sleeping habits are none of his business?

  Do I say that I didn’t sleep at all, but I did have a fan-fucking-tastic night, thanks for asking?

  No. No. and Hell No.

  Because no, I’m not his, but in a parallel universe, I totally would be.

  No, because it’s kind of him to inquire about my sleep, and I might be snarky, but, dammit, I’ve got manners.

  And Hell No, because I didn’t. I tossed and turned, all alone in my bed, yearning for something totally out of my reach.

  What I want to do is curl up in my bed and send him a pic of me in my tanktop and shorts and tell him that I’m still sleepy.

  But that does not fall within the confines of friendship.

  What I want to text is that I miss the way he smells and can he tell me what cologne he wears, so I can spritz some on my sheets.

  But that would be creepy, even if we were actually dating.

  What I should text is: Fine, and you?

  But that’s too impersonal.

  A chime tells me that the phone Gods are on my side today, because Ev saves me from having to answer by sending another text.

  Ev: Are you still sleeping? Have you been outside yet?

  This is an easy one. It’s 10:30 in the morning, but I’m not embarrassed to be wearing my pjs.

  Molly: I’m wide awake. But I’m working from home this morning, so I haven’t been outside just yet.

  Monday nights are sleepover nights for Stella and her best friend with benefits, Joe. She stays at his place because he has a hot tub. So I’ve gotten into the habit of working at home on Tuesdays. I have the whole house to myself, and I can get up early and get a lot done.

  Ev: Go outside.

  Uhhhh…..

  Molly: What are you, the sunshine police? I’ll get out there eventually. I might take a walk after lunch. The weather’s great today, but it’s supposed to get cold later this week.

  Ev: Not a suggestion, Molls. Go outside.

  Molly: You are not the boss of me.

  Ev: I was in December.

  Molly: sends a screenshot of the current March calendar

  Ev: I’m gonna spank that sassy ass when I get back into town.

  Molly: Do friends spank each other?

  Ev: You’re about to find out.

  Ev: Are you outside yet?

  Molly: Holy hell. Give me a sec. I’m wearing a cami and sleep shorts. I’ll freeze my ass off.

  Ev: (requests FaceTime)

  Molly: (denies request)

  Ev: You’re cruel. I want to see the tank top.

  Molly: Too bad. I took it off.

  Ev: Sweet Jesus.

  Ev: (requests FaceTime again)

  Molly: (accepts)

  Ev’s handsome face comes into view, and he’s frowning, “No fair, you put on a sweatshirt.”

  I smile cheekily back at him. “That’s because you’re making me go outside.” I slide my feet into Stella’s gardening clogs.

  “Wait, so if I let you stay inside, will you take that hoodie off?”

  I laugh as I head through the mudroom and out the back door. “Nope. Too late anyway, I’m already—holy shit!

  Ev just smiles in response to my squealing.

  “Why is your rental car in my driveway? Aren’t you in Chicago? How?”

  “Simon gave me a hand. His mom is with Elaine this morning, so he picked up my rental and drove it to your place. I didn’t even have to twist his arm.”

  “I bet! That car is a dream to drive. Can I really drive it until you get back?”

  “Yep. That’s the point of me having Simon park it in your driveway, Molls. The keys are under the back doormat. The one that says ‘Oh, shit. Not you again.’”

  I laugh. “Yeah, that’s Stella’s, just so we’re clear.”

  “I can’t wait to meet her.”

  Before I can protest, he continues, “Enjoy the wheels, Molly. I’ll be back on Thursday.”

  “Ok, far be it from me to turn down another crack at driving this car, but isn’t this against the rental agreement? I mean, I’ll take very good care of her, but…”

  “You’re fine. I’m not renting it anymore, actually. I decided to lease it. I don’t have a car here in Maryland, and it drives so smoothly, so…”

  “So you just bought a freaking Porsche?”

  “Well, technically, I’m leasing it. If I buy one, I’ll buy new.”

  “Financial investors make more than copy writers, or so it would seem.”

  “Good thing you’re friends with an investor who knows what you like and is happy to share.”

  There’s an undertone there that I don’t know what to do with, so I ignore it. That’s not usually my style, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t resist liking this guy and I don’t want to ruin the fragile friendship we’re building. Also, there’s a two hundred thousand dollar car in my driveway that is begging me to take it for a spin.

  “One catch,” Ev throws out.

  “Of course.” I roll my eyes. “


  “I get a picture of you in that car.”

  “Seems reasonable...” I reply, “...if I get a picture of you and the Chicago skyline. I’ve never been there.” What? What am I saying? I do not need a picture of this man. My mouth and my brain are not in sync.

  “Consider it done.” He smiles, and I see the creases along his mouth and his eyes. They only make him sexier. The same with the hint of gray at his temples. God, he’s like a walking GQ ad and..

  There’s background noise, and I see a young, good looking guy come into view. “Mr. Madigan, we should probably, oh, I’m so sorry to interrupt...”

  Holy hell. What am I doing? He’s working. I’m working. We’re friends, for heaven’s sake.

  “Don’t worry about it, Nate.” At Ev’s words, the guy,Nate,smiles and retreats.

  “I’ll let you go.”

  “Sounds good, Molly. I’ll be back in town Thursday, like I said, so—”

  “We’re meeting with the florist at noon on Friday. See you then.” I smile and disconnect.

  That was borderline rude.

  Not rude rude. But still. Too hasty. I should text. But what would I say?

  Dammit. It’s been an hour since I received that first text, and I’m right back where I started. And what is it about Ev Madigan that makes me overthink everything? Gah.

  It’s been a long week. It was a long flight. But I’m finally back on the Eastern Shore. I had the car service drop me off at the marina, and I asked Nate to take my bags and suit jacket to the inn for me. We were successful in Chicago, and we need to finish up that contract tomorrow. So Nate’s in town for a couple of days to help me wrap that up.

  But we’re done working for now. Well, at least I am. I have no doubt that Nate has checked in, started a pot of coffee, and is grinding away at solidifying our latest acquisition.

  Not so long ago—less than a year, really—that was me. But I’m restless today. Who am I kidding, I’ve been restless for ages now. An hour or two on the water is just what I need.Being out on my boat clears my mind like nothing else can. Well, maybe sex...But boating is the next best thing. There’s no pressure out here, no competition, just me and the water. I stroll down the dock toward my Leopard 40, which was just brought up from Florida late last week. It’s too big a boat for just me, but Victoria hated sailing, so I sold our Cutwater and bought this when the ink was dry on our divorce papers. I’ve taken her out a few times, but I’m hoping to have more time for that now, though that’s likely just wishful thinking. My job hasn’t changed, only my location has. And hell, even that’s temporary.