Never the Bride Read Free Page B

but that’s when it happened, when everything changed.
    I’ve never spoken a word to him or anyone else about it, because there is a certain feeling of safety knowing that he is my best friend and that we’re close for no other reason except we like each other.
    It’s just that he’s also hot.
    But trust me, I’m not going to do anything crazy like declare my love for him. I’ve seen
My Best Friend’s Wedding
, and it doesn’t end well for the chick friend.
    Anyway, this is a usual routine for us. He texts PLAY HOOKY , and I meet him down at the Starbucks under the guise of getting my boss coffee. Since my boss is a Starbucks junkie, this has worked out well.
    I snap my phone closed and decide to play a little trick on him. He’s busy watching women walk by, so I sneak up behind him and in a deep, sexy voice purr, “Hey, baby, wanna share a latte?”
    Blake sits up and whips around, his eyes wide. He sees me and cracks up laughing. I slide into the other seat at the table. “That was fast!”
    “I was on my way here. Coston needed a latte, pronto.”
    I observe Blake for a moment. He always seems out of place at Starbucks. He works construction, houses mostly, and his clothes oftenhave a fine layer of sawdust on them. He’s rugged and muscular, with caramel wavy hair that complements his tanned skin. I like the fact that he always has a sunglasses line and that he refuses to wear anything but Ray-Bans.
    For my birthday one year he bought me a pair, since I’d given him a hard time for years, declaring Target’s were just as good. Turns out I was wrong. Ray-Bans rock. I still have the pair that he gave me. They’re locked in my safe-deposit box because I couldn’t live with myself if I lost a pair of two-hundred-dollar sunglasses.
    He props his sunglasses on top of his head and grins, and by “grins” I mean melts my heart. “I’ve got something to show you!” He takes my hand and guides me through a small crowd. We are walking the opposite direction of my work, toward a two-block stretch of quaint shops.
    He drops my hand and starts talking with his hands, which I notice immediately because usually he has them stuffed deep into his painter jeans. “She called the company this morning, asked for our help designing the inside of her shop. It’s right up here.”
    I eye him suspiciously. “You build homes…”
    “I know, but I think she just called, maybe because it’s my dad’s company, but—”
    “Who?”
    He stops and gestures toward a storefront. It’s obviously unoccupied, but inside a couple of people are milling around. One in particular is catching Blake’s eye. And mine. The plain glass window is busy with reflections of the street, but through all that I can see her. She’s practically glowing among the dust and clutter of an unfinishedroom. And bending over. Let’s just say she’s…taut. All of her. Head to toe. Even her neck looks in shape.
    I fold my arms. “You’re gonna stop building homes to make, what is it, shelves or something?”
    Blake smiles. “For Veronica Steele, yes.”
    I take a deep breath. I had never actually seen her in person until now. I’d seen a picture of her…okay pictures. Lots of them. This woman, whose name sounds like she stepped straight out of Harlequin, USA, was Blake Lightner’s college obsession.
    We stand there for a moment, Blake observing Veronica and me observing Blake. He’s got this weird expression on his face. It’s part thirteen-year-old with an
SI
swimsuit issue and part dumbfounded,
Why didn’t she choose me? That
part I can relate to.
    Still, it irritates me. “What? And you need my approval? What do you see in her?”
    We both look. We both know. Legs like a giraffe. Hair like a wild pony. Curves like a coastal highway.
    “What’s not to like?”
    “She’s just very giraffey I mean, sure, her neck is long, her legs are long, but don’t you think she’s a little out of proportion? She’s got short arms, or maybe a long