It Takes Two Page 2

  So, even if everything was going to be different—and by “different,” Wendy meant “worse”—when Jane got married, Wendy needed Jane.

  “Wendy, why don’t you go first with the photographer, being the maid of honor and all?” Jane’s gaze traveled up and down Wendy’s body. Wendy tried not to squirm—she’d done as instructed and shown up in jeans and a white top, but the bride’s silent appraisal made her feel like she’d made a mistake.

  “What?” Wendy looked down at her white silk blouse. “Too dressy?” She probably should have just gone with a straight-up T-shirt. But the only actual T-shirts she owned were from the races she’d run, so she’d resorted to the only white top in her wardrobe, which was something she wore under her work suits.

  “It’s fine.” Jane’s tone suggested that it was not, in fact, fine.

  “If you have a spare shirt, I can change.” Jane would pretend not to be too invested in the photo shoot, but Wendy suspected her friend had a backup shirt or two stashed somewhere in the house.

  “Well, I do have a couple.”

  Bingo.

  “Which I just got in case anyone spills orange juice or something on their shirt.”

  Wendy refrained from pointing out that since she had surprised Jane with the orange juice, her logic was flawed. “Give me one. It’ll look better—more in tune with everyone else.”

  Jane tilted her head. “You sure?” But she was already pulling a shirt out of an Old Navy bag sitting on the kitchen counter. “Elise is in the bathroom, I think. You can go change in my bedroom.”

  Wendy glanced around. Everyone else had gone outside—Jane’s house was tiny, and it looked like the actual picture taking was happening in the backyard. “Nah, I’ll just quickly change here. Shield me.” She whipped off her offending garment and reached for the new shirt. “What size is this?” she asked as Jane turned around and put her arms out in an “airplane” stance in an attempt to provide privacy to Wendy’s presto-chango.

  “Small. But if it’s too big we can pin— Oh my Gaaaawd!” Not only did Jane’s airplane arms crash, she ran away, leaving Wendy exposed as she struggled to turn the new shirt right-side out. Once she succeeded, she jammed her arms into the sleeves and lifted the shirt over her head, but the fabric was still twisted so she got stuck.

  “Noah!” Jane shrieked. “I can’t believe you came!”

  Danger! Danger! Wendy’s body screamed, reacting in such a clichéd way, she might as well have been a cartoon. She could feel her jaw drop, her eyes widen. All she needed was for her cartoon-heart to literally hammer its way out of her chest. And perhaps an anvil to fall on her head and put her out of her misery.

  He wasn’t supposed to be here. Not yet. He wasn’t coming until the day before the wedding.

  She peeked over the edge of the shirt. There he was, tall and handsome and freaking perfect, framed in the doorway of Jane’s kitchen like it was no big deal.

  She was not prepared for this. She wasn’t wearing her armor. Hell, she didn’t even have a goddamned shirt on.

  “Janie.” Noah’s voice was the same warm baritone it had always been. He had teased Wendy with that voice. Cheered her on at her softball games. Yelled, “Race you!” when they used to go running together. Wendy’s attempts to avoid Noah as much as possible in the seventeen years since he had left Toronto for New York had been largely successful. She’d only spent a handful of hours in his presence in all those years. But that voice was as familiar as ever. It made her feel, unnervingly, like no time had passed. Like she was still the nerdy, shy loser standing alone under a disco ball in the high school gym.

  Wendy considered whether she could somehow run away. Her arms were caught in the T-shirt high above her head, so maybe he wouldn’t recognize her.

  But no. She wasn’t that nerdy, shy girl anymore. She’d killed that girl off.

  “Hey, Wendy.” His voice slid under her skin and diffused through her body like a drug.

  Wendy had no protection against Noah Denning. She might as well have just handed him her renegade heart and said, Here’s my heart. Break it. Again.

  * * *

  The first thing Noah saw when he sneaked into his sister’s house to surprise her was Wendy Liu taking off her shirt.

  He sucked in a breath. It had been a long time since he’d moved away. You would think that all those years would have been enough to kill his infatuation with Wendy Liu’s breasts.

  And more to the point, he was an adult now. He had gone to college and law school, built a career, bought an apartment, had relationships come and go. He had lived an entire life in those years.

  To be fair, it wasn’t like he was trying to ogle her. Clad in an off-white satin bra, she writhed as she struggled with turning a new shirt right-side-out. It wasn’t cooperating with her, and she was making such a fuss, you couldn’t not look.

  At least this time, he could look his fill without feeling like a pedophile perving on his little sister’s best friend.

  Well, technically, she was still his little sister’s best friend, but these days, she was of legal ogling age. And nothing was ever going to come of it. It was a long-ago childhood crush. Not even a crush. Just a weird…fondness. Or protectiveness. Or something. None of them had had an easy childhood, and Wendy was like a fellow soldier.

  So it wasn’t even ogling. It was more like…objective aesthetic appreciation. He was a grown-up. He could admire a beautiful woman without it having to mean anything.

  Just for a minute—what could it hurt? So he let himself lean to the side, the better to see around the barrier his sister was trying to create around Wendy as she changed.

  God, she was lovely. Whereas time had etched lines around his eyes and slowed his metabolism so that he had to run like a fiend to make sure he kept fitting into his slim-cut courtroom suits, Wendy appeared immune to the ravages of time and gravity. That pale, smooth forehead was unlined. Her pretty brown eyes as she rolled them at something Jane was saying were as bright as ever.

  And her breasts. Oh, those breasts.

  Okay, it wasn’t objective aesthetic appreciation. It was ogling.

  Noah and Wendy were both runners. They used to go running together back in the day. So Noah had seen Wendy in lots of tight tank top–type things. They had given only a tantalizing hint of what lay beneath. But this bra…well, this bra confirmed that his teenage imagination had been spot-on. Because Wendy’s breasts looked exactly as he had pictured them back when he was a raging sack of hormones: small, perky, and gorgeously shaped. The perfect handful. A man could reach out and just cover them with his hands, and none would go to waste. They were—

  “Oh my God! Noah! I can’t believe you came!”

  His sister launched herself at him, throwing herself into his arms, which was, on the one hand, exactly what he’d meant to have happen by surprising her. But on the other, it caused her to abandon Wendy, who froze partway through putting on the new shirt.

  “Janie.” Noah’s arms did what they were supposed to do, which was hug his shrieking sister, but his gaze remained pinned to Wendy. Normally, coming home and seeing Jane was like taking a deep breath. She calmed him, grounded him, reminded him what was important and why he worked so hard.

  But this particular dose of his sister was apparently not enough to counter the power of Wendy Liu’s breasts. Because he was…not calm as Wendy, still stuck in the shirt with her arms over her head, peeked through its neck hole, her eyes twin missiles locking on to his gaze.

  He cleared his throat preemptively so his voice would sound casual. “Hey, Wendy.” When she didn’t answer, he asked, “What’s your half marathon time these days?” but immediately wanted to kick himself. What’s your half marathon time these days? What was the matter with him?

  The question seemed to unfreeze Wendy, though. She struggled the rest of the way through putting her shirt on before answering, “An hour and forty-nine.” Her eyes narrowed and then traveled quickly up and down the length of his body. He
would have liked to flatter himself that she was checking him out as he had been her, but he knew she was merely assessing his current fitness level. He waited for her to ask what his time was, because that’s what he and Wendy did: compete with each other.

  “Oh my God, Wendy! I’m sorry!” Jane jogged back over to the kitchen. “I left you totally exposed there. I was just so surprised.”

  “No worries. It’s only Noah.”

  “It’s only Wendy Lou Who,” he said, deploying his old nickname for her. The endearment had been a play on how her name—Wendy Liu—sounded like “Cindy Lou Who,” the little girl from How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Wendy hadn’t shared any physical characteristics with her cartoon alter-ego, except one—she’d been adorable.

  He wouldn’t necessarily call her adorable anymore. No, that word was too anemic. Her teenage ponytail had been replaced by a straight curtain of dark hair so shiny she could have starred in a shampoo commercial, and her snug curves were perfectly showcased by a pair of skinny jeans and that white T-shirt he’d watched her do battle with.

  Once Jane was assured that Wendy was properly covered, she came back over and hugged him again. “I’m so glad you came.”

  God, he loved his sister. He was so glad she was getting married to someone as reliable—and, he hated to say it—badass as Cameron. Every time he thought about the fact that his soon-to-be-brother-in-law was former military, his insides unknotted a little more.

  “What are you doing here, Noah?” Jane gave him an extra-hard squeeze before letting him go. “I thought you couldn’t get away. Aren’t you in the middle of a trial?”

  “The defense’s key witness has shingles, so we adjourned for a week.” Which was probably not true, and normally Noah would have insisted on proof, but given how hyper Jane was over this stupid wedding website photography session, he’d decided to swoop in and surprise her.

  “And you fell for that?” Wendy, now (alas) fully clothed, asked. She sniffed. “Losing your edge, counselor?”

  Noah was ramping himself up to spar with Wendy—there was something deliciously familiar about it—but Jane’s glee derailed him. She clapped her hands like a kid on Christmas morning. “Well, real or fake shingles, I’m so happy you’re here! And look at you, doing something so impulsive!”

  “I can be impulsive,” he protested.

  His sister rolled her eyes affectionately at him.

  Okay, maybe he wasn’t the most spontaneous person in the world, but what was wrong with that? He had responsibilities in New York. Not everybody could—or wanted to—go flitting off at a moment’s notice.

  “Did Clarissa come with you?” Jane asked.

  “No. We, ah, broke up.”

  “What?” Jane hit his shoulder. “Why? I liked her!”

  Noah shrugged. “Why does anyone break up?” Was it too much to hope that his sister would be distracted enough by the day’s events that she wouldn’t force a big conversation about the demise of his relationship with Clarissa?

  “Well, I don’t know about ‘anyone,’ but you sure do it a lot.”

  Yep. Too much to hope. And she wasn’t wrong. Noah was a serial monogamist. And the answer to Jane’s question was that things had progressed enough with Clarissa that Clarissa had started, reasonably, pushing for more—she’d wanted to move in together. And Noah, ultimately, had been unable to pull the trigger. Which pretty much described the demise of all his relationships, really. He should probably feel bad about it—and he did. But he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit to some relief. Noah spent his life worrying about people: his clients, his sister. With Clarissa gone, there was one fewer person on that list. Which made him sound like a dick, but it was what it was.

  “Can we not talk about this now?”

  “Fine. But only because I have to go tell the photographer to expect one more!” Jane narrowed her eyes at him. “Those jeans are okay, but you’re going to have to put on a white T-shirt. There are some extras in that bag on the counter.”

  Once he was left alone with Wendy, a touch of awkwardness descended. Which was strange. It was just Wendy, after all. It was probably because he’d seen her shirtless. Should he apologize? He wasn’t sorry it had happened, but should he fake apologize? He opened his mouth to say something, but his mind went blank. Which was also strange. Unprecedented, really. He couldn’t remember one single time in his life he’d been struck dumb in Wendy’s presence. Usually it was the opposite—usually she brought out his most combative self. Made his arguments sharper and his thinking clearer.

  Wendy slid an Old Navy bag across the counter to him. “Welcome to the doghouse.”

  “Well, I wasn’t planning on coming, so I guess I missed the white shirt memo.” He pulled a men’s cotton shirt out of the bag. “What’s your excuse, counselor?” There—he was fine now. Back on familiar footing. It was funny that he’d become a prosecutor and Wendy a defender. It was like they were made to argue with each other.

  “Oh, I arrived in a white shirt. It just wasn’t the right kind of white shirt.” She flicked her gaze down herself, which caused his to follow, once again getting snagged on her chest. Her shirt was a plain, crew-necked model, so it wasn’t even like there was any cleavage on display. There was no reason to go all slack-jawed. “Apparently.”

  That apparently caused him to jerk his eyes back to her face. She raised her eyebrows—she had busted him checking her out. Well, fine. Noah was no slouch either, if he did say so himself, even if his half marathon time had slipped a little compared to hers. So he grabbed the back of his T-shirt, preparing to pull the offending not-white garment off. He and Wendy had always had an almost-confrontational “what’s good for the goose is good for the gander” thing going. Which right now he was interpreting to mean that if she could tell he’d been ogling her, he was going to make her ogle him.

  “Hey, Elise is out of the bathroom.” Wendy pointed over his shoulder. “You can change there.”

  “Nah. I’m fine here.” He grinned and whipped his shirt over his head, the cool morning breeze coming in from Jane’s open kitchen window causing his skin to pebble. “Try to control yourself, though, when you see my naked chest.” Now that they’d broken through that brief initial awkward patch, teasing her came as naturally as it had when they were teenagers. Sparring with Wendy Lou Who was one of life’s simplest, purest pleasures.

  Except she didn’t clap back at him the way he’d expected. She just rolled her eyes and walked away.

  * * *

  Holy God. Not only did Wendy not have any armor against Noah’s unexpected arrival, every weapon she had in her arsenal just up and vanished once he took off his shirt.

  She tried to think when she’d last seen Noah shirtless. Probably not since they used to run together back when they were kids. He had been on the cross-country team before his dad’s death forced him to drop all his extracurriculars, but he would occasionally strap on his running shoes between school and work shifts and head out with her. And as a boy, Noah had been cute in that wiry way that runners often are.

  But this was Noah the man. Those sculpted shoulders. That sculpted everything. Unlike most of the male lawyers Wendy worked with, Noah was clearly hitting the gym at night instead of the bar.

  Well. It didn’t bear thinking about. Because she had done a hell of a lot of growing up since the night he broke her heart. So she wasn’t allowing herself to be flustered by him. No, the way she related to Noah Denning now, on the odd occasion she couldn’t find an excuse not to be around him, was the same way she always had: by harassing him. It was a familiar groove.

  Except today that groove was lined with more irritation than usual. She hated the way he expected to waltz in here like the big savior. They were all supposed to fall all over themselves squealing with joy—return of the prodigal son or some crap.

  Of course, he was the family’s rock, given the way he’d stepped up and supported his mom and sister after his father died. He’d worked nights and weekends�
�a lot of hours—at a grocery store. He often worked the eleven to seven night shift and then went from the store directly to school.

  So, he was a good guy.

  Kind of.

  Selectively.

  When he wasn’t standing up nerdy, besotted, vulnerable younger girls at the prom.

  The tips of her ears burned. The humiliation was still there, even all these years later. His job back then had been important, but she had never imagined that he would choose it over her. But it had been a good, if harsh, reminder of where she’d stood with him. It had been too easy back then, given how much time she spent at the Dennings’ house, to assume that she had a claim of sorts to him. Like he was her honorary big brother.

  Or something.

  “Wendy!”

  She jumped as Jane’s voice pierced her little stroll down bad-memory lane. “I’m sorry, what?” Oh, shit. Everyone was looking at her.

  “I was just explaining,” the photographer said, “that I don’t want to force anyone into anything they’re not comfortable with—some people’s natural faces are quite somber—but is there any way you could try to look less…pained?”

  Wendy winced. “Of course! I’m sorry.” As Jane had directed, Wendy had gone first with the photographer, and she’d been in the middle of posing—while the rest of the wedding party looked on—when she’d fallen down the rabbit hole marked Noah Denning.

  “Usually, Wendy has the opposite of resting bitch face,” Elise said. “She’s usually smiling.”

  Was that true? She was going to have to work on that. In court, anyway.

  “Unless she’s mad at you.” Jane joined the assessment. “Then watch out. But that’s not resting bitch face; that’s more like active bitch face.”

  “Terrifying bitch face!” Elise laughed as she nodded in agreement.

  “The point is,” Jane said to the photographer, “Wendy isn’t a shrinking violet, so just tell her what you want her to do.”

  Embarrassed not only because everyone’s attention was on her, but because her friends were discussing her like they were at parent-teacher night—though probably the word “bitch” didn’t come up so often in parent-teacher night—she tried to look away, up, over their heads.