Romancing the Running Back Page 4

“I think it looks nice,” Mellie added. Poor sweet girl wanted so much to please her oldest sister, she said the same thing every time.

  “No” was Irene’s helpful comment.

  Cassie sighed and picked up the skirts. Tulle and organza rustled as she walked back toward the dressing room. “Anya, I’m hungry. Can we stop now?”

  “No.” A tingle started down her arms, and she sat up. “The bottom, though . . . it’s good.” It wasn’t too big, too unwieldy for her to manage. Cassie, for all her lovely virtues, was not someone who could handle a massive hoop skirt. Especially not on her big day when her one main thought would be Don’t fall down. “But try the . . . Margot,” she said, changing who she spoke to. The sales associate stepped out from the curtained dressing room area. “The Carolina Herrera with that neckline that . . .” She motioned around her shoulders and neckline. Margot nodded immediately and disappeared.

  “She’s never going to pick a dress,” Irene muttered, digging through her own bag. “Does anyone have a Life Saver or something? I’m starving.”

  Mellie just kicked her. Irene kicked back.

  They heard Cassie chattering quietly to the dressing attendant in the back, and Anya got her phone out. “Mellie,” she said softly, trusting the younger of the two to follow directions without fuss. “Mellie, please get your phone out and start taking photos the second Cassie comes out.”

  “Why?” she started to ask, then just nodded and got her phone out.

  “And neither of you make a sound, do you understand? I mean it. Irene, I don’t care if you hate the dress she walks out in next. You say nothing, even if you have to fake sick and go to the bathroom. Understood?” Anya shot the older, remaining sister a hard look.

  Irene shrugged and sank back in the couch as if she didn’t care, but Anya could see the tightening around her young mouth.

  Then, quietly, she dialed Cassie’s mother’s number on FaceTime. It rang, and she silently begged her to pick up. Sandra Wainwright did, just as Cassie called out, “Here I come!”

  Anya waved at Cassie’s mother, put her finger to her lips as Sandra started to say something, then turned the phone around so it was facing the runway.

  Cassie walked out, her smile uncertain as she headed for the platform at the end of the runway. Lightweight and frothy, the dress showed movement as her friend walked, but wasn’t so big and heavy that it caused problems. The sweetheart bodice morphed into a sheer neckline and straps with lace detailing, echoing the same on the back. It was simple and understated, with just the right amount of fuss to make it special.

  The dress was perfect, and Anya knew Cassie felt it by the way she carried herself in it. Then Cassie let the skirts fall into place and did a slow turn. “What do you think?”

  It was the first time she’d asked so hesitantly. Anya knew, the way a best friend of a million years did, that it meant she’d found the one, and was terrified of rejection.

  Mellie just breathed in a thick gasp and took some photos. Irene sat up straighter, hands on her knees, eyes softening, but stayed blessedly quiet.

  “Uh, guys?” Cassie turned to the mirrors in front of her, then looked over her shoulder. “So?”

  “You look beautiful.”

  Cassie’s hand flew to her mouth and she whirled around. Anya felt a smug moment of triumph as her normally klutzy best friend managed to move with ease in the dress. It was a sign. “Mom? What, where . . .”

  “Here, sweetie,” Sandra said from the phone.

  Anya stepped forward, holding the phone out toward the bride-to-be.

  Cassie’s mother sniffed. “You look . . . oh, baby, you look like an angel.”

  “Mom.” Cassie’s eyes welled up, and Anya regretted her mother couldn’t be there for the fitting. But in her first year as principal, Sandra couldn’t take off days so early in the school year, and Cassie wasn’t willing to take enough days off to travel back to Atlanta.

  “Here.” Anya handed her the phone and stepped back to give them a moment together, such as it was. She sat beside Mellie, who kept taking photos. “That’s probably enough,” she whispered, asking for the phone. Mellie handed it over without complaint. Anya scrolled through the dozens of photos, picked a few of the best, and texted them to herself for later.

  “She looks awesome,” Mellie breathed.

  “It’s okay,” Irene added, which was basically a glowing reference from her.

  Anya just watched, her heart clenching a little, as her best friend showed off her wedding dress to her mother with a little help from technology.

  Chapter Four

  Three days after their game, Josiah slid into a booth across from Cassie and Trey at the deli near the Bobcats’ home office. The employees of the deli knew the team and support staff well, and never let them be bothered. “You two look happy. Too happy. What’s up?”

  “Well, Trey was just telling me how you won the privilege of being his best man. Congratulations!”

  Josiah grunted, but when Cassie’s smile drooped a little, he rallied for her sake. “Yeah, it’s . . . great. Awesome. Can’t wait. Love this guy.” He leaned over and punched Trey on the shoulder a little harder than would be called friendly. Trey glared at him.

  “It’s overwhelming, but I know—oh.” Cassie paused when an employee brought a tray bearing her and Trey’s lunches. “Thank you so much, but you could have just called our number. We would have gotten it.”

  “Not a problem, Ms. Wainwright.” The young woman, college-age, beamed. “Happy to do it.”

  Cassie and Trey shot her twin looks of gratitude. Though the deli employees wouldn’t bother them, there was no telling who might be snacking, and who might see them hit up the counter for food. The less up-and-down they did, the less noticeable they remained.

  Trey unwrapped his sub while Cassie pried off the lid to her soup. “Since you were chosen, in a battle to the near death, to be my best man,” Trey said, “we thought it would be good to get together and start making plans.”

  “First off, there was no battle. No battle,” he emphasized to Cassie, who blew daintily on her spoonful of soup. Her eyes laughed at him. “There was a coin toss, which this jackwagon managed to screw up. You sure you want to marry a guy who can’t properly flip a coin?”

  “He’s all thumbs,” she said seriously, which made him grin. Trey was an all-star quarterback at the top of his game. All thumbs probably hadn’t applied since he was in diapers. “Either of you would have made great best men. But you won the prize.”

  “Some prize. I’m suddenly a wedding gofer.” With a sigh, he pasted on a smile to thank the same employee as she delivered his own salad—heavy on the meat. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” She hovered for a moment. “Anyone need a drink refill?”

  Cassie blinked at him innocently. “Maybe Josiah does.”

  “I’m good. Thanks,” he said quickly, waiting until the eager beaver made her way back to the counter before narrowing his eyes at her. “Low.”

  “Very, but fun. Anyway, neither of us is really up on this whole wedding protocol thing. We haven’t had siblings go through it, and no friends have hit the scale that is, unfortunately, required by our circumstances.” Cassie blew out an annoyed breath, which disturbed the hairs grazing her temple, escaped from her ponytail. “It’s an undertaking.”

  “Can’t you hire a professional?” Seemed logical to him. Dump the whole thing on someone whose job was nothing but weddings and make it their problem.

  “That’s impersonal. Not really what we want. But—oh. Perfect. The solution to everyone’s problems.” Cassie looked up, and his eyes followed the same direction.

  And came in direct contact with Anya Fisher.

  “Hey, Cass.” Her voice was uncertain as she clutched her purse by her side. She looked fresh, almost breezy, in a flowing dress with thin spaghetti straps and sandals th
at wrapped around her ankles. The oversized leather tote and messy braid flung over her shoulder made the outfit look somehow more perfect, in an imperfect sort of way. Like she hadn’t been trying to be impressive, and achieved it naturally.

  “Sorry, I thought we were getting lunch together.”

  “We are.” Cassie waved a hand at the seat beside Josiah. “Sit.”

  “I . . .” Anya glanced at him, and grudgingly he inched over. “I need to order, I guess. Hold on.” She went back to the counter and ordered, waiting for her food at the counter instead of taking a seat like they had.

  “Cassie,” Trey said under his breath. “This really isn’t a good idea.”

  “Hush.” Unconcerned, Cassie took another sip of her soup. “Your best man, my maid of honor. I thought combining the meeting would be more efficient.”

  Trey looked about as disbelieving as Josiah felt. She was up to something. But what exactly she was up to was anyone’s guess. “Cassie,” Josiah warned.

  She just gave him a bland look that begged him to challenge her, promising he would lose.

  With a sigh, he made another inch of room as Anya brought her tray over. She hesitated only a second before sitting down. It amused him that she set her purse between them, like a buffer.

  Her plate was surprising . . . a meatball sub. Not the kind of meal he would have pegged the fashionista to grab. Score one for her on breaking down the stereotype he’d mentally constructed for her.

  “As I was telling Josiah,” Cassie said when Anya settled in, “we aren’t hiring a professional to handle the wedding because I don’t want it to feel like a carbon copy of someone else’s wedding before us. I want it to have our stamp, you know?”

  “The dress was a good start.” Smiling with a hint of the devil, Anya set her elbow on the table, propped her chin on her hand, and gazed intently at Trey. “You, my good quarterback, are going to be swallowing your tongue when you see this girl walking down the aisle. Total hotness.”

  Cassie blushed, and stared at her soup. Trey raised a brow at that, but said nothing.

  “The dress is important because it sets the tone,” Anya continued. “I’m no wedding planner, or event coordinator, but that seems like a given. Now that we know what style she has envisioned, we can move on to the smaller details. Time of day, meal service, location, that sort of thing.”

  “You’re getting all that from a dress?” Josiah asked before he could stop himself.

  Anya turned to look at him, and he had the distinct impression he was being judged for not knowing the answer already. “Clothes speak. If you’re listening, then of course it matters. Cassie’s dress is making a statement about what she wants for her special day. She couldn’t vocalize it, but she knew it the moment she put it on. And now that we have the dress—a visual manifestation of the day she craves—we can plan around it.”

  Feeling a little stupid, Josiah shrugged and went back to his salad. He stabbed a cherry tomato harder than necessary, missing, and it shot onto the table and rolled until it landed on Anya’s placemat.

  She looked at it a moment, then snorted before nudging it back his way. He forked it up and mumbled an apology.

  Cassie whacked Trey in the side with her elbow, giving him a meaningful look.

  “You two have to help us,” Trey said, breaking the tomato moment.

  “Sure,” Josiah said instantly.

  “I already planned to,” Anya said at the same time.

  “We mean, really help.” Looking a little crazed, Cassie reached across and gripped Anya’s wrist, then did the same to Josiah’s. “Like, we’re desperate. This is turning into a three-ring circus. Tabitha is giving me hell about the guest list, because if the girls are in the wedding then she needs to be invited and then have a say in who comes. And of course Dad is coming and bringing his people. And Mom, and her friends from Georgia. Then there’s all of Trey’s people . . .” She blew out a breath and sat back. “How often can a bride honestly say her future mother-in-law is the most sane person coming to her wedding?”

  Trey kissed her temple. Josiah thought he heard Anya make a small, wistful noise, but that could have just been indigestion.

  “The point is, we need you two to work together. Anya knows the needs of this wedding, but you know the area. I’m going to be struggling to keep my family from falling apart leading up to the big day.”

  “And we’ve got a season to survive,” Trey said. “An important one.”

  That sounded ominous, but Josiah merely shrugged. Every season was important.

  “It’s no problem,” he assured Cassie, earning a grateful smile.

  “Of course. Anything,” Anya said.

  “When do you head back?” Josiah asked Anya, after another few moments of quiet eating. The unease he felt around her—this unfortunate attraction wrapped around uncharacteristic awkwardness—had to end soon.

  “Uh . . .” She glanced up at Cassie, who gave her a tiny nod. “I might not be. I mean, I’ll have to go back and pack up my apartment and stuff, but in general, I think I’m trying a new location.”

  “You can just quit your job like that?” The idea intrigued him, that she had that much flexibility. Maybe fashion paid better than he thought.

  “I’m striking out on my own,” she said defensively. “Besides, me being here takes the pressure off you.”

  Point taken.

  After another few moments, he noticed Cassie and Trey watching each other. If he wasn’t mistaken, they were either holding hands under the table or tapping each other’s legs with Morse code.

  At least, he hoped it was their legs.

  “We’re going to get going,” Cassie said suddenly, scooting out from her side of the bench. When Trey just stared at her, she pinched his arm until he growled at her. “Let’s go.”

  Trey held up his sandwich. “Still eating.”

  “Bring it.” Trey opened his mouth, but the look Cassie shot him caused him to shut it again. She turned to Anya and Josiah with a more friendly smile. “Thanks for doing lunch, guys. We’ll let you know when things come up what we need.”

  “See you at the meeting,” Trey said to Josiah, referring to their plays meeting later that afternoon with the offensive coaching staff. Josiah just raised his fork in a good-bye salute and kept eating.

  “That was . . . odd,” Anya said after a moment.

  “Nooner” was all Josiah said, concentrating on finishing his salad.

  She gasped and turned to him. “No. Seriously?”

  “Hey, they’re adults. What?” he asked when she stared at him, gape-mouthed.

  “I’m . . . not sure,” she said slowly. She angled her body so that her leg brushed his under the table. “They’re engaged, and they live together. I’m not an idiot. But a nooner sounds so . . .” She shrugged and swiped a finger through some sauce leaking from the side of her sandwich. “Naughty. Maybe it’s just the word. Nooner.”

  Josiah watched as she gazed off across the deli, licking the marinara sauce from her finger. He’d swear on a stack of Bibles she wasn’t intending to seduce him, that the gesture had been unconscious. But that didn’t stop his groin from taking it that way. Something about the way her tongue flicked out to get the last little bit of sauce . . .

  “What do you think?”

  “Huh?”

  She leaned back, then sighed and shifted over to sit across from him on the bench Cassie and Trey had left open. “There. That’s less awkward.”

  Sure. Less awkward. Whatever. He could at least spread his legs now without bumping into her again. That was something.

  “I’ve got to go soon.” She checked her watch, a dainty thing with a bright pink face. “I’ve got a client appointment at two and I haven’t fully put together the last few ensembles yet. Any idea how hard it is to put together a summer wardrobe for someone whose summers la
st all year round? Really.”

  And just like that, he was reminded again why they would never suit. She was caviar, and he was . . . something that didn’t go with caviar. “Sounds like you’ve got a real problem there. I wish you well.”

  Her eyes narrowed . . . he had to give it to her. She always knew when he was giving her shit. “Right. Well, if you happen to bump into the cure for cancer while you’re out there running around with a football, let me know.” With that, she stood, tray in hand, tote over her shoulder, and walked over to the trash can.

  If queens were required to throw their own trash away, they couldn’t do it any more haughtily than Anya Fisher did.

  * * *

  Anya finished up her digital shopping for her newest client and closed her laptop. She’d need to talk to Cassie some more about getting into some tech classes like Photoshop and such, so that she could make a more polished presentation for each new client. Technology wasn’t her forte, unless you were referring to how to use FaceTime or text a paragraph in under a minute. But she was launching a new business, heavy on the tech, so it was time to develop some new skills.

  Her phone rang with a number she didn’t recognize, so she put on her best professional voice. “Anya Fisher.”

  There was a short pause, then, “Anya? Hi, this is Margaret from the other day. Cassie’s friend?”

  She relaxed her posture a little. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “I got your number from Stephen, who got it from Trey. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Absolutely.” Swinging her legs over the side of the guest bed, she waited for a beat. Having spoken to more than a few embarrassed clients over the years, she recognized the hesitation. “Can I help with anything, Mags?”

  “I need a dress,” she blurted out quickly. “I mean, like, a formal one. A gown, I guess? I don’t know where to look.”

  Anya smiled a little. She wondered if it was the fact that Mags had to ask for help, or the simple hatred of shopping that put such a sting on the words. “I’d love to help you out. Do you just want some recommendations for places to look?”