Page 15 of Blue Line

We make our way into the hall to find chairs and tables set out, and along one wall, what appears to be the food, although given all the mismatched dishes and the crock pots, I’d say it’s a potluck.

I scan the room, searching for any familiar faces.

“Are we in the right place?” Weston whispers.

Before I can respond, Henry walks up. “Hadley, you made it.”

“Hi, Henry.”

“You must be the fiancé,” Henry says to Weston.

“This is Weston. Weston, meet my ex, Henry.”

Henry holds out his hand. “I honestly wasn’t sure you were going to show up.”

“Oh?” Weston asks, taking Henry’s hand.

“Between you and me, I thought you weren’t real. Our girl has a very active imagination. Guess that’s what happens when you’re a photographer.” I hear the bite in his voice when he says photographer, as if it’s a dirty word, and I can’t help cringing.

Weston hums, glancing at me and winking. “Nope, real as can be. And I like her imagination. Keeps things interesting, if you know what I mean,” he says, still shaking my ex’s hand. Henry, you have met your match. I make a mental note to thank Weston for that later.

“Ah, well,” Henry mumbles, extracting his hand from Weston’s grip, and this time, I don’t stop my grin at the way he shakes it out. I usually hate when guys do the whole peacocking measuring dicks thing, but Henry walked into it.

Weston draws me into his side and kisses me on the forehead, and I swoon a little bit. Nope, must not swoon. No swooning. This is fake. I ignore the feeling of butterflies in my stomach. He’s putting on a show for Henry’s benefit.

“Speaking of being a photographer, how’s that going, Hadley?” Henry asks, his gaze darting between Weston and me. “Or did you finally give it up and get a real career?”

Weston’s arm stiffens around me, and I swear he growls. I ignore it. “Still a photographer.”

“What exactly is it that you do, Harry?” Weston asks, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from snorting.

“It’s Henry. I’m a financial planner …”

“Ah, Harry, so you sit behind a desk all day. That explains a lot,” Weston says, looking him up and down, and I have to fight the urge to laugh.

“It’s Henry,” he repeats through gritted teeth, glaring at Weston. “And what is it you do?”

Did you not listen? I told you he was Holt’s teammate.

Weston squares his shoulders, standing up straighter. “I play professional hockey. I’m a defenseman.”

“Oh,” he says, glancing between the two of us. “That’s nice.” He takes a half step back as if he’s finally catching on that Weston doesn’t like him very much. “Well, lovely to see you, Hadley. Nice to meet you, Weston. I should probably go find my fiancée now. Help yourself to the food.” He points to the buffet before shoving his hands in the pockets of his chinos and strolling away.

“Well,” Weston says, running a hand down his face.

I’m grinning like a fool as I extract myself from him. “If looks could kill …”

Weston throws his head back, laughing, and the sound goes straight to my core. “He messed with the wrong person. Think he got the message?”

“I hope so. Let’s go see if there’s any alcohol. I’m going to need it to get through this.”

“I can’t believe you dated him.”

I glare at him. “Fuck off. Hindsight is twenty-twenty.”

Weston chuckles, holding out his hand for me, and I take it, letting him lead me toward the buffet.

Unfortunately for us, we find out this is a dry party. There’s no alcohol to be found anywhere.