Mancandy Crush Page 2

  I stop there, because I’m totally undermining the I don’t give a shit I led with. I should have stopped there.

  Gabrielle finds her voice at last. “Josh? Josh Mattis?”

  My frustration flickers again, a petulant toddler stomping his feet in the back of my brain. “Like you don’t recognize me,” I snort. “I know it’s been six years, but I haven’t changed. Even my hair’s the same.”

  And right now, I’m wishing I’d gotten it trimmed. Maybe shaved and put on some clean shorts instead of these ones I wore to clean out three dozen rafts this morning.

  Not that I care what Gabrielle thinks of me anymore.

  “Holy crap, this is amazing.” She jumps up and rushes toward me, sticking her hand out like she wants to…shake?

  Like the idiot I am, I clasp her hand in mine. There’s a quick crackle of electricity that I swear wasn’t there in our sweaty teenage encounters. Her smile is different, too, tinged with a honey sweetness that has my idiotic heart twisting itself into knots again.

  Damn, she grew up beautiful. Adult Gabrielle is so much sexier than the one from my teenage memories. She’s fresh-faced and lush, with curves that have filled in since the last time I stroked a hand up her waist.

  Damn.

  That’s when I realize she’s laughing at me. Laughing, for fuck’s sake, just like my old man when I was six and couldn’t shake my stutter.

  Shame blooms in my gut, spreading through my limbs and the tips of my fingers. I’m back in middle school with Mrs. Baker shushing my classmates’ snickers as I scrawled a jumble of mismatched numbers on the chalkboard.

  “Oh my God.” She’s still laughing, and I shove back the flood of humiliating memories and narrow my eyes at this girl—this woman—whose real name probably isn’t even Gabrielle. She’s pumping my hand, flashing me this dimpled smile that shoots straight to my—

  Wait. Dimples?

  “I can’t believe this,” she’s saying. “I’d almost forgotten all the stories. I can’t believe I’m actually meeting you.”

  There’s a slow buzz growing in the back of my brain. It sounds like the words “you’re a dumbass” hissed over and over until the words stop making sense. It’s a rhythm more familiar than my own heartbeat as I fight to figure out what the hell is happening.

  “Vanessa told me all about you,” she says.

  Seeing the blank look on my face, this brown-eyed beauty hurries to explain. “Vanessa Vincent—er, Gabrielle Bracelyn?” She laughs again, but there’s a tinge of self-consciousness to it. “I guess she used her middle name and our mom’s maiden name. Leave it to Ness.”

  “Ness,” I repeat, still not sure I’m following. “That’s—your sister?”

  “Twin sister,” she says. “Identical. Vanessa Gabrielle Bracelyn Vincent.” She shrugs as some of the light dims in her eyes. “I guess she didn’t mention she had a twin?”

  I shake my head, reeling from my own idiocy. I glance at the Ponderosa pine behind her, looking for hidden cameras. Is this one of those reality TV shows?

  Recognizing my confusion, she drops my hand. “Sorry, let me back up here. I’m Valerie Vincent. You had a summer fling with my sister like six, seven years ago?”

  “Six,” I repeat, amazed Valerie’s being this gracious about things. Christ, I’m a bigger jackass than I thought. “God, I’m so sorry.” I rake my fingers through my hair, wishing the ground would open up and suck me into a lava-filled hole. “That’s gotta be the lousiest case of mistaken identity ever.”

  “It’s okay, it happens a lot.” There’s that self-conscious laugh again. “People mixing us up, I mean. Not running into my sister’s summer hookup and having to explain how our parents sent us off to Paris for school right after her trip to Oregon. I’m sure she meant to get in touch with you. We got new phones and—well, it was a weird time.”

  I’m charmed by how badly she sucks at inventing excuses for her sister’s butthurt ex. Maybe she’s telling the truth about not doing this often. “Your sister was here visiting Bree that summer.”

  At this point, I’m doubting everything I thought I knew about that time period, but Valerie nods like we’re finally getting somewhere. “That’s right. Bree’s older than us, but she invited us sometimes when she came to visit her dad.”

  “So that part was true.” For years I considered asking Bree Bracelyn about her cousin. For help tracking her down, or just convincing myself she existed.

  I always chickened out.

  Besides, I rarely saw Bree. Her visits were rare things on school breaks, and it’s not like we were close.

  Not as close as I was with Gabrielle. Thought I was, anyway.

  “Don’t hate her,” Valerie says. “Vanessa, I mean. It wasn’t her fault.”

  “What, like she’s a pathological liar?”

  “No, not that.” Valerie frowns. “I mean, she sometimes uses fake names. We were on this TV show as kids—Baby Spies? It only went one season, but it’s got this cult following and sometimes she just wants to blend in.”

  Valerie presses her lips together like she’s realized she’s sharing way too much. It’s oddly charming, and her voice is so sweet I could listen to it all day.

  “Anyway,” Val continues, unable to keep quiet. “She was eighteen and came out here wanting adventure and fun and something different from the boring, sheltered life we had in Maine.”

  “She said she lived in Manhattan.”

  Valerie winces. “I guess she went all in with creating an alternate life for herself. Sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Christ, I hate that I’ve made this sweet, lovely girl—woman, God, I can’t shake myself from the teenage zone—feel lousy. “Seriously, I’m really sorry I came at you like that. Even if you were Gabrielle—”

  “Vanessa.”

  “Right, Vanessa.” That’s going to take some recalibration. “Even if you were Vanessa, I had no right to talk to you like that. I apologize.”

  Hurt and humiliation rarely bring out my finer qualities, but there’s no point laying that at Valerie’s feet.

  She smiles again, and damn if I don’t love those dimples.

  “Don’t worry about it.” She waves a dismissive hand like she’s totally cool with having some guy she just met call her a lying tramp. “I know she kinda screwed you over, and she felt bad about it.”

  A piece of hair tugs loose from the clip holding it behind her ear, and she tucks it neatly back into place. “She grew up a lot after that. Stopped being a selfish teenager and turned into a really awesome grownup. You’d like her now; everyone does.”

  The fierceness of her defense is melting away all my shame and turning it into a gooey puddle in my gut. “I suppose we all do that,” I admit. “Grow up, I mean. If we’re lucky.”

  “You were a river guide, right?”

  “Yeah. I actually bought the company a few years ago.” I’m trying not to sound boastful, but I don’t think I’m succeeding.

  “No kidding?” She beams, a smile so genuine that I can’t help returning it. “Congratulations, that’s awesome.”

  “I’d love to take you out sometime. Make it up to you for being a jerk.”

  “Rafting?” She says it like I’ve suggested she cover her body in raw hamburger and nap next to a bear den. “Not really my thing.”

  “You’ve tried it?”

  “Nope,” she admits. “But I’m not much of a daredevil.”

  Something passes over her face. Just the faintest flicker of emotion, a hint that there’s more to that simple statement.

  I consider asking, but I’ve already stepped on enough landmines today.

  “So, you’re here for Bree’s wedding,” I say instead. “Are you a bridesmaid?”

  “Wedding dress designer.” She fiddles with her hair again, and I wonder if it’s as soft as it looks. “I came out early to deal with fittings and stuff.”

  “It’s going to be a crazy wedding.” Shit, I hope that wasn’t offensive.

&nbs
p; Valerie just laughs. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen a Christmas wedding in July, but I think it’ll be cool. Are you in the wedding party?”

  I shake my head and lean against the side of the lodge. The cedar feels scratch against my shoulder, and it’s a pleasant contrast to the softness I’m trying not to notice under Valerie’s pink T-shirt. “She hired me to help with activities,” I explain. “Well, my company—Dreamland Tours.”

  “You mean the hiking and sleigh rides and stuff?” She squints like she’s trying to recall what’s on the roster. “Or the Christmas caroling and gingerbread houses?”

  “A little more adventurous than that,” I explain. “We’re doing a moonlight canoe trip a few nights before the wedding, whitewater rafting for the bachelorette party, snowshoeing for the bachelor party. That sort of thing.”

  A little color drains from her face, and I worry she’s going to pass out. I start to reach for her, but she rallies and braces her hand next to mine on the rough wood siding.

  “I’m supposed to go to that,” she murmurs. “The bachelorette party. I didn’t know—I mean, I thought we’d just go to some bars. I didn’t realize we’ll be hurtling through waterfalls on a flimsy piece of rubber.”

  The laugh escapes before I can stop it. “I promise we don’t hurtle through waterfalls,” I assure her. “With Bree being pregnant, she’s not planning anything too crazy. Big Eddy is barely class three; you’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t know what class three means, but if it’s more turbulent than my bathtub, I might have cramps that night.”

  There’s some color returning to her face, so I do my best to bring her back from the edge. “I once had a guest tell me rafting actually helped with cramps.” This was hardly Val’s point, but she’s smiling now, so I go with it. “Something about soothing undulation of water.”

  Did I really just say soothing undulation? She’s looking at me like I’m nuts, but her smile lights up this whole freakin’ patio.

  “Fine, I don’t have cramps,” she says. “Just a big case of being a fraidy-cat.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Her fingers flutter against the cedar siding, and I fight to ignore the electric current that just chattered through me when her thumb brushed mine. “I’m sure Bree’s got alternate plans for reluctant rafters,” I offer. “If you want me to take you out for a practice run though, I’m happy to do it.”

  Why did I just say that? I should be running the opposite direction, putting distance between me and this woman who just witnessed one of my most awkward blunders.

  I swear she reads my mind. “Will it be awkward?” she asks. “When my sister gets here, I mean. You’ll probably run into each other.”

  “No.” I force the word out, but it feels true floating there between us. “Not for me. When’s she getting here?”

  Val glances away, another odd flash of emotion moving over her face. I swear this woman’s facial expressions are better than watching TV. “They’re flying in Thursday.”

  They. I wait for that to bother me, the one-word confirmation that the love of my teenage life has a boyfriend or husband or—okay, I’m jumping to conclusions.

  “Vanessa’s married?”

  “Dating a guy,” she says. “Pretty seriously. She thinks he might propose.”

  I wait for the pang of emotion to hit, but it doesn’t. I feel…nothing. Not even the lingering shame of feeling duped and stupid.

  If anything, I’m concerned for Val, who’s acting a little…off.

  Not that I’ve known her long enough to distinguish on from off, but she’s gnawing her lip like it’s a hunk of steak. “You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”

  She looks truly crushed. “I don’t?”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” I offer quickly, wondering how many more ways I can invent to step in it with this woman. “I have no idea what your enthusiasm looks like. You could be secretly convulsing with joy for all I know.”

  “No, you’re right.” She sighs and glances away again. “I’ll work on that.”

  I frown, pretty sure I’ve missed something. “Do you not like the boyfriend?”

  It’s a random guess, but the flash in her eyes tells me I’ve struck a nerve. Emotion plays out in those brown depths like I’m watching a film trailer. Longing. Dread. Guilt.

  “Oh. Oh, shit.” I scrape a hand down my chin. “You like him too much?”

  “No, it’s not that.” She frowns. “Not anymore, I mean. I used to like him, but I’m over it, and now Nessie won’t stop feeling guilty. It’s awkward, and I’m flying solo for the wedding, so that makes it worse.”

  “I see.” Sort of. Hosting an endless parade of girls’ trips with Dreamland Tours, I’ve watched the awkwardness unfold when one guest dives headfirst into a vacation fling and leaves her girlfriends alone on the muddy river bank. It’s painful to witness, so I’m betting it sucks to experience.

  “You don’t want her to feel sorry for you,” I guess.

  “Pretty much.” She gives a self-conscious little laugh. “I actually thought about hiring an escort. Some guy to pretend to be my date so she can stop fussing and just enjoy the wedding.”

  Her brown eyes meet mine again, then drop. She’s looking at my chest, my abs, my—okay, this shouldn’t be getting me hot.

  “I could volunteer.” Did I just say that out loud? “If you want, I mean.”

  Val blinks. “I’m sorry?” She blinks a few more times. “Did you just offer to be my fake fling?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  There are a million reasons why not, but I’ll be damned if I can think of any. “I’m already fling-approved by your sister.”

  I realize too late this might not be a selling point, but Val’s looking at me with interest anyway.

  “Wouldn’t that be weird for you? Pretending you’re hooking up with the sister of someone you slept with?” She winces as color rushes her cheeks. “Sorry. It’s not my business. She probably shouldn’t have told me, but twins share stuff, and she did say you were amazing. The best sex of her life until Raleigh.”

  “Um.” Holy shit.

  I should keep my mouth shut. Just take the fucking compliment and let sleeping dogs lie.

  But Val’s blunt honesty is contagious. “I never slept with your sister.”

  She blinks. “What?”

  “There were some teenage makeout sessions, sure, but I swear to God that’s it.”

  “I—that’s not—” She frowns. “She said you were her first.”

  I shake my head. “That’s why I said no. She was a virgin, and I thought we should wait.”

  Wait until our engagement was official and we announced it to our families. I don’t say this because it sounds insane. We were eighteen, for crying out loud. Who talks about engagement after two weeks of a summer fling when you’re barely old enough to vote or buy cigarettes?

  Not that those are prerequisites to marriage.

  “Maybe I misunderstood.” Valerie frowns. She knows damn well that’s not it. “Or maybe she was so hell-bent on having adventures that she felt like she had to invent some?”

  The wounded look in her eyes is familiar. I know that hurt. I’ve felt that hurt, that creeping sense of dread that someone’s made a damn fool of you.

  I picture my father’s face as he goaded me into stuttering my way through “Jingle Bells” at the family dinner, his mean little mouth twisting as he laughed hard enough to spill beer on Uncle Carl’s lap.

  “I’m sure Vanessa had her reasons for lying.” I have no idea why I’m defending her now, but I keep going. “All of us are grown up now. We’ve lived our lives, done the self-improvement thing, had our big adventures. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Adventures.” She repeats the word like it’s a foreign language. Her gaze trails me up and down again. “Were you serious? About being my fake date for the wedding?” She bites her lip. “I’ll pay you, or—”

  “No.” For fuck’s sake. “I mean, yes, I’m serious
, but I’m not a mooker.”

  “A mooker?”

  “Male hooker?” I might have just made that up.

  Valerie stares at me, assessing, considering. I’ve known her less than fifteen minutes, and already I know that every decision—from breakfast cereal to career path—comes with this same level of forethought.

  Why is that so sexy? Smart girls have always gotten me hot, but there’s more going on here.

  “This is crazy,” she says. “I’m actually considering it.”

  “It’s up to you.” I’m trying to sound casual, but the truth is, I’m digging this idea. Maybe it’s the urge to see the look on Gabrielle’s face—Vanessa’s face—when she sees me with her sister.

  But honestly, I don’t think that’s it.

  “I mean, it makes a certain sort of sense,” Valerie says. “If Ness knows I’m having wild, crazy vacation sex with a guy who kisses like a freakin’ God, she’ll stop worrying about me.”

  She said that? I kiss like a God?

  “I—um—that’s flattering.” And now I’m thinking about kissing.

  But not Gabrielle or Vanessa or whoever that eighteen-year-old girl was six years ago.

  It’s Valerie, warm and lush and pink-cheeked in the sunshine beside me. A slow smile spreads over her face, and I swear to God my heart splits wide open.

  “Okay,” she says. “How do we start?”

  Chapter 3

  VALERIE

  I can’t believe I propositioned my sister’s ex.

  I can’t believe I’m sitting beside him on a chairlift wobbling up the side of a freakin’ mountain on a shaky clothesline.

  I am brave. I am fierce. I am—

  “I’m going to die.” The chair lurches, and so does my stomach. I grab the first thing I can wrap my hand around, which turns out to be Josh’s knee.

  “Relax.” His voice is soothing as he threads his fingers through mine. Cautiously, I open one eye to see him tapping the safety bar that holds us in place. “We’re totally safe. I promise.”