You Can't Hurry Love (2 page)

“Jet, this is Lis, the friend I've mentioned to you. She's my maid of honor.”

Elisabeth pasted a smile on her face, launching into the standard greeting. “Hello, Jet, it's nice to—”

As the man turned to face her, the rest of her polite sentence seemed to get shoved off a virtual cliff, and she stood there, speechless.

Why was her old boyfriend Jamie Travers in Tori's house, impersonating Peter's best man?

Jamie tucked one hand in the pocket of his black jeans, holding a stemless wineglass with the other. For the briefest of moments, something sparked in his dark eyes and his grip tightened around the glass. Then he shifted his posture, giving her a lazy once-over. “Hello . . . Lis, is it?”

“Yes.” What was going on? Jamie must have recognized her—she hadn't changed that much since the last time she'd seen him. Why was he acting like they were strangers? Was he just surprised to see her? Or did he think it was easier to pretend they didn't know each other? Elisabeth forced herself to not look away. “My full name is Elisabeth, but my friends call me Lis.”

“Lis it is, then.”

They hadn't spoken in what? Seven years? And he assumed they were still friends? After what had gone down between them?

“And you're . . . Jet?” Where had that nickname come from? He'd been Jamie to his family. Occasionally J.T. among friends. Maybe his pilot buddies had given it to him.

“Yes. I'm the best man for the weekend.”

Ri-ight. Someone needed to rework this guy's title.

“So . . . Lis. What did you say you do?”

“I didn't.”

Tori's eyes narrowed, her head swiveling back and forth between the two of them. “Lis is a middle school teacher.”

“A teacher. I might have guessed.”

And what did he mean by that? So Jamie Travers, their high school class's version of Mr. Congeniality turned US Air Force Academy graduate, thought she looked like a teacher, did he? Was he comparing her to Miss Blanchard, their ancient-as-a-Dead-Sea-Scroll high school history teacher?

“I love teaching middle schoolers. It's quite challenging.” Lis decided to be gracious. “And what do you do?”

“I'm stationed at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Ohio. I'm a chemical engineer.”

What? That couldn't be right. Jamie dreamed of being an air force pilot, not an engineer. But why would he lie to her? Had something happened to change his plans during the years of silence that separated them?

“That sounds interesting.”

“It is. Very interesting. Like you, I love my job.” He raised his glass of wine in a mock salute and downed the last of the red liquid.

“Well, you two will have lots more time to get to know each other.” Tori interrupted their brief exchange. “And don't forget you have to work on a joint toast for the wedding reception.”

“A what?” Elisabeth almost choked on the two words.

“Lis, we talked about this.”

“You said I needed to give a little toast at the reception, yes—”

“Right. And then Peter and I discussed it and we thought it'd be fun if you and Jet worked on a combined toast. I thought I mentioned this. Nothing too involved. It can be humorous or serious . . . whatever. You can even sing if you want to—”

“Sing?”

“What's the matter, Lis?” Jamie's question was laced with laughter. “Can't you carry a tune?”

“If you want to sing the toast,
Jet
, that's fine with me.”

Jamie straightened his shoulders beneath his black V-neck sweater as if they were facing off against each other. “I think a duet toast is creative—”

“Like I said, you two can talk more about this later.” Tori took a step back and tilted her head. “Lis, you haven't met my grandfather yet, have you?”

“What?” When her friend's eyes widened in time with another head tilt toward the kitchen, Elisabeth recovered. “No . . . no, I haven't.”

Tori pulled Elisabeth straight into the kitchen again, right past her mother and grandmother and into the walk-in pantry. As soon as the latticed wooden door shut behind her, Tori whirled around to face her. “What is going on between you and Jet?”

“What are you talking about?” Elisabeth resisted the urge to grab a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch off the shelf behind Tori and start snacking on the sugary cereal.

“Are you kidding me?” She motioned back toward the living room, and then flicked on the overhead light. “That . . . that verbal throwdown with Jet. I thought I was going to have to declare some sort of time-out between you two. Do you know each other or something?”

What was the use of hiding the truth?

“It just so happens I do know Jet. Except I know him as Jamie. Or J.T.” Elisabeth shoved away the memories bombarding her, even as she resisted the urge to switch the light back off and hide in the darkness. “Jamie Travers and I dated back in high school—and for about a year or so in college.”

“What?” Her friend's shriek would probably bring Tori's mother running to the pantry to find out what was going on.

Elisabeth covered Tori's mouth with her hand. “Will you please be quiet?”

Tori yanked Elisabeth's hand away, lowering her voice to a stage whisper. “You dated Jet Travers?”

“A long, long, long time ago. We were kids. And it ended badly.”

And that was the most important thing to remember. Jamie Travers, “Mr. Officer and a Gentleman,” had as good as publicly humiliated her among his classmates.

“Are you going to be all right?”

“I'm fine. I can play nice for a weekend—if he can.”

“I can't believe this. Peter has known Jet for years. He says he's a great guy.”

“Well, Peter never dated Jet, did he?”

A soft knock sounded on the wooden door. “Are you two okay?”

“Yes, Mom. We're fine. We'll be right out.” Tori lowered her voice again. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No. This isn't your problem. You're the bride. I'm the maid of honor. I'm taking care of you this weekend, remember?”

“But I didn't know I'd be bringing you face-to-face with your old boyfriend—”

“It's three days, Tori. Three days. We're adults. We can manage being around each other for three days, right?”

TWO

T
he historic Brown Palace Hotel was a bit pricier than what Elisabeth normally paid for a hotel stay, but since the wedding reception was being held at the distinctive triangle-shaped hotel Saturday night, it made sense Tori had selected it for her out-of-town wedding guests. Besides, there was something to be said about being met by a courteous valet who welcomed her into a lobby aglow with festive holiday lights and seemed eager to attend to her every need.

Some men knew how to treat a woman right—even if there was a tip involved.

Elisabeth had left the dinner gathering before anyone else, hardly able to swallow a few bites of lasagna, what with Jamie—
Jet
—choosing to sit across the dining room table from her. Just as Tori promised, it was a casual crowd, with some people visiting in the living room, and others trooping downstairs to the basement, where
A Christmas Carol
played on the big-screen TV. Not one of her favorite holiday movies, what with all the ghosts posing questions about choices made in the past, the present, and the future. Why hadn't Jet followed his buddies downstairs, instead of joining the group she was in? After invading her space, he'd ignored her the entire time, laughing and joking with everyone else at the table, including the petite brunette bridesmaid who obviously wanted to claim him for the weekend.

Which was fine with Elisabeth.

Some things—and people—never changed. Back in high school, Jamie had been friends with everyone in their class, as well as teachers and students in other grades. His sense of humor and laid-back attitude made him easy to get to know and like—and it was no surprise he was voted class president. At times it seemed as if every girl in the school—from freshman to senior—had a crush on her boyfriend. So often she wondered how they ended up together—and there were plenty of girls who asked the same question loud enough for her to hear. Despite his easygoing nature, Jamie had thrived on the disciplined atmosphere at the Academy—at least he had during the time they'd dated. And she had no reason to believe he didn't continue to do well after their relationship failed.

As thoughts scuttled one after another through her mind, each one of them accompanied by a different image of Jamie and her from years ago, Elisabeth unpacked her suitcase. Clothes in the dresser drawers. Toiletries in the bathroom. Coat and shoes and her wedding ensemble hung up in the closet.

Maybe if she kept moving, doing the next thing, she'd eventually outrun her unwanted memories.

She wasn't interested in what had happened in Jamie Travers's life since they'd lost track of each other. Nor was she interested in his attention now. Let Chloe the brown-haired bridesmaid have him. Elisabeth had a satisfactory life for seven years without talking to the man. Wouldn't have given him another thought once she'd managed to piece her shattered heart back together, except that she ended up getting a job in Colorado Springs, home of the US Air Force Academy.

She was content with her life. Well, that wasn't completely true, but she'd perfected the “always the bridesmaid, never the bride” role. No one suspected she wasn't satisfied being single, as she hosted her friends' bridal showers and purchased items off their gift registries. The gloss had worn off all things matrimonial, but she refused to let her deflated hopes ruin anyone else's wedding day.

She was here to be Tori's maid of honor, not get tangled up with Jamie Travers again. She'd focus on all she needed to do to keep Tori from stressing, and then head back home and never see the man again.

Her laptop sat on the small oval desk in the room, but the idea of getting online and checking Facebook held no appeal. She'd taken a few photos during the evening, but she'd post them on Instagram tomorrow. For now, all she wanted to do was sleep.

After getting ready for bed and turning off the lights, Elisabeth crawled beneath the plush covers, pulling them up over her shoulders and burrowing beneath her feather pillow. All she needed was a decent night's rest and she'd be able to face anything tomorrow, including her former boyfriend.

Elisabeth twisted and turned, trying to find a comfortable position on the mattress that was much firmer than her usual one. The minute she closed her eyes, Jamie Travers appeared in her mind, all grown up and so good-looking, his dark blond hair cropped short on the sides and fuller on the top, his eyes like dark brown suede. His lanky build had filled out, his shoulders broader, his arms more muscular, but his smile was the same, able to trigger a responsive warmth in her heart.

Enough.

She needed to go to sleep, not lie awake remembering what Jamie looked like now. Elisabeth rolled over on her back, positioning the pillow under her head. She needed to relax. Come tomorrow, she'd be going nonstop . . .

A soft click caused her to hold her breath, and she gripped the blanket in her fists. What was that? Was someone opening the door to her room? Housekeeping? But she hadn't requested extra pillows . . .

The thoughts skittered through her mind even as the door to her room opened, the light from the hallway illuminating a man's form. Elisabeth scrambled upright, her legs tangled in the blankets. She had nothing she could use to defend herself from an intruder, save for a half-full bottle of water on the bedside table. Rising to her knees, she grabbed it and threw it at the figure looming in the doorway.

“Hey!” The overhead light blazed on just as the bottle arced through the air, water splashing against the sweater worn by the man framed by the doorway.

Jamie Travers?

“What are you doing in my room?” Elisabeth reached for her cell phone that lay on the marble-topped bedside table but only succeeded in knocking it to the floor.

“You planning on throwing your phone at me?” He bent to pick up the plastic bottle lying at his feet, water seeping into the carpet. “And this is my room.”

“What are you talking about? It can't be your room. I've already checked into it.” Elisabeth rescued her phone and stumbled out of the bed, tugging at the hem of her T-shirt. “Go back to the front desk and figure out where you're supposed to be.”

“I'm supposed to be here.” The man held up a plastic key card and had the audacity to roll his suitcase into the room. “Obviously.”

“Well, there's some sort of mistake. Obviously.”

“Are you sure you're in the right room, Goldilocks?”

“Goldilocks?” Elisabeth flicked her braid over her shoulder. “Very funny. The front-desk clerk must have given you the wrong room. You need to go back—”

“Are you sure you're not in the wrong room? Maybe you're the one who needs to be talking to the desk clerk.”

“I was in bed. Asleep. I am not going down to the lobby in my pajamas—” Elisabeth stopped mid-tirade. She was arguing with Jamie, standing there in her red T-shirt and matching red flannel pajama bottoms decorated with smiling snowmen that Bellamy had given her last Christmas. Lovely. She snatched the blanket off the bed and held it up in front of her. “You need to go straighten this out.”

“Okay, okay.” Jamie held up his hands, a grin splitting his face. “I admit there's been some sort of mistake. But it's not often I walk into a room and find a woman in my bed.”

“Now you're being obnoxious.” She tightened her grip on the blanket, refusing to smile back at him.

“You've got to admit, it's funny.”

“Oh yeah, it's hysterical to barge in on a defenseless, sleeping woman—”

“Aren't we cranky when we just wake up?”

“I'm not cranky—” Elisabeth sidestepped over to the bedside table, setting down her cell phone and reaching for the hotel's phone. “I'll call the front desk and let them know you're on your way.”

“Call them and report me for a creep, you mean.”

“The sooner you leave, the less likely it is that I'll need to do that.”

“Point taken.” He wheeled his suitcase in a circle and headed for the door. “Tell them to be on the lookout for the soggy guy that you fended off with a water bottle and a cell phone.”

“Good night, Jamie.” Elisabeth sat on the edge of the bed, moving the base of the phone into her lap. “Calling the receptionist now.”

“No need. I'm outta here.”

As the door closed again, Elisabeth set the receiver back on the base and tried to catch her breath. How on earth had Jamie Travers ended up in her hotel room? Should she call the front desk and complain about the mix-up? But what good would that do? No real harm had been done.

Except now she was wide awake. And the sound of Jamie's voice, which often had a laugh lurking somewhere in it, seemed to fill the corners of the room. And how was she ever going to banish the image of him all grown-up, no longer the twenty-year-old guy she'd broken up with? He didn't swagger, but his stride had a confidence that only came with age and the knowledge that he knew what he was doing—even when he ended up in the wrong hotel room.

After setting the phone back on the table, Elisabeth groaned and pushed herself up from the bed. She'd worried Jamie Travers might appear in her dreams tonight—and the man had shown up, live and in person, in her hotel room.

She wouldn't fall asleep anytime soon. Might as well post some of those photos to Instagram.

• • •

The Brown Palace was certainly putting on the Ritz, Christmas-style. Not that he didn't enjoy Christmas lights and music, or even the sight of a towering decorated tree in the lobby. But the presence of Elisabeth Straker was like an unwelcome ghost from Christmas past that prompted a “Bah, humbug!” in the midst of the upcoming wedding weekend.

After frightening Elisabeth in her hotel room last night, there was no need to inform her that the front-desk clerk had given him a room right across the hall from her.

What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her—and keeping quiet would also prevent her from throwing another bottle of water at him.

He had three days to spend in close proximity to his first love. No. His
ex-girlfriend
. He would not think of Elisabeth as his first love, even if it was true. No need to get sentimental. Seventy-two hours. If he avoided her as much as possible, he'd manage just fine. Who knew? Maybe she was married and the mom of three kids, and she'd left her husband at home. And her wedding and engagement rings, too—because there'd been none in sight last night.

One could hope, right? Or he could always lie and say he was married . . . no, no, he couldn't. Because the only thing he had in his past was their busted relationship, along with another broken engagement. At least he was consistent when it came to romance.

He crossed the lobby, entered the restaurant, and came right into range of the very woman he wanted to avoid.

Elisabeth sat at a table by herself, engrossed in doing something on her cell phone. He could pretend he hadn't seen her and ask to be seated at another table—the smarter option—or prove he could handle the next three days without his emotions going on a roller-coaster ride.

With a nod, he indicated to the hostess that he was with Elisabeth, strolling over to stand beside her table. “So the question is, are you singing the melody or the harmony?”

“I beg your pardon?” His appearance at her table caused Elisabeth to almost drop her phone.

“When we do the toast at the reception tomorrow night, do you want to lead out, or handle backup vocals?” Jamie slipped into the seat across from her.

“You are not seriously thinking of singing the toasts—”

“Tori said we could do whatever we wanted.” Jamie shifted in the chair, stretching his legs out to the side. “I don't think we have to write a whole new song. We could put lyrics to a song like ‘I Got You Babe,' or ‘YMCA.' ”

“I am not singing a toast to Tori.” Elisabeth sipped on a bright green smoothie, barely making eye contact with him.

“Well, it's going to look pretty odd if I sing and you don't.”

“And making up some awkward, they-tried-too-hard toast to an old song that we sing together is going to impress everyone?”

“I suppose you want to do something typical, like having us recount favorite memories of Tori and Peter—”

Elisabeth sat up, her mouth thinning into a straight line, even as her soft teal sweater slipped just a bit to reveal a glimpse of her shoulder. Angry schoolmarm and a little bit of unexpected alluring femininity—and she didn't even know she was giving off mixed messages.

“What's wrong with that?”

“Everyone does that, that's what's wrong with that, Elisabeth. We need to do something better.”

“Toasting Tori and Peter is not a competition, Jamie. No one is grading us.”

Her attempt to put him in his place only made him laugh. How had he forgotten how her big blue eyes could spark electricity at him? “Spoken like a teacher. What's wrong with wanting to make a lasting memory for Peter and Tori?”