Page 39 of Rivals to Lovers
“What are her colors?”
“Daffodil and gray. I’m not used to having a guy friend ask, to be honest.”
“Ha, I’ve sat in on enough of the layout and editorial meetings forUlla. If I get married someday, I’d have opinions.”
“I think groomsshould.”
“Anyone involved in a marriage should have an opinion about a wedding. I helped Ulla realize that she was missing a lot of engaged couples who might not have seen themselves covered before,” Wes said, visibly relaxing as they steered further from the topic of his parents. “A few years ago, my friends Ajay and Loris got married, and she covered it for the magazine. Not only do they have style and a sense of humor—Ajay is the painter who made that Winnie the Pooh painting—but Ajay was a broom; they’re nonbinary and loved that term. Representation is important in the media. When magazines only talk about brides and grooms and ignore the brooms, marriers, and partners, you miss out on a whole chunk of people trying to celebrate their love.”
They each finished a second glass of wine, and Mo was halfway through a third when she said, “I turned down a wedding proposal last year.”
He put his glass down on the table and raised his eyebrow at her. “Really?”
“For someone who should be great at reading, I totally misread the whole situation, and he thought it was more serious than it was. I mean, he hadn’t even met my family yet.”
“See, I always make all my friends meet my family at random coffee shops and used-clothing stores with no preparation,” Wes said.
Mo laughed. “Definitely preferable to the alternative. Plus, he surprised me at work. It was not a good surprise.”
“He probably didn’t even bring the customary engagement casserole,” Wes deadpanned.
“For your cultural edification, if I had been Minnesotan, it would be the Proposal Hotdish. Absolutely written into law.” She was glad to joke rather than linger on one of the most embarrassing moments of her life. “No matter what state, a potato is essential. Tater Tots are customary.”
“Do the Tater Tots go on top, or is it a mixed-through thing?”
“Oh, on top. There’s also a multilayer cheese throughout,thenon-top situation.”
“Sounds pretty kinky,” he said, then picked his glass up and noticed it was empty. “Wow, I’ve had enough to drink.”
Mo snorted into hers. They had been so busy talking and laughing that she hadn’t even thought about nestling under his arm. Now, more than tipsy, she didn’t want to make a move. He seemed to see her hesitation as she drew her hand from the place between them on the couch. “Let me call you an Uber. It’s late.”
“Oh, sure,” Mo said. “Thank you.”
He held her gaze and said, “About my parents—we need to keep that between us.”
How weird it must be to have your family’s personal business of interest to the world. She was used to how fast rumors spread in a small town, but New York felt so huge that it was easy to be anonymous—unless you were rich and famous. “Of course.”
Maureen gathered her manuscript and bag while he cleaned up the living room. He held the neck of his wineglasses between his fingers on one hand, then carried the cheese board and cutter with the other. She surveyed the room when he went into the kitchen, suddenly worried that she might not be back. She hadn’t even seen his full book collection, and she imagined it was huge.
Even that adjective made her feel a little weak at the knees, remembering the weight of him on top of her, his broad back, the sensation of him between her hands under the sheets. She prayed he would chalk up any blushing to the wine and not her dirty brain. She didn’t know what he wanted from her. They were still competitors, at least she assumed so. Estelle was hospitalized and Wes was stressed by this new separation. Timing wasn’t great, but being so close to him and laughing like they had tonight made her realize she wanted more eventually. This friendship was great, but also, she wanted the kissing again. She wanted his body on hers.
“Ready?”
“Yeah, for sure.”
He waited with her on the stoop until the Uber came, double-checking the car type against what was listed in the app. As she was about to get into the blue Focus with the driver, Abraham, Wes caught her hand. “Thanks for coming over. This was nice.”
“I want to hear more,” she said. Her voice came out more demure than she felt, weaving through the dark spring air to become something furtive. “More of your book, I mean. It’s kind of a tease to leave me wanting more like this.”
“I’ve never been called a tease before,” he said. He ran a finger over her cheek, then stepped back over the threshold. “Thursday?”
They made plans, and she got into the back of the Focus with cheeks burning and a smile on her face. If Mo had worried that she had friend-zoned herself, that light touch, that gentle caress, told her everything she needed to know. She didn’t need to worry—at least not about him wanting her. Everything else, including her feelings getting hurt, the chance at publishing the book of her dreams, and not ruining her sister’s wedding somehow? Well, that was a different set of problems altogether.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Wes
Wes started Thursday morning with cereal and a text from Mo.Did you do your morning pages?
