It was impossible to tell if he was blushing. The firelight bathed them all in warm yellows and golds. But he did look embarrassed as he leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers on the armrest.
Jenn’s heart pattered in her chest. He was out of her league, of course. A successful scientist. A serious man with an important job who happened to be cute, too. She had a sudden urge to ask if he was married. He wasn’t wearing a ring, but sometimes that meant nothing. She couldn’t just ask, though. That question was loaded with all sorts of hints and suggestions.
Now she didn’t know what to say, and he seemed lost in thought, probably happy she’d stopped talking. But what if—
“Maybe it’s all those accountants you hang out with.”
“What?”
“Maybe you’ve spent so much time with them that you find bad science jokes funny.”
“Ha! Maybe. But I’ll have you know I work on international auditing. We’re like the 007s of corporate accounting. Last year’s seminar was in Hong Kong.”
“Wow!” he exclaimed, and suddenly Jenn felt ridiculous. He’d probably been to Asia a dozen times. He probably traveled all over the world for his work.
She was so awful with men. She always had been.
“So—” Elliott started, but Jenn jumped up to her feet.
“Pardon me for a moment. I’ll be right back.”
It was her dad’s fault, she thought as she walked toward the cabin stairs. He’d been a high-level salesman, selling multimillion-dollar pieces of equipment to factories all over the globe. A slick talker who thought that the world revolved around him. And he’d traveled for weeks at a time, gone more often than he was home. Jenn had suffered a bad case of hero worship for her handsome father, desperate to be close to him whenever he was home, yet unable to think of anything to say that could engage his interest. Of course, it didn’t matter who was talking. Her father had a habit of starting a story right in the middle of another person’s sentence.
He was good at talking. And really, really bad at being a father. Or a husband.
She rushed onto the porch and through the door, relieved once she was alone. She was fine around her girlfriends. Completely normal and just as interested in men as they were. She could talk the talk, joking about having sex with hot strangers, but she failed miserably at walking the walk. Once she became interested in a man, her brain stopped working properly. Horrifying, not just because it was embarrassing, but because she was smart and independent and capable in all areas but this one.
Needing a few minutes alone, Jenn slowly washed her hands to get the last of the marshmallow off them. She stared at the mirror, hating the delicate features that often attracted the wrong kind of man. Wolflike men who looked at her and saw weakness and vulnerability. Elliott Sullivan didn’t seem like that kind of man, which was why he wouldn’t make a move. He probably liked strong scientist women in intimidating glasses and trim lab coats. Women who could talk nucleotides and DNA strands during postcoital conversation.
Jenn looked like one of those gangster molls from the twenties whose preferred method of communication was breathless, high-pitched exclamations of alarm.
Also, she’d clearly had one too many beers.
Disgusted with herself, Jenn dried her hands and turned off the light. But on her trip back through the living room, she spotted a green light blinking from the coffee table, like a bomb about to go off. Heart sinking, she picked up her cell phone and stared at the little message icon. Crap.
News from the outside world, and there was no chance it was good. Jenn called up the message and told herself everything was fine as the beep sounded in her ear.
“Jenn,” a hushed female voice said. “It’s Anna.”
Crap. Jenn pressed a hand to her forehead.
“Things are getting crazy here. I really think the mature thing would be to tell Chloe the truth. The reporters and police… This isn’t just about you. Or her. She needs to know, and I think you’re making this worse by hiding it from her. Chloe is an adult. She’ll be fine. I know she will. Just… Call me back, all right? You may be able to live with this, but I can’t.”
Jenn hit a button to cut off the message then deleted it with a shaking hand.
She wasn’t going to tell Chloe a darn thing and she’d be damned if she’d let Anna anywhere near her with that kind of talk.
The e-mail icon blinked also, so Jenn took a deep breath and opened the folder. She let the breath out on a rush when she saw the in-box. Nothing from Anna. Just a link from Google Alerts.
Stupid of her, but she’d set up a Google Alert for Chloe’s name, and even though every hit drove her crazy, she couldn’t stop looking at them. This one linked to a slang dictionary site. She knew what it would say. She knew it would throw her into pained fury, and still she looked.
“To pull a Chloe,” the dictionary entry said. Jenn’s shoulders fell as she read the words that would forever define her best friend as the worst kind of lunatic bitch. “To become a Bridezilla so demented that the groom would rather jump from an airplane than jump into the marital bed. Based on Chloe Turner’s disastrous engagement to Thomas DeLorn.”
“Oh, God,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her aching head. The lying was killing her, but she could do it. She had to do it. Because the whole world had turned against Chloe.
Some people—people like Anna—believed those stupid clichés about the truth setting you free. What she didn’t know was that the truth sometimes beat you down and chewed you up and ruined your life.
Chloe didn’t deserve that. She’d been through enough. And Jenn wasn’t about to let the ugly truth ruin such an important friendship.