Lori Wilde - Stop The Wedding! - Night Driving / Smooth Sailing / Crash Landing

“Why not?”

“They’re not based on anything solid.” He studied her mouth. “It’s just lust. Not the real thing. You should know that.”

“What does that mean?”

“Guys fall all over you.”

“So?” She narrowed her eyes. “You think I’ve been in love gobs of times?”

“Haven’t you?”

“Just because I’m lively and like people doesn’t mean I go falling in love willy-nilly.”

That was precisely what he’d thought of her. Her house was always filled with people. She dated a lot. It was a natural assumption.

“How many times have you been in love?” he asked, not knowing why he was pursuing this topic. It was none of his damned business.

She studied him for a long moment, her winsome blue eyes drilling into his until he started feeling downright antsy. “How many times have you been in love?”

Boone drummed his fingers on the Formica tabletop. “I asked you first.”

She dropped her hands into her lap, notched up her chin. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in love.”

“Not even with Chet?”

“Oh, heck no. He was good in bed and lots of fun and I was ready for an adventure. I was going through a cowboy phase, which was why I moved up here with him.”

Jealousy shot through Boone, crisp and concise. The last thing he wanted to think about was Tara in bed with that cowboy. He wondered if she’d ever gone through a soldier phase, and then mentally kicked himself for wondering it.

“So you weren’t crushed when he left?”

“Only because I had to pay the rent all on my own.”

Boone shook his head.

“What?” A smile played at her lips.

“I envy you.”

“For what?”

“The easy way you take life.”

“So you have been in love.” She nodded as if he’d just confirmed something she suspected.

“I thought I was, once. That’s how I know what love is not.”

Tara leaned forward, rubbed her palms together. “Ooh, now it’s getting juicy. What was her name?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Still hung up on her, huh?”

“No, not at all. I’m just embarrassed that I let her make a fool of me.”

“She cheated on you.”

“Yeah.” He bit off the word, grateful to see the waitress coming toward them with their breakfast.

“Well,” Tara said, “at least you’re not commitmentphobic.”

“Are you?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Kinda. Sorta. At least that’s what Chet said.”

“I thought he was the one who left you.”

“Yeah, when I turned down his marriage proposal.”

“Poor Chet,” Boone said, not feeling sorry for ol’ Chet in the least. “You broke his heart.”

She shrugged. “Not on purpose. I was very clear from the beginning that it wasn’t a long-term relationship.”

“Are you always that clear about your expectations from a relationship?”

“Aren’t you?”

“No,” he admitted.

She dug into her breakfast, fork in one hand, knife in the other, both elbows sticking out. The platter was heaped high with bacon and eggs and pancakes and hash browns. “You want some? I got plenty.”

He raised a palm. “I’m good.”

She narrowed her eyes at his oatmeal. “That’s not enough to feed a sparrow.”

“Since I’m not mobile, I have to keep a check on the calorie count.”

“Suit yourself.” She waved a fork. “So what was her name?”

“Who?”

“The one who broke your heart.”

He shrugged.

“You forgot her name?”

“Believe me, I wanted to.”

“Isn’t it a shame we can’t get selective amnesia when it suits us.”

“Shame,” he echoed.

“So what was her name?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not to me, but maybe if you talked about her, you could get over her.”

“I’m over her.”

“You sure?” She sank her teeth into a sausage link.

“Positive.”

“Then tell me her name.”

“Shaina.”

“Pretty name. Was she good in bed?”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a legitimate question. The top two reasons couples break up are money and sex.”

Boone couldn’t believe she was asking something so personal. Then again, he could. Tara had no boundaries. Was it strange that, while her questions rubbed him the wrong way, he was starting to admire the way she just said whatever popped into her head? No filter. No caution. Just plowing straight ahead and grabbing at life with open arms. Trouble was, he was a cactus and she was a shiny red balloon.

“It wasn’t money,” he growled.

“So she was bad in bed.” Tara wiped her fingers on a napkin. “Could you hand me the syrup?”

He passed the syrup. “No, she was very good in bed. Everyone’s bed. That was the problem. Her extreme proficiency in bed.”

Tara’s eyes went all goopy soft as she drizzled maple syrup over her pancakes. “Oh, Boone, I’m so sorry.”

“Why? Did you sleep with her?”

Her hearty laugh captured him. Embraced him like a hug. How could someone hug you with a laugh?

A man put money in the jukebox and at eight o’clock in the morning, with the smell of bacon wafting in the air, it was downright incongruous hearing Ingrid Michaelson singing “Be OK.”

“That’s really why you want to stop Jackie from getting married, isn’t it?” Tara surprised him with her chirpy insight. “To keep her from making the same mistake you did. It’s really your mistakes you want to erase, not hers.”

Boone shook his head, polished off his oatmeal. “She barely knows the guy. They’ve only been going out a few weeks.”

“You and your sister weren’t raised together, right?”

“Yes. Where’d you hear that?”

“When I said goodbye to Mrs. Levison at the party, she said your sister is the daughter of Jack Birchard, the famous oceanographer.”

“That’s right. She’s my half sister.”

“Why the deep investment? It takes a lot of time, money and energy to drive across the country to ruin someone’s wedding.”

“I wasn’t there for her when she was growing up.”

“Why do you feel that it was your responsibility to be there for her?”

“When our mom dumped her, I could have made things easier for her.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. A big brother can’t make up for an AWOL mother.”

“I could have told her it wasn’t her fault that she left.”

“I doubt you telling her that would have made a difference.”

“Yeah, well.”

“You still feel guilty even when it had nothing to do with you. C’mon, Boone, you’re not responsible for what your mother did. I’m sure Jackie doesn’t hold you accountable in any way.”

This was making him uncomfortable. This is what he got for opening up to her. She was kicking off her shoes, climbing into his brain, making herself right at home, running barefoot through his psyche. He folded his arms over his chest. “You sure take your time over a meal.”

“You’re supposed to eat slowly. It aids digestion.”

“It does not aid expediency.”

“You went to college,” she said.

“I did.”

“You use a lot of big words.”

“In some circles, a large vocabulary is considered an asset.”

“I didn’t go,” she said, wistfully licking syrup from her fork. “To college, that is. My parents couldn’t afford it. Not on a plumber and secretary’s salary. Too many kids. I put myself through beauty school.”

“Doing what?”

“Swear you won’t laugh.”

“What? Did you work in a strip club?”

“Boone!” She looked half amused, half insulted. “What in the world do you think of me?”

He raked a gaze over her. “With a body like that you could make a fortune dancing.”