Page 60 of Body Check
“What’s the diagnosis?” I ask, joining Dutton as he shuts the hood of the car. Mickey steps up next to both of us, and I know it’s killing him that Dutton’s acting so normal.
“It’s the alternator, no doubt,” Dutton answers, looking first at my b. It shouldn’t take long to fix, maybe a couple days at most. I just messaged my cousin Nick. He’ll be by with the tow truck later, and he’ll take it back to the shop at Miles Motors. My dad’s the lead mechanic there. He’s not working right now, but you’re still in good hands. We should move your bags into my car, though, so we can all get on the road.”
My brother blinks at the man in front of him, like he just cannot reconcile the idea that Dutton Wagner is a good guy. He is, though, and I hope that Bran begins to see that.
We pile into Dutton’s car and pull back out onto the highway. We’re all quiet for a bit because it’s an awkward car trip, andwhen I can’t take it anymore, I break the silence and turn to Viv. “Did my brother kidnap you?”
“Ouch, Birdie,” Bran says, wincing. Way to hit a guy when he’s down.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything,” I say, unable to hold back my laughter. “I just can’t think of any other reason someone would willingly spend time with our family.”
Mickey shrugs. “Fair point, but that’s not the reason. Mom and Aunt Patti are trying to set me up with one of the bridesmaids, so I figured the best way to get out of that disastrous date would be to bring along a plus-one. And since Vivi’s competition season hasn’t started up, we figured it would all work out, and it did. And, uh,” he adds, clearing his throat. ”Thanks for the ride.”
Dutton just nods. Okay, so we haven’t quite reached the warm and fuzzy level, but no one’s resorted to violence yet, so I think that’s a good sign.
Dutton is quiet on the short drive from the rehearsal dinner back to our hotel. My cousin Jocelyn wanted a seaside wedding in November, so that’s what she’s getting. I don’t understand the appeal of a windy beachy and chilly temps, but I do appreciate the fact that the beach resort is about an hour away from our hometown, making it totally impractical for all of us to stay at my parents’ place. Being with my family for a weekend wedding is bad enough. Staying in the same house would be torture.
Dinner was long, and my family was infuriating, but there was an open bar and the meal was both free and delicious, so I’m trying to remind myself of the positives. The negatives. Ugh. Sitting in a room with all my relatives catapulted me back intime, and for a minute, I felt like I was suffocating. But Dutton was with me, and Mickey was running interference, so the night wasn’t nearly as awful as it could have been. I made polite small talk when it was required, but otherwise, I stayed under the judgmental radar of my mom, my aunt, and my cousin.
When we step into our room, I expect Dutton to start stripping—not just because it’s sexy, but because that’s his typical routine. He runs hot, and I don’t mind the view. But instead of stepping out of his shoes or even loosening the tie around his throat, he walks to the closet before turning back to me.
“Do you remember last week when I tore your shirt off before I made you come on my cock?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” I answer. It’s not something I’m likely to forget as long as I live.
Dutton nods, then reaches into the hotel closet and holds up my bridesmaid dress. “Good. Because I can do it again, right here and right now. And then we can get the hell out of here and on the road back to Bainbridge.”
As tempting as that sounds, it’s not going to happen. “I can’t skip the wedding!”
“Yes, you can,” Dutton insists. “I’ve got a driver’s license and a car that’s parked out front. In twenty minutes, we can be on the highway. But it’s your call. If you really think we have to stay, then we need a code word for tomorrow. Say…fuck, I don’t know…say the wordwaltzand we’re out of here. I have never seen you shrink like you did at that restaurant, and I never want to see it again. You deserve to take up space, Dove, and if they don’t agree, fuck ‘em.”
I wish Bran could see him now. Looping my arms around his neck, I look into his eyes. “Unfortunately, we have to play nice for twenty-four more hours, and then we can say fuck ‘em. Trust me, it'll be worse if we leave.“
“Fine,” he grumbles, rehanging my dress. “But it pisses me off. No fucking wonder Mickey thought I'd dick you over. He's been watching people treat you like shit your whole life.”
“Believe it or not,” I say, loosening his tie with my own hands, “they really do think they’re helping.”
“Don’t do that,” he says, taking the tie and tossing it on the bed. “Don’t make excuses for their piss-poor behavior.”
“Well, if I’m not doing that, what should I be doing?” I ask, eyeing the necktie on the bed.
“I’ve got some ideas,” Dutton tells me, unbuttoning his shirt and leading me toward the bed.
He spends the next hour showing me just how creative he can be, and it’s exactly the distraction I need.
26
Dutton
If someone would have told me a year ago that I’d be at a seaside wedding making small talk with Mickey Mikalski, I’d have said they were smoking the good shit.
And yet, here I am.
Granted, there’s no sparkling conversation going on here, but that’s because the man still hates my guts and because my version of small talk is pathetic. Luckily, the two of us have Viv McDonald to keep things rolling. She’s Maggie’s best friend, and since Mickey and JT are tight, I guess the four of them hang out a lot. Well, five, counting the baby. And I’m only guessing that’s true based on the stories Viv’s been telling. I haven’t caught every word because I’ve been watching the double doors like a hawk, waiting for his prey. Or like a college guy waiting to catch a glimpse of his girlfriend.
“So, then, I was like, wait…maybe we really can do this,” Viv says, moving animatedly. “I mean, I’d never done any pet-sitting before, but sheepdogs are so cute. How hard could it be?”
Mickey’s hanging on every word she says, even though he’s in the story and knows every detail. This girl can’t be taller than five feet, and she looks like she could fit in Mickey’s pocket, butshe may have even more energy than he does. I'm nodding along and raising my eyebrows when she uses words like “flammable” and “self-driving lawn mower.” I don’t care how much these two claim they're just friends, because after spending five minutes with them, even I know they’re perfect for each other.
