Some Sort of Love (Happy Crazy Love #3) (2 page)

By nine the following night, my positive attitude was somewhat diminished. All the rude questions and comments I hadn’t heard at the rehearsal dinner had clearly been saved up for the main event.

No boyfriend yet? Maybe you’re being too picky.

Last Nixon sister standing, huh?

Hard to believe you’re still single, Jillian. You’re so pretty!
(Then they’d study me carefully, like they were trying to figure out what the problem was, since it couldn’t be my face. If I were a car, they’d have asked me to pop the hood so they could take a look.)

One well-meaning great-aunt even dragged me over to meet someone who was seated at a nearby table. The fact that he was gay and even had a male date seemed lost on her, and she kept insisting we dance. The poor guy took me out on the floor just to shut her up, and we swayed awkwardly to “Ain’t That a Kick in the Head” while my sisters howled with laughter at the head table.

After that, I decided to hide out near the bar and get tipsy.

I was creeping behind a row of topiary trees with my third—or maybe my fifth—glass of champagne when my mother’s oldest friend, Irene Mahoney, spotted me. Irene meant well, but she was the kind of woman who always managed to compliment and insult me in one breath.

“Jillian! Are you hiding?” She stuck her hands on her ample hips.

“No, Aunt Irene. Just taking a break.” Lifting my glass, I downed the rest of my champagne and immediately wanted more. Why were champagne flutes so small? Would it be wrong to ask for a bigger glass? Or maybe the whole bottle?

“Well, you should be dancing! You look so pretty in that dress, and you’re never going to meet anyone if you don’t put yourself out there. You know what they say, always a bridesmaid…” Her voice trailed off as she pointed one pudgy finger at me.

I squeezed the stem of my glass so hard I thought it might snap, but I managed a smile. “I’m not much of a dancer.”

“How’s the new job going? Your mother said you’re loving it.”

I nodded enthusiastically. “I am.”

“Are the hours any less grueling? Do you have any time to yourself?”

“They’re a little better, not much. But I love getting to know the families. Last week I—”

“What about your own family? Don’t you want one?”

I bristled. “Sure. Eventually.”

“Well, you’re never going to meet anyone hiding over here with that frown on your face, silly girl.”

Actually, I wasn’t frowning until you came over here.

“You need to stand where you can be seen. Smile. Look more approachable,” she admonished, patting my arm. “Let me find you a partner.”

“No, really. I don’t want to dance right now.”

“Well, you’re much too lovely to be standing over here so single—I mean, so alone. You’re at that age where you have to be proactive about these things, Jillian. You have to let men see what a prize you are or risk being sad and lonely forever.” She grabbed my arm and began to drag me toward the tent.

“Please. I’m not a prize, Aunt Irene. And I’m not sad, either.”

“Of course you are! Every woman wants a man in her life.”

Digging my heels in, I wrenched my arm away. “Actually, what
this
woman wants is another drink. Excuse me.” I spun away from her and slammed immediately into a big, solid wall. Wait, no—it wasn’t a wall. Walls don’t have strong hands that reach out to steady you, huge dark eyes full of concern, and a thick, brown beard you’re pretty sure would feel like velvet against your cheek. And your thighs.

They don’t know your name, either.

“Jillian?”

For a second, I couldn’t place him. Then my jaw dropped.
Oh my God.
“Levi?”

“You two know each other?” Irene, still right behind me, sounded pleased.

“Uh…yeah.” Levi and I looked at each other, half stunned, half embarrassed. He took his hands from my upper arms, and I immediately felt unbalanced.

“We’ve, um…” Our eyes locked, exchanging a silent word.
Fucked.

“Met.” Levi finished my sentence, his lips tipping up.

I smiled too. What we’d done was have fumbling, frantic sex in a dorm utility closet the way only two desperately hormonal (and drunk) college students can do. To this day, every time I think about that encounter, I go a little weak in the knees.

Was it horrible that I didn’t know his last name?

“Isn’t this wonderful?” Irene looked back and forth between Levi and me, smiling approvingly. “And just look how nice and tall he is, Jillian. My word, he must be over six feet. You should ask her to dance,” she ordered him.

Levi’s eyes widened in alarm, and I smiled at him reassuringly. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not much of a dancer.” But Irene was right about one thing—he was nice and tall. He had a few solid inches on me, and at five foot eight plus my four-inch heels, that was pretty impressive. He wore a black suit with a white dress shirt, and the knot in his tie was loose and a little haphazard, as if he’d been in a rush to get dressed. His dark hair was parted on the side, longer on top and neatly combed back. Something stirred inside me—something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

At least not without charging up Magik Mike first. And Mike had three speeds, seven functions, and rotating ball bearings, so this was pretty impressive.

“How about a drink instead?” I asked.

He smiled, looking relieved. “I’d like that.”

“Perfect.” Taking his elbow, I steered him toward the patio bar, tossing a placating smile at Irene over my shoulder. “Nice chatting with you, Aunt Irene. Enjoy the music.”

When we were a safe distance away from her, I let go of Levi’s arm, although I really wished I had a reason to keep holding on to it. What was he
doing
here? “Sorry about crashing into you like that. I’m a little clumsy. Plus…” I held up my empty champagne glass. “This doesn’t help.”

He laughed a little. “I didn’t mind.”

“So.” I tried to think of where to begin, since
hey, remember that time we banged in a closet?
seemed a little too off-color for this occasion. “It’s been a while. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Grinning, he ran a hand over his chin. “Didn’t have the beard back in college.”

“I like it.” I liked it a lot, actually. He’d been tall, skinny and cute at twenty-one, all arms and legs, floppy hair and cocky smile, but he was tall, broad, and gorgeous at thirty-two. I glanced at the darkening sky.
Please, God—please let him be single.

“Thanks. My son likes it too.”

I gave God the stinkeye. “Wow. You have a son?”

“Yes.” We reached the bar and stood in the short line. “Scotty.”

“How old is he?”

“He’s eight.”

“Got a picture?”

He pulled out his phone and scrolled through a couple photos before handing it to me. On the screen was an adorable young boy sitting on a swing. He had messy dark hair, his father’s huge brown eyes and long limbs, a smattering of freckles across his nose, and ears that stuck out a little. His expression was thoughtful and serious, and he wore a shirt with a drawing of a T. Rex on it that said Scottasaurus.

“He’s beautiful,” I said, handing the phone back.

“Thank you.”

Some quick math told me he must have gotten married fairly soon after college. I’d met him my sophomore year at U of M, but he’d only been visiting friends there. I hadn’t even planned to go out that night—I’d had on a Harry Potter t-shirt, for heaven’s sake, and I think it had a hole in it—but my friends had dragged me to the bar, insisting I needed a study break. I’d noticed Levi right away, and we’d eyed each other across the room for a good portion of the night before he finally came over to me and said, “Harry Potter fan, huh? So what are the chances I can Slytherin to your chamber of secrets tonight?”

Two drinks later, we were kissing, and two after that, we were racing hand in hand to my dorm, where he’d yanked me into the hallway broom closet after we’d discovered my roommate was already asleep in my room.

For a moment, I was distracted by the memory of giggling breathlessly as I listened to him tear open the condom wrapper and put it on, the sight of him lost to me in the dark. I remembered the way my heart pounded as I slid my underwear down my legs, terrified we’d rouse my RA, whose room was right next door. I remembered the scent of bleach and Pine Sol, his lips on mine, his hands on my shoulders as he turned my body toward the wall and lifted my jean skirt. Most of all, I remembered the way he whispered as he thrust up inside me again and again and again, so deep and hard it teetered on the edge between pleasure and pain, one hand over my mouth to stifle my cries.
You’re so fucking hot, I wanna fuck you so hard, oh fuck I’m gonna come.

OK, maybe not terribly poetic or imaginative, but hey, he was young.

And for me, a bookworm whose Saturday nights were usually spent reading bio-chem textbooks or romance novels, broom closet sex with a hot guy was a pretty erotic experience. Until that point I’d only had missionary sex in dorm room beds with two other guys, neither of whom had said anything except “uuuuuuuhhhhhhhh” the entire time. And by “the entire time,” I mean all five minutes.

But with Levi, it was different. Not that it was much slower—in fact, it may have been faster—but it was more illicit. More unexpected.

Dirtier.

Rougher.

And I’d liked it—it had shocked me how much I liked it. In fact, it was still one of my go-to fantasies when I was alone with Magik Mike.

Too bad he was married.

I cleared my throat in an effort to clear my head. “Is your wife here?”

“We aren’t together anymore.” He didn’t look or sound particularly sad about it.

“Oh.” My pulse picked up, and I sent God a silent apology for the stinkeye. “So tell me how you know Sebastian. Skylar is my sister.”

He cocked his head. “Is she? Sorry, I probably would know that if I hadn’t been so late that I missed the ceremony. I never saw a program or anything.”

“That’s OK, most people wouldn’t guess it. We don’t look much alike.” Skylar and Natalie had our mother’s blonde hair and petite, curvy body. I had our dad’s tall, thin frame and dark hair, although we all had the same blue eyes. “And we, um, might not have exchanged last names that night.”

Levi laughed, a deep throaty sound that heated up my insides. “Maybe not.”

“Jillian Nixon.” I held out my hand.

He took it. “Levi Brooks.”

I have a bit of a hand fetish and couldn’t resist glancing down at his. It was solid and strong, with long fingers, nails neatly trimmed. A thick black watch peeked out from the crisp white cuff of his dress shirt, which made my heart skip a few beats. I
love
a nice wristwatch on a man. There’s something so classic and masculine about it.

His grip was firm, and he gave my hand an affectionate little squeeze before letting go. “I met Sebastian at the gym a couple years ago, but I’m also his architect.”

“You’re an architect? Did you design his cabin?” I asked, impressed. “It’s beautiful!”

“Thanks.” He shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets. “That was a pretty simple project, really. And Sebastian had a lot of input. He just needed someone to draw up the plans and supervise the construction.”

“I hear they’re adding on, though, right? I knew my sister wouldn’t be able to live with so little closet space.”

Levi chuckled, and I raised my eyebrows. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just…” He glanced sideways at me, a boyish grin on his face. “Closet space.”

My face warmed, and I couldn’t help smiling either. “Ah. Yes. Closet space.”

The group in front of us moved away from the bar, and Levi put a hand lightly at the small of my back as we stepped forward. It wasn’t overtly suggestive, but it sent a flutter through my belly all the same.

In fact, every part of my body felt fluttery—my heart, my hands, my knees. Even my head, which can usually find something wrong with a guy in under five minutes, wasn’t telling me no. So he had a son, so what? He was handsome and smart and funny, and I hadn’t been this attracted to someone in a long time.

So I was glad when he left his hand on my back while we ordered drinks, his thumb rubbing softly at the base of my spine.