Page 6 of The Love Losers

“Don’t tell my brother.”

“Which one?”

“The one who lives in the house next to Lainey and Jake and is marrying Lainey’s best friend, Claire. Well, she doesn’t know it yet, but I do. I found the ring in his sock drawer.”

He laughs. “So I know before she does?”

“Surprise! Please don’t track her down and tell her.”

“Claire’s my mother’s old assistant,” he says, nodding, and I’m amused to remember it’s true. Claire worked with her before opening the bakery. The assistant job had then defaulted to Lainey, who’d left it soon after Nina walked out on Anthony.

“Yeah, that’s right. Don’t tell Claire’s boyfriend. He’d get all bent out of shape about it. My brother is a big dude, and he may have a gentle giant thing going on usually, but he’swayoverprotective. My parents died when I was eighteen, which only made it worse.”

“Oh, shit,” he says. “I’m sorry about your parents.”

“Me too.” His words tug on an old ache, but I smile. “But they were pretty great, and I’m glad I got to have them. Plenty of people don’t like their parents. But I loved them, and I love my lug of a brother. Which is why I don’t want him to get into any trouble out of some notion of protecting me.”

“What exactly did this guy do to you?” Anthony asks, his voice strained and a little rough-edged, as if he actually cares about the answer.

“Like I said, no one in my family knows. But it turned out he was married. Had two kids, too.” There’s a sinking sensation in my stomach, with a shot glass chaser of pure shame. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t know—part of me feels like I should’ve known. That if I’d been less carried away by all of it, I would have. I clear my throat. “Anyway, he was using me for some excitement, and I figured it was a good time to get out of town. Which is exactly what I did. After anonymously informing his wife, of course. She had a right to know. But, yeah, leaving was the only acceptable course of action. It didn’t hurt that my brother Declan needed me. But name a crappy relationship malfunction, and I’ve been through it, I guarantee you.”

I don’t add that I’ve voluntarily benched myself from dating. The last date I went on was my final date with Roman, which ended when his wedding ring fell out of his pocket and landed on the dirty bar floor. He scurried to grab it so quickly the table fell over—along with all the beer and food on it.

Anthony swears under his breath, his gaze sympathetic, almost warm, then says, “I’m sorry. I know what it’s like to feel used. That’s the worst part of all of this. Getting to know someone, letting them in, and then realizing they were only in it for what they could get out of you. And it’s not the first time.”

“Has it always been about money?”

“Usually,” he says, swallowing. My gaze follows his Adam’s apple as it bobs in his throat. It’s nothing personal. I’ve always found men’s throats seductive, is all, and Anthony Rosings Smith has a nice one.

“Why don’t you try dating only rich women?” I ask.

His smile verges on a smirk this time. “Have you met rich women?”

Yes, and most of them are catty, shallow, and exacting. But for all I know, he’s the exact same way. His mother is certainly exacting. I’d know. In addition to catering the mushroom tea, I worked with the staff at Anthony’s ill-fated engagement party. I’ve been all up, in, and around this man’s failed relationship.

Sighing, he adds, “You know, my mother got married three times before she decided to give up. If it weren’t for my trust fund, I’d give up too.”

I whistle. “Three times, huh? No one can say she didn’t give it the old college try. What happened to the dudes?”

He gives me a wry smile, then glances at the bar. The bartender is still watching the gameshow, slack-jawed as if he’s been scarfing weed brownies in the back. From his glaze-eyed look, I’m not far off the truth. When Anthony glances back at me, his gaze more alive than it was when I got here ten minutes ago, he asks, “Would you like a drink?”

“Hell, yes. Or possibly half a dozen.”

CHAPTER THREE

ANTHONY

“You really let your mother plan the wedding?” Rosie asks, hours later, waving a peanut at me. It’s her twelfth. Yes, I’ve counted. I’ve also watched each nut pass through her lips.

“Like I told you, she got married three times. I figured she was some kind of expert.”

She narrows her gaze at me. “You didn’t answer me before. What happened to the guys?”

I stare back at her, not entirely sure she’s not messing with me. “You honestly don’t know? It’s all anyone around here seems to talk about.”

“Believe it or not, you and your family have not been a topic of great interest to me.”

I laugh, the opposite of offended, because I’ve never enjoyed the scrutiny, the whispers, and the knowing glances. A lack of interest is the greatest gift she could give me.

---