Outsider (53 page)

“Your
band. You can’t play a gig without them.”

“What
gig? We’re on break.”

“Sed’s
reception band backed out and they need a replacement. I promised him Exodus
End would do it.”

“You
did what?”

“You
know Sed saved my life. I owe him so much.” Trey had put “the face” away, but he’d
found a bit more Dare kryptonite in his bag of tricks.

“I’ll
ask them,” Dare promised, laughing when Trey launched himself into his lap and
sent his chair tipping backward, sprawling them both across the pool-side
patio.

“You’re
the bestest big brother in the world,” Trey said with the over-acted
earnestness of a fifties’ sitcom’s adorable youngest son.

Ethan
laughed. Reagan and Gwen exchanged eye rolls.

“Are
you coming to Sed’s bachelor party Thursday night?” Trey asked Dare.

“Are
you
going to be there?” Dare asked, sounding annoyed.

“Of
course.”

“Wouldn’t
miss it.” Dare shoved Trey onto the patio so he could recover some of his
dignity.

Trey
hopped to his feet and handed Dare the piece of paper with all the songs
Jessica had chosen. “These are the songs you all will be playing at the
reception.”

Dare’s
scowl deepened and deepened further as his eyes scanned the page. “You’re
fucking kidding, right? Exodus End doesn’t play ‘My Girl’ or ‘Cherish’ or ‘Can’t
Help Falling in Love’ or
any
of the songs on this list except ‘Freebird.’
”

“You
do on Saturday,” Trey said, slapping his brother on the chest and turning him
toward the door. “You’d better take beer when you break the news to the guys.
They are going to
kill
you.”

Reagan
was dying to see the rest of Exodus End’s reaction to the news, but she had a
date with her future mother-in-law.

Trey
slipped his arms around Ethan’s neck and leaned over the back of his chair.
“Ethan, will you help me set up for the bachelor party while Reagan pretends to
be all girly with Mom?”

“She’s
a lovely woman. She’s going to make a spectacular bride,” Gwen said and patted
Reagan’s hand. “She doesn’t have to pretend.”

Buying
a wedding dress was a once-in-a-lifetime experience that Reagan should be
sharing with her own mother, but she’d rather be with Gwen. Reagan didn’t even
like
her own mother, and Gwen was absolutely amazing, the kind of mother she’d have
chosen if newborns actually got to pick the one they wanted.

“That’s
a fact no one can deny,” Ethan said, his heavy gaze making Reagan flush.

“Time
is getting away from us,” Gwen said. “I’ll call Sandra.” She took several
dishes with her as she went into the house to call her bridal-boutique-owning
friend.

“Your
mom is great,” Reagan told Trey. “As is yours,” she added, turning to Ethan as
she thought of how sweet Rosa had always been to her.

“Have
you called
your
mom?” Trey asked.

He
knew damned well she hadn’t, though she did still have her number tucked inside
her purse in case she was stricken with a sudden case of insanity and felt the
urge to talk to the home-wrecker.

“Nope.
So what are you guys doing for Sed’s bachelor party?” Yes, she was definitely
changing the subject.

“Oh,
just the usual stripper orgy,” Trey said, nibbling Ethan’s ear.

Trey
was being even more affectionate toward Ethan than usual. Reagan wondered if it
had something to do with their upcoming wedding.

“Male
or female strippers?” she asked, picking pieces of tangerine out of her salad
and popping them into her mouth one at a time.

Ethan
laughed. “We do have a bit of a conundrum in that regard, don’t we?”

“Not
as far as I’m concerned,” Trey said. “We’ll get both. The more strippers the
merrier.”

Gwen
dashed out of the house. “She can get us in right now if we hurry.” She grabbed
Reagan’s wrist to tug her out of her chair, and Reagan grabbed the remains of her
delicious sandwich to stuff in her face as she jogged after her.

“Trey,
clean up the table,” Gwen said as she pulled Reagan through a door and into the
garage.

“Mom,
that’s why you have a maid.”

“That’s
why I have a son,” she said as she closed the door with a grin.

As
soon as they’d left the driveway with Gwen in the driver’s seat and Reagan
still trying to finish her sandwich, Gwen turned to her and smiled. “Now we can
really talk.”

They
hadn’t been
really
talking before?

“Woman
to woman.”

Oh.

“So
how are your parents dealing with this sudden decision to get married?”

“Uh,
well, my mother doesn’t know. And Dad knows only about Trey.”

“He
doesn’t know about Ethan?”

“Nooooo,”
Reagan stretched out the final vowel until she had to draw a breath.

“This
must be rough on him.”

“My
dad?”

“Well,
probably,” Gwen said, coming to a stop at a crossroad. There was no oncoming
traffic, but she didn’t pull out. “But I meant Ethan. He’s being so strong for
the both of you, but it has to hurt to be the one left out.”

“He’s
not really being left out,” Reagan said. “He knows this wedding is just for
show. Mostly to get the press off my back.”

“So
you don’t really want to marry my son?” Gwen asked.

“Of
course I do. I just . . . I wish it was possible to marry
both of them.”

Gwen
released a heavy sigh. “In a perfect world, you could.”

They
parked outside a store that made Reagan incredibly self-conscious about her old
cargo shorts, black tank top, and worn black boots. She had a sudden panic
attack that this would be like the scene in
Pretty Woman
where the
boutique sales team refused to serve what they considered a lowly piece of
filth and sent her packing.

But
once inside, she found her fears were unfounded.

Dressed
in a smart pink suit with diamonds sparkling on her fingers, around her throat
and wrists, and on the lobes of both ears, Sandra was about Gwen’s age and
obviously adored her eccentric friend. The thin, elegant woman was more than
gracious when she shook Reagan’s hand loosely and waved at her assistant to offer
her a glass of champagne and decadent-looking chocolates.

“Thanks
so much for working us in,” Gwen said, giving the sparrow-like Sandra a hearty
hug. “I know your schedule is booked over a month in advance.”

“Anything
for you, Gwen,” Sandra said. “This will be a delight. She’s absolutely
stunning.”

Reagan
snorted—certain the woman said that to every bride-to-be—and then covered her
nose and mouth with one hand. “Sorry,” she mumbled. She did have manners
somewhere. She just had to remember where she’d left them.

“So
what are you looking for, dear?” Sandra pressed her fingertips together in
front of her chest, as if she were praying extra hard, and pinned Reagan with a
pair of hazel eyes. “Something trendy or traditional? Sexy or elegant?
Full-skirt or mermaid?”

“I
have no idea,” Reagan admitted.

The
assistant was circling Reagan, eyeing every inch of her body until Reagan
shivered involuntarily. The woman locked gazes with Sandra, and they said in
unison, “The backless Sophia Tolli.”

While
the assistant dashed to a rack, Reagan was ushered into a dressing room. A
moment later a gown was hung on a hook beside her, and Reagan gaped at it. The
bodice was covered with feminine embellishments. The skirt, made of plain white
satin, was long and full at the bottom, yet fitted around the hips.

“Not
sure this will fit,” Reagan said. “I have a big . . .” She
almost said ass, but caught herself. “Rear end.”

“And
a beautiful back,” the assistant said. “It will fit. And show off your curves.”

“My
small boobs?”

“Trust
us. We’ve fitted thousands of brides in all shapes and sizes. This will look
fabulous on you. Especially with that long neck of yours. Ah!” she said, as if
enraptured by the length of Reagan’s neck.

So
Reagan allowed the assistant to help her put on the dress—which she wouldn’t
have chosen in a million years if left to her own devices—and then stared
unblinking at the stranger in the mirror.

It
was perfect.

The
assistant opened the dressing room door and said, “Gwen?”

Reagan
stepped out of the dressing room feeling beautiful and self-conscious at the
same time. Afraid to touch the gown, she didn’t know what to do with her hands,
so just waved them up and down at her sides.

Gwen
turned from her conversation with Sandra and pressed a trembling hand over her
chest. “Oh my. Yes, sweetheart, we have a winner.”

“Show
her the back,” the assistant said, taking Reagan’s hand and leading her to a low
pedestal surrounded by mirrors.

The
back of the gown was scandalously low cut. She could see the top of her panties
peeking up above the lace border just above the upper curve of her ass. Seeing
the problem, the assistant—even though they weren’t on a first-name basis—reached
under the wide satin skirt and tugged Reagan’s panties out of view.

“Wow,”
Gwen said. “What I wouldn’t give to have the back to pull that off.”

“You
and me both,” Sandra agreed. “And that neck that goes on for miles? She’ll stop
his heart, Gwen. Are you sure you want to risk your son’s life?”

Sandra
winked at Reagan, who flushed. She knew it was the woman’s job to sell dresses,
but she made Reagan feel good about herself. She couldn’t remember another
woman ever making her feel good about her body. Men who wanted to bed her,
sure, but never another woman. She wondered if that was something most mothers
did for their daughters. Hers had never been there to give her that needed
level of confidence, so she didn’t know.

“Do
you want to try a few others?” Gwen asked.

Reagan
shook her head, spinning slightly on the pedestal to make the skirt twirl.

“We’ll
take it,” Gwen told her. “We need it by next Friday. Can you get the
alterations done by then?”

“It
doesn’t need many,” Sandra said. “I’m sure we can get them done if you’re
willing to take this one off the rack instead of ordering one.”

“Is
that okay with you Reagan?” Gwen asked.

“Yes.”
Hell, she wanted to wear the thing out of the shop.

Gwen
was trying to talk Reagan into a pair of pretty white heels when Reagan’s phone
rang. Not sure how she’d ever convince the woman that she would be wearing her
boots under her spectacular gown, Reagan gladly answered Dare’s call.

“Hey,
kiddo,” Dare said. “I hope you aren’t busy.”

“Just
picking out my wedding dress. Nothing important,” she teased.

“We’re
going to need you to play guitar at Sed’s reception. Max overdid it already and
had to put his brace on again. Not every song. A lot of them need only one
guitar, so I can handle all of those. But some songs need two guitarists.”

She
hated to agree without consulting Jessica. She knew the woman had every second
of her special day planned to the minute, but she was sure Jessica would rather
her reception songs sound good than have one of her forty-five-thousand
bridesmaids sitting at the right table the entire time. And the guys
needed
her. She loved that they hadn’t hesitated to ask for her help.

“Are
you rehearsing at your house?” she asked.

“Yeah.
All the guys are here already. And believe it or not, they’re having a blast turning
all these mushy love songs into metal masterpieces.”

She
believed it. She wasn’t sure Jessica wanted all those mushy love songs to
be
metal masterpieces, however, but Reagan couldn’t wait to hear what the guys
were doing with the songs.

“Let
me finish up here, and then I’ll be over.”

“Did
you get a dress?” he asked.

“Yep.
One I probably can’t afford. But I figured what the hell, I’ll just charge it
to Dare’s credit card.” She couldn’t resist teasing him.

“You
do that, little sis. We’ll see you when you get here.”

“See
you.”

“And,
Reagan?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t
let Mom stop at any flea markets or junk yards. If you do, you’ll never escape
her shopping frenzy.”

Reagan
chuckled, figuring that the media for Gwen’s artwork had to come from such
places. “Thanks for the tip.”

“I’ve
been in your shoes more than I care to admit,” Dare said.

Reagan
glanced down at the white heels pinching the hell out of her toes. “I’d like to
see that,” she said, knowing he couldn’t know she was teasing him again. “See
you soon.”

Gwen
seemed disappointed that they couldn’t spend the rest of the day finding
treasures at flea markets, but she was gracious enough to take Reagan to Dare’s
house. On the drive over, Gwen shared stories about a mischievous young Trey
and the older brother who thought his mission in life was to keep the little
cuss out of trouble.