Page 32 of Catch and Release Groom

Besides, there was being fairly certain she knew better and actuallyknowingbetter because she’d learned through personal experience.

“If that means our deal is off, so be it,” Easton continued. “I’d rather be crystal clear upfront.”

The ego on this dude. It definitely needed to be taken down a notch, and she was just the gal to do it. More, it’d be fun, and after a decade of always walking the line, didn’t she deserve to cut loose and have an adventure?

“Well, to be crystal clear, this is more of a quid pro quo sitch.” She patted his chest, only to get distracted by his pecs. “So don’tyougo turning it into something it’s not.”

Pat, pat,and he caught her wrist. A shock of awareness fired up her core as her eyes met his, and there went that pesky twinge in her chest.

Mistakes weren’t allowed in her line of work, nor were they anything she’d casually made before. She wasn’t even saying this was a mistake; more like the argument failed to hold water.

Time to do what she did best, weighing the risks and amortization. A few days of equal installments, where Easton acted as wingman during activities so she wouldn’t be the third wheel on literally everyone else’s honeymoon. In return, all she had to do was stay by his side during his ex’s wedding. If anything, his part was more demanding.

Plus, attending the wedding would satisfy her curiosity about the woman who’d left this unmalleable man in such tight knots. “Fine,” she said. “You have yourself a deal.”

Chapter Thirteen

Couples, couples everywhere, and way more than a drop to drink, given the wine barrels racked and stacked around the cool room. Glasses and bottles, both corked and uncorked, littered the different tasting stations, while all the couples sat at tiny circular tables for two.

Yesterday, upon their return from the falls, she and Easton had stood in front of the activities board in the lobby and scheduled their time acting as newlyweds.

With his early hours packed with fly-fishing expeditions, afternoons and evenings would be their turn to shine. That was when having a plus-one mattered most anyway, although Imogen was still lamenting her failure to talk Easton into couples’ yoga, held on the east lawn every morning at sunrise.

As it was, he’d moaned and groaned plenty about today’s outing: wine tasting at a nearby vineyard, followed by a romantic hot-air balloon ride and aerial tour of the acres of delicious grapes. Not only was this the outing she’d most anticipated, it was her consolation prize for letting go of Rome.

In preparation for the day’s activities, Imogen wore her red floral summer dress with the little white flowers, so either wine would blend right in. The lightweight fabric and fun, swishy skirt at her knees kept her cool, but the puffy sleeves were why she’d bought it.

They’d already sampled three whites and were moving on to the reds.

Imogen thanked the sommelier for the pour, swirling and sniffing the wine before taking a sip. “Mmm. The thing I love about this—besides the sweetness, of course—is saying its name. Zinfandel. Zinfandel.”

“Can you taste the fruity notes of cherry and strawberry?”

Another sip, with those fruits in mind, and…it mostly just tasted like alcohol. But Imogen nodded at the beaming woman anyway, because people-pleasing was a hard habit to break.

When Easton didn’t sip from his glass or join the conversation, Imogen tapped her toe to his. “Hey, sweetums. Why don’t you try the red and see what you think? Also, let’s remember how we’re guests who use our manners.”

“Sure thing, dumplin’. But if you wanted a wine-drinking partner, you chose the wrong guy.”

“That’s what happens when there are literally no other options,” she replied in a singsong voice, and the sommelier wisely took the bottle of Zinfandel to the next table.

Easton’s glass hit the tabletop with aclink, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “My note is this should taste more like beer.”

Imogen sighed, nice and loud, and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, it’s a real shame it’s not piss-colored and extra yeasty.”

One corner of his mouth kicked up. “You’d change your mind after a bottle of Naked Pig Pale Ale—my friends and I refer to it as our poker fuel.”

Imogen logged the information, along with the fact that his features lit up when he mentioned his friends. While cataloging the week’s events, she’d suggested skipping the kayak race she’d arranged for Brett’s sake, only for Easton to say it was the only one he was looking forward to.

Then he’d tapped the afternoon slot on the final day. “We’re definitely doing this. More, we’re going to win.”

“Do you even know what the newlywed game is?” she’d asked in return, not waiting for his answer before explaining. “It’s a contest about who knows their spouse best. The other couples have been dating for months, if not years.”

“That’s why it’ll be so satisfying to beat them. Plus, check out the prize.” Again, he tapped the calendar of events, and she noticed the bold text. “A thousand dollars. Split fifty-fifty, that’d go a long way to a new four-wheeler. My buddy’s girl borrowed mine, and I’m starting to think I won’t be getting it back. Although it was a rundown hunk of junk to begin with.”

Given she’d asked for days, whereas he needed her to pretend for just one, it seemed only fair. Even if it meant waking up revoltingly early to tag along on another fishing excursion so they could study their way to victory.

“Fifty-fifty,” she’d repeated once it’d cycled enough times in her head. Five hundred dollars for her drained bank account if she learned enough about Easton. It was a low-risk, high-reward deal.

---