Mollie’s smile was fleeting. “I promise.”
“Good. Because I’ll have you know I saw several guys who seemed all too happy about the fact that you didn’t bring a date tonight. I definitely see dancing in your future.”
Mollie rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”
“Do what?”
“Be so nice to me. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it. But promise me that when I go back there you’re not going to bribe some young buck to dance with me.”
Jackson tilted his head back and laughed. “Young buck? What is it with you and your animal comparisons?”
This time her smile was genuine. “Let’s just say animals can be more…interesting than humans.”
What she’d really wanted to say was that animals could be nicer than humans. From the way his smile dimmed, she suspected that he knew it—maybe even felt sorry for her. And that was terrible.
Mollie tilted back the rest of her champagne. The second she was done, Jackson stepped forward, plucking the flute from her hand. Before she realized what he was about, he’d lifted his huge hand—his huge, game-winning, touchdown-throwing hand—and wrapped it firmly around her elbow, lifting her so that they were chest to chest. Or actually nearly eye to eye, thanks to Mollie’s long legs and high heels.
Slowly he brought his face close to hers, his lips brushing softly at her cheek in what Mollie would long remember as the most perfect moment of her life.
“Someday, Mollie Carrington, men aren’t going to need to be bribed to dance with you. They’re going to fight for the honor.”
Mollie’s lips parted slightly as he took a step back, gave her one last wink, and then turned, walking back toward the party, two empty champagne flutes dangling from one hand as he whistled along with the George Strait song the band had just started playing.
Mollie lifted her fingers to her cheek, still feeling the warmth of his lips, the slight rasp of his five o’clock shadow. She watched him go, his broad shoulders getting smaller and smaller, until he rounded a corner and disappeared from her view.
Mollie dropped down onto the bench with an inelegant thud.
It wasn’t fair. Mollie had spent her entire life trying to do the right thing—going out of her way to do what she was supposed to, even when she wanted to do the exact opposite. But tonight her heart had betrayed her. Tonight her heart had done the wrong thing. No, the absolute worst thing.
Tonight, at her sister’s wedding, Mollie Carrington had gone and fallen head over heels in love.
With the groom.
Chapter 1
EIGHT YEARS LATER
There was a perky knock at the door, and Jackson stifled a groan as he realized that it was that time.
Lunchtime.
“Yeah?”
His office door opened a crack, and the familiar face of his petite brunette coworker appeared with big brown eyes and a wide smile. Penelope Pope was always smiling.
“Hey, Jackson!”
He jerked his chin. “Hey.”
“A bunch of us are headed to Roundy’s to grab a quick lunch before the one o’clock brainstorming meeting. Come with?”
His smile was automatic and forced. “Sorry. Just ate.”
Penelope pushed the door wider, leaning a shoulder against the door jamb as she crossed her skinny arms. The woman couldn’t have been more than five feet tall, but what she lacked in stature she made up for in personality. Bubbly, friendly, and unabashed, Penelope was as likable as she was exhausting.
His coworker’s eyes narrowed as she scanned the office as though looking for proof that he’d just wolfed down a turkey sandwich.
She wouldn’t find it. Because he hadn’t eaten yet.
Penelope didn’t accuse him of lying, but it was impossible to miss the disappointment in her eyes. At her small sigh, Jackson was about thirty seconds away from squirming under the scrutiny of his pint-sized colleague.
“I’m not going to stop asking,” Penelope said, lifting her eyebrows in challenge.
“Not going to stop asking what?” said a tall blond man who appeared at Penelope’s side, tossing a baseball from palm to palm.
Great. Now both of the sports editors were going to bust his balls.
Penelope Pope and Cole Sharpe were Oxford magazine’s latest power couple. Not that Jackson had made it his business to figure out their story, but best he could tell, the two of them had competed for the sports editor position a few months back and ended up having to share it as co-editors. And based on how often Penelope’s hair was mussed coming out of Cole’s office, they’d expanded their partnership beyond the workplace, and were damn happy about it.
Just wait, kids. That shit doesn’t last.
Penelope nodded toward Jackson. “I asked him to lunch.”
“Yeah? He fall all over himself saying yes like he always does?”
Jackson resisted the urge to give the other man the finger. Cole Sharpe was every bit the pain in the ass that Penelope was, except not as cute.