This was her secret. Hers and Rhett’s.
So she had to be convincing.
“Obviously, you know that Rhett Ford is the guy we saw at the bar last weekend and that he asked Eve about me?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Eve said dryly. “Did you give him the go-ahead to call you or whatever?”
“Not exactly. He showed up at the track on Monday.”
“What?” Eve pushed her caramel hair back off her forehead and reached for a chip to dip in guacamole. “What a little shit! I told him it was your call. But he is kind of aggressive that way.”
“Oh, he’s definitely aggressive,” Shawn said, her cheeks heating up as she thought about what she could be doing tonight if she had just agreed to see him. But there was a principle at stake here. He wasn’t the boss of her. How mature did that sound? She mentally eye-rolled herself. “We’ve been, uh, spending a lot of time together.”
Not true, but it was the only way to explain what she was about to say next. Which she had purposely chosen to announce in public so that Eve couldn’t swear at the top of her lungs.
Eve’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t think I want to hear this.”
“I do,” Charity stated emphatically, leaning forward on the table.
Harley, seated next to Shawn turned and gave her a concerned look. “What is it you’re trying to tell us, Shawn? Did he hurt you in some way?”
“What? No, of course not.” Not yet anyway.
No. Never. She was not going to get hurt. If she got hurt, it was her own damn fault, not Rhett’s. She was the one who had coerced him into this ridiculous farce. Actually, if she got hurt it was her grandfather’s fault for setting up this bullshit game of emotions in the first place.
“We got married today. Isn’t that awesome?” Ba-dum-bum. She felt like a bad comic.
Three faces stared at her in complete silence and shock. The busy restaurant bustled around them, and they looked like they had been frozen in place by a witch’s spell. A tortilla chip was actually dangling from Charity’s lip, her mouth gaping open.
Any second now, Shawn would be hearing crickets.
“Isn’t anyone going to say anything?” she asked, when it became apparent they were not.
Eve exploded. “What? You cannot be serious! You just met him! Are you insane?”
Oh, yeah, she was, but Eve had no room to talk. Shawn had an ace up her sleeve, and Eve had dealt it to her. “How long were you dating Nolan before you got hitched in Vegas?”
That really had been insane, because Eve and Nolan had gotten married spontaneously without a legal contract, unlike her current situation. So who was the crazy lady here, huh? It made Shawn feel a whole lot better.
“That is not the same thing,” Eve said indignantly. “I knew Nolan for two years before we started dating.”
Shawn snorted. “You probably said hello to him in passing once a week. You did not know him at all. You just happened to know who he was.”
“What . . . how . . . ?” Harley sputtered and reached for her wineglass. “What prompted you to go get married today, a Friday, in the afternoon? I mean, are you in love with him? You must be, right?”
Love? Hardly. Shawn didn’t even believe in love at first sight. Her triumph at besting Eve’s argument was short-lived.
Charity answered before she could. “Of course not! There’s no way. It’s lust, pure and simple. He must be hung like an ox.”
Well, now that was slightly insulting. The assumption that she would get married based purely on the size of a man’s penis made her seem profoundly shallow. She might get married for business reasons, but not for penile size. Sheesh. Give a girl some credit.
“We are in love. Desperate, maddening, cannot-be-explained love. I mean, seriously, ladies, he is seven years younger than me and not my type at all, but sometimes, you just get swept up off your feet.” And hand her a fucking Oscar, thank you very much.
“Yeah, and onto your back,” Charity insisted.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” was Eve’s opinion. “My mother-in-law is going to shart herself. Both her precious sons eloping in the same year. I hope like hell you and Rhett know what you’re doing.”
Not a clue. But fake it till you make it. “I’m not going to worry about it. None of it. People’s opinions don’t matter when you’re happy.” She almost choked on her own cheesiness, but she forced it out.
“And when it all goes south, you just get divorced. No biggie,” Charity said cheerfully.
Her thought exactly, which suddenly made her sad. Was she cynical about relationships? She hadn’t thought so, but maybe she was. Her own father was a douchebag, and her flaky mother had run through a string of lousy boyfriends over the years, so maybe Shawn had gotten used to looking at relationships with expiration dates on them. Was it so impossible to think that marriage could last? Eve and Nolan had started off with an impulsive and improbable beginning, and they seemed quite happy.
“Don’t be a Debbie Downer,” Harley told her twin.
Eve looked torn. “I want to be supportive. I do. I mean, damn it, you’re right. Was it really that different with me and Nolan? But . . . you and Rhett? For real? He’s such a demanding brat.” She leaned forward on her elbows, studying Shawn carefully. “Are you happy?”
“Yes,” she said truthfully, because she was. She was scared. Nervous. But she was happy. Hamby Speedway was still hers and she was going to make a success out of it. That was all she had ever wanted. She was also going to have an orgasm, or multiple ones, in a week or so. Rhett looked like he could put some air in her tires, and she was looking forward to that. So, yeah. She was actually good, now that she thought about it, even as fears and moral implications stewed in the back of her brain. “And I don’t think he’s a brat at all.” Demanding, perhaps. But he was always very honest and straightforward, and she respected that.
“Rhett looks pretty damn happy, too,” Charity said, pointing to the doorway. “Here he comes with Nolan.”
What? Shawn twisted toward where Charity was gesturing. Yep. That was Rhett, looking sexy as hell in his wedding jeans, which cupped his buns quite nicely, she might add. Nolan, whose nostrils were flaring in agitation, walked in behind him. What the hell were they doing there?
“I would say ‘smug’ is a better word for it,” Eve said. “Rhett does smug well.”
That he did. Shawn felt the now-familiar rapid heartbeat and hardening of the nipples she experienced whenever Rhett was around her. It was something about that expression he wore . . . not just the confidence he exhibited, but the way he made her feel, that he was looking at her, and only her, that made smug sexy.
But what he was doing strolling into La Ranchita was a mystery. She should have known he had a reason for asking specifically where she was going.
It made her uneasy.
Yet he was giving her a smile. He raised his hand in greeting and peeled off his coat as he approached their table. He leaned over and kissed her possessively on the mouth. Without missing a beat, he turned and asked the table at large, “Did Shawn tell y’all the news?”
Nolan was shaking his head as he gestured for the hostess to bring them two more chairs. “I would say so, given the looks on their faces.”
“Did you seriously marry my oldest friend in the middle of a Friday afternoon six days after meeting her?” Eve asked. “Because I just want to be clear about what I’m hearing.”