Page 12 of I Could Be Yours (The Toronto Terror #6)

ESSIE

Essie

How do we feel about this?

I snap a selfie in my bathroom mirror and hit send, then apply another coat of lip gloss. My phone buzzes with new messages. Except they’re not from Rix.

Nate

I feel good about it. The tiara is a nice touch. Very on-brand princess vibes.

But it would look better on my bedroom floor.

“Shit.” Heat works its way up my chest and into my cheeks. Also, I wonder, yet again , what Nate is like in the bedroom. Would he pay attention to detail? Is he as good with his hands as he is his mouth?

Essie

That wasn’t for you. Disregard.

Nate

Then why did it end up in my messages?

And who else would you be dressing up for?

Essie

The instructor, obviously.

Another message pops up.

Rix

Be there in ten.

Nate goes silent. I grab my purse, slip my feet into heels, leave my tiara on the vanity—it’s probably a little much—and rush down to the lobby to meet my bestie.

Rix lets out a low whistle as I climb into the passenger side of her SUV. “Wow, looking hot for dance lessons.”

“Is it too much?” I run my hands down my mostly bare thighs.

I picked a spaghetti strap summer dress with a skirt that flares and ends about eight inches above my knee.

Underneath are a pair of matching bike shorts.

Nate has already seen my underwear and more of me than he probably meant to, and we don’t need a repeat of that.

Or for Tristan and our instructors to also get an eyeful of my butt.

“Not even a little too much.” She pulls away from the front door and signals into traffic.

“I thought Tristan would be with us?” And possibly Nate, but I can’t even say his name without it coming out all breathless and needy.

That stupid kiss in the shed has been taking an excessive amount of bandwidth lately.

It was hot, and Nate’s tongue, while usually barbed when it comes to me, was toe-curlingly perfect.

Despite the smell of cut grass, dirt, and gasoline, and the distinct lack of ambiance, it’s now my second-favorite kiss.

Irritatingly, Nate owns spot number one as well.

And then there was the run-in at the bar the other day.

He was so… nice . But I’m attributing that to his being caught off guard.

Needless to say, I’m a little on edge tonight.

“He and Nate had to pick some stuff up for their boys’ weekend, so they’re meeting us there,” Rix explains as she heads toward the highway.

“Any idea what they have planned?” I rummage around in my bag for my travel makeup kit. I need to highlight every asset I have.

“Nope. Any hints on our plan?”

“I’m maintaining the surprise. Your job is to pack a bag for a weekend of fun.

” I’m impressed that I’ve been able to keep the girls’ weekend completely under wraps.

The Babes know they need their passports and clothes for going out and sightseeing, plus a bathing suit, but that’s it.

I’m confident it will blow the guys’ weekend out of the water, whatever they’re doing.

“You won’t even give me a hint?” She turns her pouty, sad-puppy face on me.

I stay focused on dusting bronzer on my cheeks since I’m not immune to that look. “You know I wouldn’t plan something you didn’t love.”

“This is true.”

And I don’t trust that Tristan wouldn’t find a way to coerce the information out of her post-orgasm.

That man is fully dedicated to meeting every single filthy need she has.

I switch the subject to avoid spilling the beans.

“How are you feeling about everything? Are there things you need to offload onto me?”

“I’m mostly excited, and you’re already handling so much.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” I’m a helper by nature, so organizing things and taking stuff off her plate is my love language.

“What are the other feelings aside from excited, and what’s the ratio of those compared to the excitement?

” Rix has a degree in accounting, and I love data, so percentages are a safe way to gauge how she’s feeling.

She taps the wheel. “I’m eighty-five-percent excited, five-percent overwhelmed, and ten-percent nervous.”

“What’s overwhelming you?” I have access to her wedding plan document and spreadsheet. If I see things that are highlighted or need to be tackled, I’ll just do them and mark them as done to ease her nerves and lower her stress.

“I just want it all to go smoothly, and I’m worried there will be glitches,” she admits.

“Glitches are normal. And you’re good at rolling with things. You have the support system in place, and everyone attending the wedding will step in to help, if it’s needed.”

“I know. I have to remember that.” She squeezes the steering wheel. “Tristan wants it to be perfect too, but he has his own worries.”

“Is that what’s making you nervous?” That would make sense.

Tristan is head over heels for Rix, and all he wants is to make her happy—and not fuck things up with her ever again.

It’s not entirely reasonable, because people make mistakes, but it’s understandable considering how hard things were at the beginning of their relationship.

She nods. “His mother has called a few times, but Tristan didn’t feel ready to talk to her, so he let it go to voicemail, which I completely understand.

She’s been absent from his life for more than a decade and a half, apart from the Christmas cards sent to their dad’s house.

” Her grip on the steering wheel tightens. “But then she called Nate.”

My stomach sinks. “Oh no.”

Tristan’s mom bailed when he was twelve.

Nate was eight, and Brody was four. Their dad raised them on his own, and Tristan hasn’t seen her since the day she left.

But since last year, when Brody graduated high school, she’s been making half-assed attempts to reinsert herself into their lives.

None of them are particularly interested after the damage she’s done, though.

“She’s a real piece of work.” Rix’s cheek tics with irritation.

“How did Nate handle that?” I slide my mini makeup case back into my purse and focus on Rix.

“Not particularly well. He was pretty upset about it, and so was Tristan. I guess his dad stepped in and told her to back off. I’m worried she’ll show up out of the blue and ruin things.

And Tristan’s dad is finally dating again.

It’s his first girlfriend in years, and he’s happy.

Tristan’s mom coming back into the picture is just… opening a lot of old wounds.”

“I can imagine. I’m so sorry, Rix.”

That woman must be a special kind of selfish to pop back into their lives all these years later, seemingly without considering how difficult it would be for them.

“Don’t mention anything to Tristan, though—or Nate. It’s a sensitive topic, and we’re dealing with it in therapy, but Nate is struggling, and talking about it is hard for him.” She turns into the dance studio parking lot and takes the empty spot beside Nate’s car.

Nate is guarded on a good day, so this must be a heavy weight for him to carry. I nod. “I’ll keep it between us, and if you need to vent or talk things out, you know I’m here.”

We lean across the center console to share a hug. “I know, and thank you,” she says. “I’m so grateful for you and everything you’re doing to make this wedding a success. I know it’s been a lot.”

“I love this kind of thing,” I assure her. “Weddings and party planning are my happy place. Anything you need, I’m here for you.” Even if I never find my own Prince Charming, at least I get to help Rix tie the knot with hers.

“I’m so lucky to have you.”

“Same.”

We get out of the car and head inside. Tristan and Nate are waiting for us, along with another couple, who have their backs to us.

As soon as Tristan spots Rix, he crosses over to us.

“Hey, Ess. Hi, Bea.” He pulls a modified version of his signature move, his hand at the side of her neck, thumb sweeping the edge of her jaw as he dips down to rub his nose against hers.

It’s so freaking sweet. I look away, my smile faltering as my gaze lands on Nate.

He’s dressed in his black pants and black shirt uniform.

Except instead of a button-down, he’s wearing a T-shirt, which is somehow even hotter.

He does not look excited to be here. Although, he never looks excited to be anywhere.

His furrowed brow deepens as his eyes move from my feet all the way to my face. He runs a hand through his hair. “Ess,” he grinds out.

“Nathan.”

I’m awarded with another glower.

This should be fun—in a stepping-on-a-Lego-barefoot kind of way.

“Essie?” A deep, familiar voice drags my attention away from Nate.

My heart plummets into my feet as I take in the other couple. What are the freaking chances ? “Barton?”

“Hey! Wow. It’s been a long time.” Barton’s eyes move over me. He puts his arm around the woman next to him. “This is my fiancée, Alison.”

“It’s so nice to meet you.” I extend a hand and she takes it, looking questioningly at Barton.

“You too,” she says. “How do you and Barton know each other?”

“Oh, uh, we’re old friends.” Barton chuckles uncomfortably.

My stomach lurches, and I fight to keep the smile on my face.

We dated for several months before I took the job in Vancouver.

He told me he loved me, I thought maybe he was the one—although I think they’re all the one—and then he got a slick job offer in Sri Lanka and didn’t tell me he was moving.

He broke up with me in a text message. That was three years ago.

“How’s your job? Are you still a photographer?”

Alison threads his arm through hers. “He’s been featured in National Geographic . We met a few years ago when he was stationed in Sri Lanka. We just came from Granada.”

“Oh, that must have been wonderful,” I choke out.

Just then our instructors enter to introduce themselves. Thank God. I move to stand beside Nate. He gives me a questioning look. I ignore him and focus on Fernando and Martina.