Page 6 of Recklessly in Love

Nate busts up laughing, but I try my hardest not to since a laugh at her expense seems like a bad idea. Mia looks at Joanie sympathetically, and suddenly, Joanie laughs, too. Relieved, I stop holding back my laughter.

“Good,” I respond. “Because it’s next weekend. Better start practicing.” I finish my food, drink what’s left of my beer, and then give her a wink.

She raises a brow in answer. “Better ease up on the meatball subs and beer if you want to be light enough on your feet to beat me.”

I raise a brow in return, leaning back and lifting my shirt, patting my flat stomach. “Oh, I think I’ll be fine.”

I don’t miss for one second the hungry look in her eyes as she looks at my abs. So, when her gaze rises to meet mine, I give her another wink. She purses her lips. And though I wasn’t lying to her before — I usually like the chase — the anticipation is already killing me.

* * *

I don’t catch more than a few glimpses of Joanie throughout the week. I’m busy organizing the Freeze Your Buns Run, checking the ice-skating pond, and building a platform for the musicians playing Christmas music for the tree lighting ceremony and other events throughout the festival. Nate switches between helping me and going with the girls to post signs, managing decorating the tree, and carving paths in the snow between the events.

But Friday is tree lighting day. And I’m over letting the anticipation build. It’s worse that Joanie hasn’t been around, which is weird because usually, for me, out of sight is out of mind. But I can’t stop thinking about her.

So as twilight descends, I do rounds of the town square, checking the strands of white lights strung between lamp posts, making sure Rae’s cider stand is adequately covered from the elements, and watching as the townsfolk start to show, gazing up at the massive tree in anticipation.

It looks damn good, even unlit. The towering, fifty-foot monstrosity looms darkly in the square, light from the street lamps and Christmas lights glinting off the hundreds of massive baubles strung around its not inconsiderable girth. Staring up at the neat rows of decorations, nostalgia spreads through me. Alpine Ridge hasn’t seen a winter festival in almost thirty years. It brings me back to simpler times.

I shake off the good and bad memories that start to push through. It’s almost showtime. The crowd is now thick, and the line for hot cider winds around half the square.

I see Mia setting a tray of something down on Rae’s table. And next to her is Joanie.

Since she’s not looking at me, I take the opportunity to soak her in. Her tight-fitting fur-lined jacket and snug fleece pants cover her completely, yet she still looks like a wet dream. Sexy as fucking hell. Her dark hair spills around her, and her little bow lips are pursed and a natural peachy color. Her cheeks and nose are red from the cold. An urge to warm her up almost overwhelms me.

Still, I approach casually.

“Hey, city girl.”

She turns, and I grin, self-consciously running a hand through my hair. Which I never do. It’s that X-ray vision of hers, making me feel turned inside out.

Her brows bunch together, and she tips her head to the side, giving me a confused look.

“Oh, yeah, hey, Gary,” she replies evenly.

The smile melts off my face, and I cock an eyebrow. “It’s Greg,” I correct her.

She gives me the fakest smile I think I’ve ever seen. “Ah, yes. Sorry, my mistake.” She bats her eyelashes and returns to the booth, helping Mia and Rae serve drinks and cinnamon twists. “See you around, Gary.”

Rae glances over at Joanie, bemused, just as my douchebag cousin, Ned, steps up to get a drink. And I know Ned. Even without the leering look he’s giving Joanie, I knew he’d go straight for her the second I saw him. And he does.

He slicks back his inky hair, which looks like it’s been dipped in cooking oil, and gives Joanie a sleazy grin as if she’s this year’s Christmas treat. “Hello there, beautiful.” He sounds just as shady as he looks. And then he leans in and winks at her.

Oh, hell no.

But before I can intercede, Joanie does the exact last thing I’d expect, as always.

She leans toward him with an answering wink. “Well, hello,” she says huskily. “Cider?”

He slaps a five on the table. “I don’t know. Do I get a little sugar with that?”

My fists ball at my sides, but Joanie seems unfazed, throwing her head back and laughing. “I don’t know, this might be too much sugar for you to handle, big boy,” she teases with a coy smile. “But the cinnamon twists are good, too.”

When I almost lose it at her response, it clicks — she’s doing it all on purpose: pretending to forget me, calling me Gary, and flirting with Ned.

She’s screwing with me.

“Oh, I can handle it. But maybe we can take this someplace more … private?” he asks, not even bothering to keep his voice down.

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