The Bachelor Takes a Bride

“Apparently he’s got a six-year-old son from a short-term relationship with a woman who lied to him about being on the Pill. Now half of his paycheck goes to child support and he’s saddled with the kid every other weekend.”

Tristyn choked on her wine, obviously shocked by the statement.

Jordyn held up her hands. “His words—not mine.”

“I should have realized,” her sister acknowledged.

“And the whole time he’s talking, he’s looking at my breasts instead of my face.”

“Well, you do have exceptional breasts.”

“I’m flattered you think so,” she said drily.

“And that dress really does emphasize your curves.” Her sister looked down at her own chest, sighed. “Even with Victoria’s very best secret giving me a boost, I can’t fake cleavage like yours.”

“Does that make it okay for him to stare at my chest all through dinner?”

“Of course not,” Tristyn immediately denied.

“Not that I actually stayed through dinner,” she admitted, helping herself to a wing. “When I waved my hand in front of his face—for the third time—to draw his attention upward, he didn’t even apologize. He just said, ‘You’ve probably realized by now that I’m a breast man—and I’m so glad Carrie hooked us up tonight.’”

“He didn’t.”

“Oh, yes, he did.” She licked pizza sauce off of her thumb. “And when I assured him that we weren’t hooking up, he promised that he would change my mind before dessert.”

Tristyn grimaced.

“I’m just glad I met him at the restaurant, so that when I walked out, I didn’t have to wait for a cab.”

“I’m so sorry,” her sister said sincerely. “Carrie told me he was a terrific guy.”

“Obviously Carrie needs to raise her standards.”

“I just wanted you to go out and have a good time. You’ve been a recluse since—”

“I work with the public,” she interjected, because she knew what her sister was going to say and didn’t want to hear it. “I think that’s pretty much the opposite of a recluse.”

Tristyn’s gaze was sympathetic. “But you don’t date.”

“After tonight, do you really need to ask why?”

“There are a lot of really great guys out there,” her sister insisted.

“Probably,” she acknowledged. “But you’ve dated most of them, and that’s a whole other category of awkward.”

“I haven’t dated that many men,” Tristyn protested.

Jordyn’s only response was to pick up the bottle of wine and top up their glasses.

“And why should I feel pressured to go out and meet guys who don’t interest me when I’m perfectly content with my life?”

She reached down to rub Gryffindor, who had followed the scent of food into the kitchen and rubbed himself against her leg in a silent bid for attention—or scraps. Not that she ever fed him from the table, but the battle-scarred cat she’d rescued from the streets seven years earlier was eternally optimistic.

“You should not be content hanging out with your sister on a Saturday night,” Tristyn said.

“Which begs the question of what you’re doing home on a Saturday night.”

Her sister shrugged. “I didn’t feel like going out.”

“Are you ill?”

“I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“Like what?”

“I had lunch with Daniel yesterday.”

“He’s trying to lure you over to GSR,” she guessed, referring to Garrett/Slater Racing—the company their cousin had founded in partnership with his friend Josh Slater.

Tristyn nodded.

“And?” she prompted.

“I’m tempted,” her sister admitted.

“But?”

“I love working at Garrett Furniture, being part of the business that Granddad founded.”

Gryff, finally giving up on the possibility that he would get anything more than affectionate but inedible scratches, wandered off again.

“Then tell him no.”

“But it would be really exciting to be part of the business that he’s building, too.”

Jordyn sipped her wine. “You’re not usually so indecisive. What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m not sure I could work with him,” Tristyn confided.

“Daniel?”

Her sister shook her head. “Josh.”

“Well, well, well,” Jordyn mused, as her sibling pushed away from the table and carried their plates to the dishwasher.

“Not for the reason you’re thinking.”

“Not because the man looks likes sex on a stick?”