Just the Tip of the Iceberg: Mile High Matched Books 1-3 Read online

  Jase’s family owned a slew of flower companies throughout Denver, Fort Collins, and Colorado Springs. Jase managed the Cherry Creek store.

  The whole florist thing was very not Jase. But when he had returned from Afghanistan, he was done with defusing roadside bombs and tossing grenades. Swore he needed simplicity.

  “Roses don’t blow up,” he had said. “They’re simple.”

  After last night, Brek needed a little simplicity. Chelsea had found out he was back in town and called yesterday. He’d met her to purge Velma from his head. The last thing he had expected was to find the woman he was trying to forget serving up attitude three tables over. Chelsea was pissed about the whole night. Rightly so, because, hell, he hadn’t even kissed her.

  He’d saved that for Velma. She was a siren wrapped up as a good girl. But only girls with a streak of bad could ever use a tongue the way she did. Which was why he had needed to get out of there, away from temptation and the taste of her. The story of his life: distance was a good thing. Freedom meant not being tied to anyone. He itched again for the independence that came on the road, traveling between gigs.

  Funny thing, if he ever decided to stay in one place, he’d always figured he’d buy a bar just like Hank’s. Great bands. Good booze. A solid location where he could settle down.

  It was a good thing he didn’t have any desire to stay in one place.

  “Don’t you have clients to meet?” Jase emerged from his bedroom, yawning and scratching at his tee.

  Brek groaned. “Yeah.”

  More brides. They were killing him. How Aspen did this day in and day out, he would never understand. He rolled off the couch and reached for his boots. Velma was supposed to help him out today, but after last night, who knew? Pre-kiss, she had not only created a color-coded spreadsheet of all that still needed to be done for each of his brides, but she had also organized a calendar of individual items to be confirmed and had cross-referenced each of them to the wedding date, venue, and theme. Then she’d printed everything and tucked the pages in bound, laminated covers.

  He loved it. Even if he did give her hell about it.

  His only regret was not begging for her help earlier.

  “How’s the life of Denver’s finest wedding planner?” Jase asked.

  “Bride Number Two propositioned me at her cake tasting last week.” Brek tied the long black laces on his boots. “Between the coconut cream and the chocolate decadence, she not-so-tactfully suggested we exchange bodily fluids. Her words, not mine.”

  He hadn’t realized a person could choke on coconut cream.

  “And since you have a hot roommate and decided to adopt a code of ethics, you didn’t jump at the chance?” Jase ran the tap to fill the coffee carafe with water. Apparently, he didn’t read articles like Velma did.

  “I prefer to keep my dick out of other people’s relationships.” That and Brek’s one job over the next couple of months was to ensure every one of Aspen’s brides made it down the aisle, happily ever after. If he nailed one, Aspen would murder him in his sleep. He enjoyed life, so he’d declined. “Did you find out about those lilies Bride Number One wanted?”

  “The orchids?” Jase clicked on the coffee maker.

  “Sure.”

  “Still working on it. Her old man’s gonna keel at the price tag.” Jase sat against the card table he used as a kitchen table.

  Bride Number One, Sophie, had what could only be described as an “episode” when she learned the flowers she wanted were out of season and, therefore, cost twice as much. Tears and a substantial amount of wailing quickly ensued. Her father finally pitched in the extra cash to have Jase bring in whatever she wanted. Turned out she could live without out-of-season dahlias if she could get exotic in-season orchids for the same price.

  Brek ran a hand through his hair. “Make it happen. Whatever you’ve got to do.”

  Jase opened the fridge, took a swig of milk from the container, and offered the jug to Brek.

  Brek scowled. “Pour it in a glass. You’re not an animal.”

  “The little piece you’re living with is rubbing off on you, isn’t she?” Jase grinned.

  Last night, she had rubbed her tongue all over his. So, yeah, she’d rubbed off on him. “Don’t call her a ‘piece.’ Her name’s Velma.”

  “Aw, you’ve got a case of feelings. Best cure for feelings is getting laid. Get on top of her to get over her, I always say.” Jase eyed the coffee as it dripped. “Bonus, you’ll have fun doing it.”

  “Your advice is crap.” Brek grabbed his keys from the beer box Jase used as an end table.

  “You’re welcome to the couch next time you and the missus have a falling out.” Jase moved closer to Brek, his arms wide. “You want to hug it out, Stud Muffin?”

  “Asshole.” Brek frowned at his phone. Velma hadn’t texted or called. Not that he expected her to wonder where he went. Chelsea, however, had left five voice mails since she’d left him at the bar last night. Likely a variety of rants, chewing him out.

  “Coffee before you face the morning after?” Jase held up a cup.

  “Nope. I gotta run. I’m meeting a couple to discuss tablescapes and sample kah-naps.” Not his idea of a good time.

  “Kah-naps?” The lines on Jase’s forehead squashed together.

  Brek nodded. “Yeah.”

  At least there would be food—even if they were presented in miniature. He’d tried a few the other day, and the ones with the apricot and cream cheese weren’t shit.

  “What the fuck’s a kah-nap?”

  That was exactly what Brek had said when he’d read Aspen’s e-mail with instructions for sampling them. “Small appetizers. They’re a thing.”

  “Canapés?” Jase asked.

  Brek tagged his wallet and tucked it into his back pocket. “Yeah. Whatever.”

  Jase fell against the wall in a fit of laughter like they were in a comedy club. “You are so fucked.”

  Yes, he was.

  With traffic, he would barely make it on time to the party rental warehouse to meet with Bride Number One…and maybe Velma.

  Brek was late by the time he got to the event warehouse off Colfax. He hurried through the entrance and headed straight for the showroom. Velma stood with the bride and the groom. A weight of stress rolled off of him at the sight of her.

  Bride Number One held what he could only imagine was a dog—one of those teeny-tiny teacup canine things. A tornado of fluff and yap.

  They all focused intently on one of the place settings Aspen had requested for the big tablescape decision. Sophie, the soon-to-be Mrs. Murtz, was a young, pretty, rich girl used to getting her way. Her groom? An aspiring junior partner at daddy’s law firm who had no clue what he was getting himself into.

  The groom, Troy, studied a fork like it was engraved with Megan Fox’s personal phone number. Velma’s expression puckered in concentration at something Sophie said.

  Velma’s white dress getup had an entirely too-high neckline, a skirt that brushed her calves, and a thin belt that cinched her waist, accentuating her ass nicely. One glance at her, and his pulse beat against his throat and lower in his—

  “Brek, you made it.” Velma beamed at him, her expression covering the clear concern in her eyes. “I explained to Sophie and Troy about how bad traffic has been downtown today.”

  “Yeah. Sorry, I got caught up.”

  Velma hesitated for half a second before putting on that fake grin she liked so much.

  He might’ve been pissed at her. But she was still V, and he was still Brek.

  The future Mrs. Murtz didn’t glance up from the place settings. Her oblivious groom gave a little wave and set down the Megan Fox fork.

  “We were discussing napkin rings.” Velma held up a gold one with thin silver wire twined through it.

  He fuckin’ hated napkin rings. Fold the damn thing and lay it across the plate. Or, better yet, save everyone the trouble and wrap a paper napkin around some silverware.

&nb
sp; Velma slipped the dog into his arms. The thing smelled like fancy perfume. The dog glanced up to him with the biggest eyes he’d ever seen on a canine, and son of a bitch, he was a goner. So, he liked the dog? It wasn’t that big of a deal.

  “Hey there, little miss.” He tickled under her chin.

  “Little dude,” Velma corrected. “He’s a boy.”

  No way.

  “His name is Buttercup.” Velma practically dared him to say something.

  Brek tucked the little guy under his arm like a football. “What’d you come up with so far?”

  Velma hesitated and glanced to Sophie, who, for the first time in his presence, went quiet.

  “Sophie mentioned the flowers changed to orchids, so she’s feeling more of a tropical vibe now.” Velma’s attempt at cheerful didn’t work.

  Brek let out a breath through his nose. Sophie was two weeks away from her big day at a mountain resort in Estes Park that Aspen had reserved over a year ago. How the hell would they make a log cabin tropical? Then again, given Sophie’s ability to pitch a fit, it wouldn’t shock him if she requested all the pine trees be uprooted at the resort so they could transplant palm trees.

  “We’re brainstorming ideas.” Velma dropped the rings into a bowl.

  “Tropical log cabin?” he asked Sophie, using his best you’re-a-bride-so-I-have-to-be-nice tone.

  “Exactly.” Her face brightened. “I knew you’d understand.”

  “Troy?” Brek asked her groom. “You okay with this?”

  “Whatever she wants.” Troy shrugged and went back to investigating spoons.

  “Could you get some of that grass thatch and cover the roof of the cabin? We could hire some of those hula dancers to perform at the reception. Maybe even roast a whole pig? Would your caterer do that?” Sophie was on a roll with ideas. Which would’ve been great—six months ago.

  Brek held in the sigh threatening to spill out. Aspen had booked the band Sophie insisted on last fall, and Eli had spent the last month sourcing the ingredients for her extremely specific menu. “You don’t want the swordfish and grass-fed buffalo steaks anymore?”

  She shrugged. “Buffalos aren’t tropical. Swordfish is still good, though.”

  He pasted on his best attempt at a placating smile and scratched at his temple.

  “It’s like Swiss Family Robinson in the mountains?” Velma piped in. “You could keep everything the same, but we have Jase add palm leaves to the table decorations and Eli can have the bartender add umbrellas to all the drinks?”

  Sophie’s eyes went dreamy. “Champagne with little umbrellas?”

  “We could even have a tree house. Everyone could take photos with it. Wouldn’t that be fun?” Velma was on a roll again. The kind that went right downhill.

  The little dog squirmed in his arm. Yeah, he could relate. “There’s no way I can build a tree house that quickly.”

  “Oh.” Velma pressed her teeth into her top lip.

  “I think I want a tree house. It couldn’t be that hard to put together. It’s just wood.” Sophie worked her I’m-going-to-talk-to-daddy-about-this tone.

  “Maybe we could just get some estimates. See if it’s even possible?” Velma suggested.

  Fuck a duck. “I’ll see what I can come up with.”

  On no notice.

  “This will be so amazing!” Sophie shrieked a shrill “eeek” sound. Troy grimaced.

  Brek officially gave them three months before Troy filed for divorce.

  “Why don’t you and Troy take a look at tablecloths. Velma and I will talk about the plan?” Brek suggested.

  “You’re the best, Brek.” She snatched Buttercup away from him and made kissy noises at the dog’s face. “Isn’t he the best?”

  “Of course he is.” Troy’s cell beeped as he spoke. He retrieved it from his pocket and scowled at the screen. Sophie, securely back in in her cocoon of happiness, pulled him behind her across the warehouse.

  “Sorry about that.” Velma twirled another napkin ring on her finger, this one dark wood with burnt-on initials. “I didn’t think about how much work it would make for you.”

  She slipped off the ring, and, damn, why did every movement she make feel like an erotic invitation to tango naked?

  “Major party foul.” He growled. “It’s a good thing you’re pretty.”

  “Do you want to talk about what happened last night?” She swallowed hard.

  Absolutely not. “Nope, but thanks for being here this morning.”

  She paused. Took a deep breath. “I want to tell you… You’re right. I used to have a thing for Dean.”

  This was not news to him. But it still made his heart shrink.

  Her brows furrowed. “I never told anyone. Not even Claire. So, when they hooked up, what was I supposed to do?”

  He did not want to discuss her infatuation with his friend. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “No, you’re right to say something. The thing is, I haven’t even really thought about Dean. Not since you moved in.”

  Without breaking the thread of their gaze, he stepped toward her, boxing her in, and dropped his voice low. “That so?”

  Her mouth opened slightly. “Yes.”

  His blue jeans went two-sizes-too-small in the crotch.

  “You want to reconsider how things went down last night?” He grinned his best smile. The one he generally reserved for picking up women.

  “Your Jedi mind tricks don’t have power over me.” Her voice faltered.

  He chuckled. Once again, her mouth said one thing, but her body betrayed her. “I guess we’ll see.”

  “We should, uh, go help the bride and groom pick out their linens.” She pushed at his shoulder to get by.

  Fuck, she was cute.

  He planted his new motorcycle boots wider. “V, you can keep denying what’s going down between us. But we both feel it.”

  She made an odd noise in the back of her throat. “I like you. But you’re my roommate and you’re Dean’s friend and—”

  He cleared the anger from his vocal cords. “So, it still comes back to Dean?”

  The world stopped spinning for an instant. Not enough to throw it off its axis but enough to throw him off his.

  “No.” She shrugged her deflated shoulders. “Yes. I mean, it’s complicated.” Her face flushed, and she looked away to the porcelain serving bowls.

  Apparently, the elaborate options for silverware held particular appeal to her as well.

  His heart skipped several beats. “You said you didn’t think about him.”

  She backed up. Her thighs bumped a frilly tablecloth and rattled the wineglasses. “I don’t. I haven’t. But you’re…you’re you.”

  His throat went uncomfortably thick.

  “I mean you’re not here permanently. You’re leaving soon. And while you’re here, we have to cohabitate. We can’t risk messing that up.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  She stared him down. “I assure you, Brek. I’m not shitting you.”

  He flinched at her choice of words. Cussing didn’t fit her. He wanted to shove the dirty word back into her mouth. “He on the fuckin’ spreadsheet?”

  “Who?”

  “Dean,” he clipped.

  Her shoulders dropped further as she gripped the round table behind her, her knuckles matching the white lace. “He’s the reason I started the spreadsheet.”

  Blood rushed in his temples. Now the universe was just screwing with him. “That so?”

  What a clusterfuck.

  “Brek!” Sophie squealed from across the warehouse. “I think we’ve found the linens.”

  He ground his teeth together. “Be right there.”

  “I’m sorry about all this.” Velma’s cheeks flushed. She smoothed her skirt. “You’ve got clients.”

  “I’m not giving up on you.”

  “Brek?” Sophie called again.

  “I think we need to be done here.” Velma pushed past him, heading across
the warehouse to their overbearing bride.

  Velma was right about a lot. But she was wrong about this. They were not done. Not even close.

  Chapter Nine

  After surviving a tedious planning session with Sophie, Brek hopped on his bike. He rolled the tension from his shoulders. He needed a day of open road followed by a night of rock ’n’ roll. Unfortunately, he would have a day of cake tasting followed by a night of figuring out how the hell to create a Swiss Family Robinson tree house from swizzle sticks, coffee filters, and Elmer’s glue. Okay, there would be lumber involved, and possibly a chain saw. But the whole thing felt like an excercise in futility when Sophie would change her mind again in a week.

  Brek stepped inside Jase’s flower shop. The metal cowbell Jase used to announce customers clunked heavily against the glass door, and an old Cyndi Lauper song played through the overhead speakers. Two glorious hours before he had to go meet up with Dean and Claire and shop for wedding cake. And he needed a beer.

  Jase glanced up from clipping stems using brown-camouflage-patterned shears.

  Eli apparently had the same idea as Brek. He already had his ass planted at Jase’s workstation shooting the shit and generally not dealing with the bridal crap that had enveloped Brek’s life.

  Brek settled onto a stool across the table from Jase.

  “Trouble in paradise?” Jase continued working on a vivid pink arrangement.

  Brek grunted in reply. “Bride Number Two wants tulips tied to the pews with that tulle stuff. You think you can handle that?”

  “That’s a negative.” Jase pulled on some of the petals on the flower in his hand.

  “No. See. I say the bride wants tulips. You say okay.”

  “Tulips won’t work on the pews. No water. They’ll go limper than a dick at the Shady Acres Retirement Home. I could rig up some vases, but she’s already over budget.”

  Shit.

  “Tell her to stick with roses,” Jase continued. “They’ll match her bouquet.”

  Brek had a feeling that conversation would go about as well as any other conversation he’d had with brides lately.