The Wedding Party (The Wedding Date, #3)(7)

He turned to her.

“I know this! It’s because of Pillsbury. It has a trademark for the term ‘ Bake-Off’ in America, so they had to change the name.”

She nodded.

“That sounds like the kind of thing you would know.” Yep, he’d pushed his luck just a little too hard. Was it his fault he loved trivia like that?

“Anyway, I like it because even though it is a competition show, the contestants are so kind and gentle with one another. It’s such a soothing show.”

He nodded.

“Sounds good. I’ll have to watch it.”

Silence descended on the car again, but this time he didn’t try to fill it. They burst out from the tunnel on the lower deck of the bridge, and he saw the white tower of the Bay Bridge glowing in the darkness. He loved this part about coming home from San Francisco at night.

“Why didn’t you want to go dancing with your brother?” she asked him.

He laughed. If she only knew either him or Ben better, she’d never ask that.

“I wasn’t in the mood.”

She turned to him with one of those annoying grins she always sent his way.

“Oh, I get it. You can’t dance. It’s okay, not everyone is blessed with dancing ability. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Oh hell no. He would not let this stand.

“I can too dance,” he said. Maybe a little too loudly.

She chuckled.

“Sure you can. It’s okay, you don’t have to prove anything to me.”

He shook his head.

“I know I don’t—I don’t need to prove anything to anyone—but I’m a fucking great dancer.”

She nodded.

“Mmmhmm.” She gestured to the freeway signs up ahead. “What exit?”

For some reason, her attitude was really getting to him.

“University. I’m near the North Berkeley BART station. And you can mmmhmm however much you want, but I speak the truth.”

She changed lanes to follow his directions. He tried not to watch her expression too much. He didn’t want to look like he was staring at her. But when a smile hovered around her lips, he found himself smiling back. Why? He had no idea.

He pointed at his building. Finally.

“This is me. Thanks for the ride. Remember: I can outdance you any day.”

She pulled up in front, and he opened his car door and jumped out. Thank God he was home. He needed to go inside and sober up.

As he walked up the pathway to his building, he heard another car door slam, and he looked behind him to see Maddie standing on the sidewalk.

“You really didn’t think I was going to let you end this conversation without me making you prove your alleged dancing prowess, did you?”





Chapter Two




MADDIE HADN’T PLANNED ON CALLING HIS BLUFF. SHE’D KNOWN THEO was bullshitting her in the car about how he was supposedly such a great dancer, but it was his birthday, so she was going to let him have this one. But he had to throw that shot in at the end, and she wasn’t going to let him get away with it.

She followed him into his apartment and ignored his groans and pleas for mercy as she looked around. This place was so spotless and well decorated it looked like he’d had a magazine shoot earlier that day. Granted, she could identify most of the furniture as IKEA, but it still all looked way better here than any IKEA furniture she’d ever had. Big navy blue immaculate couch, cozy-looking chair to the side of it in warm caramel, wood coffee table with perfectly lined-up magazines, packed-full bookshelves she was sure were organized first by genre and then alphabetically. Yes, this apartment made sense for the stick-up-his-ass Theo she knew and loathed.

“I drove you home. It’s the price of the drive,” she said, interrupting his whine that it was his birthday and he was tired. “I’m not leaving until I see some dancing.” She waved to the middle of the living room floor.

He shook his head and sighed.

“Okay, fine, I’ll do it, but—I know I’m going to regret this tomorrow—I’m getting another drink first. Maybe then I’ll forget this happened. You want one?” He didn’t wait for an answer but turned to walk down the hallway.

He had to have another drink before he tried to dance. Oh, this was going to be so fucking funny. She couldn’t wait. She grinned as she followed him to the back of his apartment.

“Wow, that’s incredible.” She stopped when she walked into the kitchen and stared at his bar cart.

He picked up a bottle of bourbon from it and two glasses.

“I love this thing. I found it at a garage sale nearby—the wheels worked, but it was totally scuffed and beaten up. I bought it immediately, then spent months researching how to fix it up, and then probably a month on and off sanding it and staining it. It didn’t even cost all that much to fix it up, but now I spend far too much money on cocktail accessories and good alcohol, since I feel like the bar cart deserves it.”

She ran her finger up and down the dark brown wood.

“I’m impressed. You did a great job.” She picked up the cocktail shaker. “You probably got those fancy ice cube trays to make the good ice like they have at all those trendy bars.” She looked up at his carefully blank face. “You did!”