Walk of Shame (Love Unexpectedly 4)

Ugh. Gross. I shove the corners of my mouth upward, hoping it resembles a smile, as the dark-haired charmer bends to kiss my cheek.

His lips land maybe just a little too close to mine.

Meet Brody Nash.

I know what you’re thinking: name sounds like he might be a player, right? Ding ding ding. Correct.

Brody Nash has a gift for making you think he gets you, that you’re special to him, maybe the one.

And it doesn’t hurt that all those soulful vibes come from a very attractive package. He’s gorgeous. Warm hazel eyes, short black hair, really good features.

Really good everything, honestly.

Now, I haven’t slept with Brody Nash.

But not too long ago…I’d wanted to.

We dated. Or at least, I thought we were dating.

He’d singled me out, or so I thought. Drinks, just the two of us, before meeting up with the group. Then it progressed to dinner. Brunch. Walks in the freaking park.

Then he’d invited me to his parents’ house in the Hamptons—just the two of us.

I mean, what was I supposed to think?!

My bags had been half packed when, the night before, I went out to Lisa’s bachelorette party.

During one of those dumb drinking games that leads to things being confessed that shouldn’t, I’d learned that not only had the bride-to-be slept with Brody, but so had five of my other friends.

And that he apparently kept a list. That he showed people.

Eyes wide open, I’d canceled my trip with Brody and kept him at arm’s length ever since, even though he somehow remains a part of our group, like a really bad rash that everyone’s given up on getting rid of.

And since Marley was in charge of the guest list, and since I’d successfully convinced her that being around Brody didn’t bother me…

Well, here he is.

“We should hang out soon. I miss you,” Brody says quietly, giving me a forlorn smile.

I reach around him to pluck my glass of pinot grigio off the counter. “Uh-huh.”

Brody touches my arm, then moves his hand to my hip. “Hey.”

His voice is soft and compelling, and I look away so that I’m not even tempted to be lured into that dangerous place where I’d let him make me feel special—important.

Only, as my gaze is swinging around wildly looking for something besides Brody to fixate on, I see something way, way worse than Brody.

My best friend is strolling through the door of the community event room I reserved, her arm entwined with that of Andrew Mulroney, Esquire.

No friggin’ way. I blink. Blink again.

Yup. Definitely him.

As I’ve said before, I do occasionally see Andrew outside our five o’clock meetings, but not all that often.

And the sight of him in a three-piece gray suit with a skinny black tie does something funny to my belly.

His copper-brown hair’s a little more tidy than it is first thing in the mornings, so I’m guessing that after he showers at the gym, he puts some sort of product in it to keep the waves under control.