The Worst Wedding Date
: Chapter 22

Theo’s missing.

Again.

And this time, I’m not slipping out of the party to look for him because I promised Emma I’d make sure he didn’t cause problems for Chandler.

This time, I’m slipping out of the party because I’m worried about him.

If everything Emma touches turns to gold—and it truly does—then everything Theo touches apparently turns to dust.

And that’s not fair.

Not when he’s trying as hard as I am to help Emma have the wedding of her dreams.

Don’t tell me he’s not.

I have zero doubt if I’d told Chandler that I had to substitute in a gift at the end of the scavenger hunt, he would’ve laughed.

It’s like he wants to be mad at Theo.

And that’s irritating the shit out of me.

I check the beach first. No sign of Theo. Our bungalow is next. Also not there.

Not even with the kittens and their mama.

The rental Jeep is still in the parking lot, so if he went somewhere, it’s on foot.

He could’ve gone any direction, and he could be anywhere.

I check the party one more time—no Theo, no surprise—and then text Sabrina for his number while I head back toward our room one more time.

But as I’m passing the bistro, I realize there’s a light on in the kitchen.

And I smell something sweet.

I start to think he wouldn’t, remember this is Theo we’re talking about, and I circle the building.

When I poke my head in the back door, I’m both surprised and also not to see him inside.

He’s stripped off his shirt and only flipped on a single light in the white-and-steel kitchen. The prep table is a mess of flour and sugar, butter, eggs, chocolate chips, and dirty spoons and bowls. He’s pulling a tray of cookies out of the oven.

And it smells like heaven.

Also like my hangover cure this morning.

Emma knew. She knew he found a place to make homemade cookies.

I slip in the back door and let it close behind me.

His shoulders bunch like he heard me.

“Cross my heart, I won’t freak out about rules,” I say quietly. “Those smell too good.”

“You missed dinner.”

“Eh. I had tacos yesterday. You missed dinner.”

“Shouldn’t be here.”

“Me? You? Both of us?”

“You.”

“It shouldn’t be only your responsibility to play nice with your sister’s fiancé. He should’ve said thank you. You’ve done a lot for them this week, and I don’t care what his reason might be, it’s not right that he’s being an ass about it.”

“Go away, Laney.”

His gruff dismissal is a cannonball to the heart, which is the last thing I’d expect.

Theo has been a pain in my ass for years. But I’m realizing I’ve misjudged him. Or at least never taken the time to look at the man he’s grown into instead of the boy I assumed he’d stay his whole life.

Never thought about why he does what he does.

What matters to him. The things that he’s been through that no one talks about. That he’s allowed to live his life on his own terms, but even when you’re happy with where you’re at and happy with what you’re doing, people will judge you for it.

And they shouldn’t.

I shouldn’t.

That’s on me. That’s my bad.

He won’t look at me differently if I never give him a chance to do it either.

And honestly? I think he’s making me look at myself differently too.

Not all rules are necessary. People change. Being good isn’t necessarily better.

Not when it makes me feel like I’m not living.

I’ve known for over a year that I’m missing something in my life. But it wasn’t until this trip that I realized how much I’m still standing in my own way with all of the rules I’m subconsciously following that shouldn’t be rules at all.

“Do people ever tell you it’s not your fault? Do people ever tell you you’re right and someone else is wrong?” I ask.

He doesn’t look at me while he flings more dough balls onto a cookie sheet. “Get plenty of validation in plenty of places.”

I swallow my next argument. But here? Are you validated here? Your sister gave you a babysitter. How is that validation?

No point in saying it out loud.

That much is clear.

He doesn’t want to hear it from me. And no matter how much we both adore Emma, she shouldn’t have asked me to babysit Theo.

Chandler should own his part in this. And she’s marrying him in two days.

Because he’s truly her soulmate?

Or because she’s wanted a family for so long that she can’t fathom starting over with someone she doesn’t know as well, even if that someone could be better for her?

I’ve known Emma for a long time, and I hate the conclusion I can’t help but draw right now, and that it’s taken me until two days before her wedding to question it at all.

“I appreciate what you did tonight, for whatever that’s worth,” I tell Theo.

“Go. Away.”

“Why?”

He drops the tray of cookies on the prep table, oven gaping open behind him, and finally looks at me.

There’s an uncharacteristic intensity in his normally easygoing, but currently piercing gaze that makes me stumble back half a step.

It’s not anger.

It’s not frustration.

It’s—

Oh my god.

It’s desire.

Theo wants me.

“Because if you don’t,” he says, low and gravelly, “I’m going to pin you to the nearest wall and kiss the ever-loving fuck out of you, and if I start kissing you, I won’t stop until we’re both bare-ass naked and completely spent on this floor.”

I suck in a quick breath as my breasts tighten and my clit tingles, and it’s not enough air.

Theo’s always been off-limits. The bad boy. The rule-breaker. The guy all the girls would whisper about in the hallway in high school, the one they wanted to lose their virginity to, the one rumored to know more about sex than any high school boy should.

And that was over a decade ago.

When he was scrawny and wild and unpredictable.

He still has a wild side.

He’s still unpredictable.

But he’s more. It’s like he has all of the chaos harnessed deep inside of him, and he knows when to unleash it for maximum advantage.

He’s also fun. Good fun.

And he has Emma’s sunshine, which I never noticed before, but it’s unmistakable. Aside from the moment he realized he was stuck with me, he’s been cheerful and upbeat no matter the obstacles in his way.

And realizing he cares—and that he’s utterly irresistible in how much he cares—is making this all the worse.

I want him.

I do.

I want him.

He gives me one last withering glare that makes me feel more like he’s mentally stripping me than that he hates me. “Please go away.”

I lick my lips. “Do you want me because I’m convenient or because you want me?”

“You are not convenient.”

That wasn’t complimentary. Don’t think he meant it to be.

I don’t want to want you, but I can’t help myself. This is part of the chaos that I can’t control.

He splays his hands wide on the table like he’s using it as a buffer between us. The scents of vanilla, sugar, and melted chocolate float through the air, made more potent by the tension hanging between us.

I could do this.

I could have raw, wild, uninhibited sex with Theo in a kitchen he broke into and is using to make chocolate chip cookies.

Because he’s not already attractive enough.

“You won’t like all of me, Laney,” he says, low and tight.

“You made my hangover cookies,” I whisper. “That’s why it took so long. You broke in here and made fresh cookies.”

“If you don’t leave, I’ll ruin you.”

I know exactly what he’s saying. You will never want sex with another man after you get a taste of what I can give you.

I shiver. It’s a good shiver. A forbidden shiver. A fun shiver. “What am I, a governess in the eighteen hundreds?”

“If you don’t leave, you’ll ruin me.” I’ve never heard his voice like this. Desperate. Anguished. Vulnerable.

“I don’t want to ruin you,” I whisper. “I want to know you.”

“You really don’t.”

“I really do.” I reach behind me, make sure the door is fully closed, and flip the lock.

His brown eyes, already dark, go fully midnight. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“I like you,” I whisper while my feet carry me around the prep table.

He watches me like he’s a trapped, wounded mountain lion. “You shouldn’t.”

“You’re a good person.”

“You have no idea who all I am.”

“You save kittens and rescue your sister in ways she doesn’t even know and you take care of me when I’m drunk.”

He visibly swallows. “I won’t be some plaything you can dabble with today and throw away when your parents get here.”

I shut the oven door, knowing full well that my face is flushing for more reasons than just the heat coming from the appliance. “I’m tired of playing the good girl for everyone else.”

“Tonight.”

“All the damn time.”

I stop next to him. He’s still bracing himself on the table, his head turned to look at me, pupils fully dilated, his breath coming short and fast.

Kiss me.

I want to say it, but a lifetime of being told sex will ruin my life makes it hard.

I can barely bring myself to make the first move to touch him.

But I force myself to do it.

To put a hand on his shoulder, the heat of his skin searing my palm while I push him back from where he’s braced himself.

“You have no idea what you’re doing,” he murmurs thickly.

“I broke up with the perfect man a year ago because it didn’t feel right and I’m finally understanding why.”

“Because he was a fucking boring-ass piece of shit?”

“Yes.”

He grips my hips hard. “So I’m a plaything.”

“No.”

“Say it. You’re a plaything, Theo. You’re a walk on the wild side. You’re a fuck-you to my parents.”

“You’re living your own life on your own terms without apology and I want that.”

“Fucking around with me isn’t a shortcut to changing who you are and you won’t like me when you know all of who I am.”

“Brutal honesty is such a turn-on.”

He’s glowering at me.

Glowering.

Theo. The guy who smiled through hitting a wild pig.

Also a turn-on.

There’s no you’re so pretty lip service. No lies. No forcing anything. No faking it.

Just a guy who wants me despite not wanting to want me.

Pure hormonal instincts making his searing-hot gaze dip to my lips while his fingers hold my hips tightly enough to bruise.

I want you even though I don’t want to want you.

I feel more like a woman, like a goddess, for knowing how much he can’t resist me than I’ve ever felt from roses and fancy dinners and champagne as foreplay.

“I will ruin you for any other man, ever, and I won’t apologize for that,” he growls as he steps closer, pressing his hard erection against my belly.

“Promise?” I whisper.

A feral noise emanates low in his throat, and then there’s nothing else but the feel of his lips crushing mine, his arm wrapping around my waist to pull me tighter while he flexes his hips to grind his thick erection harder against me.

A thrill washes over me. A thrill, and a throbbing in my vagina, and a heavy longing in my breasts, and a desperate, deep need for more.

More of his punishing kisses. Deeper kisses. His tongue.

Oh, god, his tongue.

It’s delicious.

And his hair.

It’s surprisingly silky. Long enough to grip and lose my fingers in.

But his ass.

Oh my god, his ass.

It’s a round, solid bubble of I cannot get enough of this, and when I squeeze it tighter, his erection pulses against my stomach, making my lonely clit beg for what he gave us last night in the car.

“Last chance, Laney,” he gasps as he breaks the kiss. “Last chance before we can’t take it back.”

“Strip my clothes off.”

His eyes are so dark, I could fall into them and never replace the bottom. His breath comes in short pants, lips parted and moist from our kiss. Everything about him screams coiled snake, danger, danger, but god, I want this.

I want him.

And not for fun. Not to take a walk on the wild side.

I want him because he’s life. I feel like I’m taking a full breath of fresh air after living underwater. I feel electric. Alive.

“I don’t regret last night,” I whisper. “Any of it. And I remember everything.”

I don’t know how he does it, but in one smooth motion, he’s stripped me of my dress.

It’s somewhere in the kitchen that is not on my body.

Humid air touches my skin, and then Theo touches my skin.

He skims his hands down my ribs. Slips his thumbs just barely under the waistband of my bikini briefs and circles my hips, not dipping low enough to touch my clit or my butt crack before he leaves my panties on and glides his hands back up my ribs.

Watching me.

Watching my every inhalation. Every soft gasp. Every stifled moan for more while I squirm in his hands, wanting him to touch me everywhere all at once.

“Don’t hold back now, princess,” he murmurs as he dips his head to my shoulder and bites me in the crook of my neck.

A garbled oh, god leaves my lips.

He hooks a hand under one of my legs, turns, and oh god yes yes yes there.

There.

Right there.

With his cock pressed against my clit, him rotating his hips to rub me so so so right.

His free hand moves up my back, and then my bra’s gone too, unhooked so the cups fall off and the straps slide down my arms.

He shifts twice, and I’m standing in this kitchen grinding my clit against Theo’s erection in nothing but my panties and strappy sandals.

There’s no time to get self-conscious though.

Not when he pinches my nipple and makes me cry out in sheer thrilling pleasure.

“Again,” I gasp.

He rolls it between his thumb and forefinger.

My hips thrust out of control against his thick length.

“Touch my cock,” he orders.

I don’t think. Don’t hesitate.

I just shove his pants down, reach between us, and grip the hot, silky skin of his erection.

“Fuck, yes,” he hisses. “Stroke me, Laney.”

I grip him harder and stroke him root to tip, brushing the bead of moisture at the tip of his length around his head.

“Good girl.” His voice is strangled.

And his words piss me off. So I squeeze his dick harder.

He sucks in a breath that I feel deep in my core.

Probably because I want to know what it feels like deep in my core when his cock surges like that.

Holy hell. I like his penis.

I like his penis a lot.

“I am not a good girl,” I force out.

“You are such a good girl.”

“I am—ooh god.”

I am not a good girl.

I’m arching into his touch, because Theo’s pushed my panties aside and thrust two fingers up inside me, and he’s also playing with my clit, and oh my god oh my god oh my god, this feels—

Not good.

Not even better.

This is pure, raw, carnal heaven.

I drop his penis and grip his shoulders instead, my hips jerking while I bury my face in his neck and breathe in the raw, musky scent of him. “Don’t stop,” I choke out while need spirals higher and tighter inside of me with every thrust of his fingers and every swirl of his thumb around my clit.

Oh god.

Oh god.

“I want you to sit on my face and I want to eat you until you scream my name and then I want to bury my cock so deep inside your pussy you’ll never be able to walk again,” he breathes in my ear. “I want to fuck you in this kitchen. On the beach. In a goddamn broom closet at your fancy-ass office. I want you to never look at a cookie again without knowing I give you the best damn cookies of your life.”

“Theo. Oh god. I—I—I—”

“Say it, Laney.”

I’m twisting and writhing in his touch, right there, right on the edge of coming.

“Say you want to fuck me too,” he breathes while his fingers make me wetter than I’ve ever been and the tension spiraling inside me gets higher and higher. “Say you want to eat my cock. Say you want me to make you come in the ocean. Say you want to give me a hand job in your old bedroom in your parents’ house.”

Everything breaks loose inside me, and spasms overtake me. “Yes,” I gasp.

“Are you coming?”

“Yes.”

“Say it, Laney. Say it.”

“Oh, god. I’m—I’m—Theo. I—”

“Tell me you’re coming.”

He’s still jerking his fingers inside me. Still playing my clit. I’m coming hard and fast and long and deep, so deep I can feel it in the pit of my stomach, so hard I’m almost cramping. “I’m coming,” I gasp. “Oh my god, I’m coming.”

“Yeah, you are, you sexy-ass goddess.”

My entire body flushes as the sensations roll through me. “Don’t—make fun—”

He swallows the rest of my sentence with a searing kiss while he slows the delicious torture on my spasming inner muscles and my overly sensitive clit.

“Fucking. Goddess,” he repeats against my mouth before thrusting his tongue back in.

And I love it.

I do.

Not because I feel like I’m rebelling.

But because I feel alive.

And free.

And safe.

He slips his fingers out of my vagina, and I whimper at the sudden emptiness.

But then he rocks his cock against my clit, and oh my god.

Bare skin to bare skin.

His thick, hard, straining length nestles between my slick thighs.

I should ask him if he has a condom.

I should.

But I don’t want to.

I want to take him inside my overworked vagina and do for him what he just did for me.

But then I hear it.

A key.

In a lock.

And cursing. “Which fucking key is it?” someone says outside the door.

My gaze flies to Theo’s.

His gaze flies to my nearly naked body.

“Front door,” he says.

I don’t know how he does it, but he pulls his pants back up over his hard penis, grabs my dress, shoves it over my head, and pockets four cookies in less time than it takes whoever’s on the other side of that door to try two more keys.

And then we’re darting into the dining area of the bistro, where Theo expertly unlocks the door without hesitation, and then we’re dashing off into the night.

I don’t know if he has my bra.

I don’t know if the kitchen smells like sex.

I don’t know who was trying to get in.

But I know that running away from the bistro on shaky legs that haven’t recovered from that orgasm, Theo’s hand clutching mine while he steers me down the tropical-shrub and tiki-torch-lined path to the back side of our building, feels like utter heaven.

Like I’m finally replaceing a part of myself that I’ve been seeking for so long, I forgot who, exactly, I was looking for.

And while old Laney would freak out about nearly getting caught, that’s not what I do.

I giggle.

I giggle until I snort, and then I laugh so hard we have to stop so I can catch my breath.

And while I lean against the side of a building and laugh until I almost cry, no matter how much I say I’m trying to catch my breath, Theo just watches me.

“So that’s all it takes,” he says quietly with a soft smile on his lips.

“What’s all it takes?” I gasp between peals of laughter.

He doesn’t answer.

Just shakes his head and watches me.

But when I’ve finally pulled myself together enough for us to continue on our way, he does the last thing I expect.

Again.

He wraps an arm around my shoulders, presses a kiss to my temple, and shoves a chocolate chip cookie in my mouth.

This, my heart whispers, even over the sound of my mouth having a full-on foodgasm at the warm, salty toffee-and-chocolate treat on my tongue.

This is the dating we’ve been missing.

It’s not wrong.

Also not wrong?

Theo.

He has absolutely ruined me for any other man. Ever.

My vagina’s expectations of sex for the rest of my life have been reset with just his fingers.

Oh my god.

As for the rest of what I want—I’m just this side of shaky at knowing we nearly got caught naked in a restaurant kitchen, but the thrill.

The thrill.

And one very, very delicious chocolate chip cookie on top of it.

“I’m not done with you,” I tell him around a mouthful of cookie.

Again, he doesn’t answer.

But I catch the way his lips tip up in the corner.

Theo Monroe isn’t trouble.

He’s trouble and more.

And I’ve only just started discovering the more.