The Stand-In Read online

  "How was I supposed to know?" She tried not to giggle at his flushed face.

  In his jeans and black polo shirt, he stood out from the other men in the club. Of course, the other men were only wearing sequined G-strings and smiles. Patrick's hair was damp at the ends, curling gently on his nape, and he smelled good. Soapy and manly and enticing, as if he’d just emerged from the shower. It was all she could do not to tug on his shirt and give his chest a good sniff.

  Okay, clearly it was time she replaced the worn out batteries in her vibrator.

  "Patrick," she said, motioning to Elena. "This is Elena Albano. Our lovely bride."

  He shook her hand. "Nice to meet you. Congratulations."

  She batted her lashes. "The pleasure's all mine. You know, I'm still single for the next couple of nights." She allowed her gaze to rove with clear interest over his package.

  Even under the flashing club lights, Winn could see Patrick’s blush. “Wow,” he said. “No beating around the bush with you, is there?”

  “I’m on borrowed time, honey. No sense wasting it. Don’t get me wrong. I love my Carlo.” She reached a hand out to caress his biceps. “Carlo just doesn’t have these guns.”

  "Now, now, Elena," Winn said, steering her back to the table. "As your bridesmaid, it’s my job to keep you out of trouble.” She glanced back at Patrick. “And he’s trouble, trust me.”

  He followed them, a smug grin playing on his face. She knew the man had the word “Flirt” written across his forehead, but he could try to look as if he didn’t enjoy it so much.

  Elena stumbled and had to right herself on a table. Winn held her up. “You said you wanted to introduce me to your relatives?" She helped the bride into a chair.

  Elena offered a dismissive wave at her cousins. “Angelina, Paolina, Carmelina, meet Winn.” She smiled at Patrick. “And her sexy friend, Patrick.”

  Carmelina picked up Elena’s glass and sniffed it. “How much rum did they put in your drink?”

  “Not enough. Hey Patrick, what do I have to do to get you to strip tonight? You don’t want to disappoint the bride, do you?”

  “I, uh…”

  As he blushed once more, Winn felt a streak of heat across her own chest. Angry heat.

  “Oh, Winn,” said Elena. “Don’t look so jealous. I’m just teasing him.” Loud music reverberated from the speakers and the MC took the stage to great applause. “Oh! The show’s starting. Everyone, stop talking. I don’t want to miss a single penis.”

  Patrick bit back a laugh as he sat next to Winn, leaning close to her. “Are all your brides this…enthusiastic?”

  “No,” she admitted. “Elena’s special.” She grinned, noting a similar smile on his face. He really was amazing to behold when he smiled. Dimples. Straight, white teeth. Lips that looked so supple. “Listen, I’m sorry about the sexual harassment, from both the bride and the dancers. I’m guessing more will come.”

  “No sweat. I’m comfortable with my sexuality.”

  “Right.” Just how comfortable was he? Comfy enough to bed a married woman? Despite his pleas to the opposite, she couldn’t help but wonder if the rumors might be true. After all, he’d been fired from his job. Surely his boss wouldn’t have tossed him aside without due cause.

  After speaking with him at the coffee shop, she’d gone right home and Googled him. One of the first quotes she’d discovered had been from his former boss, Jason Dietrich. The newspaperman had gone on at length about, “misplaced trust,” and, “betrayal by those in his inner circle.” When she’d first heard about Patrick’s fall from grace, before meeting him, she hadn’t questioned his transgressions. Why, the Dietrich woman herself had admitted to the world about their affair. And yet Patrick had never publicly said the words. He’d never admitted guilt.

  Oh, come on, Winn. He’s the biggest flirt on the planet. Of course, he’s guilty.

  She felt the grin slide off her face, even as she regarded him. In a bizarre mirror-image situation, his followed suit. His mocha eyes darkened with disappointment.

  Winn turned from Patrick, already tired of guessing at his culpability. She looked toward the stage where not one, but three buff men strutted in construction worker gear, complete with hard hats. At any other time, she might be able to enjoy the show, as much as she could enjoy a tacky strip show in a dirty location. Okay, some of the dancers looked a bit past their prime, but it was easy to disregard their wrinkles under the strobe lights. Besides, the drinks were tasty and she liked the 80’s soundtrack. Even still, while the bride tucked bills into every G-string she could reach, Winn found it hard to let loose and have fun. Maybe it was the prude cousins and their matching scowls.

  No, it was Patrick. His presence set her on edge, even though he tried to make the best of an awkward evening. He bounced his knee to the music, even going so far as thanking a dancer for his interest when the nearly naked man offered to take him out back. Presumably to discourage additional offers, he pulled his chair closer to Winn’s and looped an arm around her shoulders, making her stiffen.

  “Hope you don’t mind,” he said in her ear. “I told him I was with you. Do me a favor and play along, okay?”

  “Okay.” The heat from his arm practically seared the exposed skin along her neckline, but she endured it as a martyr over the fires of righteousness.

  Even as he bopped in his chair next to her, she couldn’t stop wondering about him. If he hadn’t slept with the Dietrich woman, had he done something else? She could only hazard guesses as to the skeletons in his closet.

  He made her curious. Too curious.

  During the show, he asked her some questions about her job, wanting to know about her various obligations. She answered them, keeping her responses short and sweet. He pressed her for anecdotes, but she demurred, careful not to reveal too much. The whole time, she kept an eye on the inebriated bride and another on the prude cousins, who insisted on peppering her with their own questions about her history with Elena. By the time the MC announced the end of the show, Winn breathed a sigh of relief, eager for the inquisition to finish.

  As the audience rose from their seats, Elena jumped up and pointed at one of the dancers. “I wanna get a lap dance from Hot Chocolate.”

  Hot Chocolate tipped his hat to her, the only article of clothing still on his body.

  “No, you don’t, honey.” Winn steered Elena to the door, the cousins and Patrick in tow. They exited the club. The muggy air, so different from the air-conditioning inside, hit her, making her feel as if she were swathed in cling wrap. “We’re going to put you in a cab now and your cousins are going to see you home. The wedding’s in two days. You need to rest.”

  She wrapped her arms around Winn’s neck and squeezed. “Oh my God, I love Carlo so much. And I love you, too, Winn. You’re the best bridesmaid ever.” She kissed her on the lips. “Hey, I have an idea. Let’s have a lesbian fling!”

  “Maybe some other time, but thanks.”

  With a chortle, Patrick hailed a cab and helped her usher the bride into it. He put a hand on Elena’s head as Winn folded her limp legs into the car. With matching nods, the Italian cousins got in after her. Winn and Patrick watched as the cab drove away, disappearing into Yonge Street traffic.

  After a quiet moment, they turned to each other. “Well,” he said. “I can now scratch that off my bucket list.”

  His deep voice, made gravelly from talking over loud music, landed on her ear and sent pleasing shivers down her spine. He had the perfect voice for pillow talk, a rich baritone made even sexier by overuse. She gawked at him, shuffling in her spot.

  “Are you parked nearby, or did you take the subway?”

  “I managed to find a spot in the lot behind the club.”

  “I’ll walk you to your car. God only knows what dubious characters are hiding back there.”

  She didn’t question his willingness to accompany her and was glad of the company. Compared to many big cities, Toronto had a reputation for being safe, but sh
e still didn’t look forward to being in a dark parking lot by herself.

  “You make a good maid of honor,” he volunteered, regarding her from the side. “Have you done it in real life?”

  “Can’t say I have.”

  “None of your friends have gotten married?”

  “No one I’m particularly close to.”

  They reached her car and he did a once-around, checking in her back seat for the afore-mentioned dubious characters. “I’m surprised. You’re a natural at this wedding business.”

  Her shoulders tightened as her nerves played havoc in her back muscles. “Yeah, well, I guess research pays off.” She got in her Yaris, shut the door and rolled down the window. “Thanks for walking me to my car.”

  “You’re welcome. I had a strange night, but it was strangely fun.” He smiled. “See you at the wedding in a couple of days?”

  “See you at the wedding.”

  She pulled away and drove out of the parking lot. Allowing herself to glance back in the rearview mirror, she noticed as he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked out of the lot. His gaze remained locked on her the whole time.

  * * * *

  “Are you all set for tomorrow’s wedding?” Enid asked as she sipped her beer.

  “Yep. Got my pantyhose. Got my dress.” Winn looked skyward, mentally ticking off the items in her travel bag. “Oh, and I splurged and bought a ten-dollar lipstick.”

  Enid threw up her hands. “Whoa. I’ve never seen you spend more than a buck ninety-five on any sort of cosmetic.”

  “I know. I’m the frugal one. I’ve always had to be, but now I have a bit of spare change.” She sat back in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest. “It feels good to have some money to my name.”

  “I’m glad for you, Winifred. I really am.” Enid gnawed on the inside of her lip. “And the whole wedding thing doesn’t bother you?”

  “Nope.”

  Her sister regarded her for a long moment, her eyes narrowed, as if not quite sure she believed her. “Awesome.”

  “Yep.” Not sure what else to say, Winn sipped her fizzy water. She would have loved a beer as well, but learned if she drank Guinness at night, she’d end up with dark circles the next morning. “Only this next wedding will be a little weird. I have a reporter shadowing me.”

  “A reporter? Why?”

  She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Oh, Patrick’s just doing a story on stand-in bridesmaids.”

  Enid waggled her eyebrows. “Patrick, huh? Sounds promising.”

  “Not really.” She leaned in and whispered. “It’s Patrick Lincoln, you know the one who was fired from the Torontonian.”

  Her sister’s eyes widened. “Fuck me. Is he as slimy as they say?”

  “I wouldn’t say slimy. He’s actually, well…” She considered her words. “He’s kind of nice.”

  Enid only paused a moment. “You think he’s hot.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Oh, yes, Winifred. Sweet girl, it’s plastered all over your face.”

  Winn touched her cheek. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I hope so because Patrick Lincoln is not the sort of man you need in your life.”

  “He’s not in my life. I just met him.”

  “Yes, but I know you have a way of falling quickly and falling hard. I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

  Winn picked up her glass and then set it back on the table. “I’ve barely had a conversation with the man. It’s not as if I’ve singled him out as my future life partner and father of my yet-to-be-conceived children.”

  “Have you forgotten all about Suddenly Gay Dennis?”

  “Enid…”

  “And Shithead Mike? It took, what, all of two weeks for you to decide you loved those bozos. I’m not trying to nag you, but I know how you roll. You’re a love-at-first-sight girl.”

  She frowned. “Not anymore.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it because it doesn’t exist.” Enid punched her gently in the arm. “I’m just looking out for you. And with sharks like Slimy Patrick circling, it’s a good thing.”

  “Hey. I just met him. You’re not allowed to give him a derogatory name yet.”

  “Fine, fine. I’ll stop needling you now.” She tapped her fingernails on the pub table, picking out a syncopated rhythm. “So there’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Remember my old boyfriend Jerry? The street performer?”

  “The guy who ate flaming swords?”

  “Yeah, that’s him. I ran into him at the organic food store. He has a friend named Lou who plays hockey on Shithead Mike’s team.”

  At the second mention of Mike’s name, Winn’s stomach pitched. She took a swig of Perrier in an effort to quell the ruckus in her gut. When that didn’t work, she reached across the table and sipped Enid’s Guinness. Dark circles be damned. “Okay.”

  “Anyway, we started chatting.” Enid pursed her lips. “Mike’s engaged. To her.”

  The lurch in her belly turned into an all-out explosion of acid, but she ignored it. “Who cares? I figured he’d marry her. It doesn’t affect me.”

  Enid’s right brow shot sky high. “It doesn’t?”

  “Nope.”

  “Aren’t you mad?”

  “Nope.”

  “Winn, I know you’ve bought into the ice queen approach to this situation but you can’t keep this shit bottled up.”

  She stood, a little too hurriedly, and almost upended her glass of expensive water. “I’m fine. And I’m not an ice queen. I’m just…reserved.”

  “Reserved. Right.”

  “Look, I’ve got to go. I want to be fresh for the wedding tomorrow.”

  “Winn…”

  “I’m done talking about this, sis. Catch you later.” Before her sister could stop her, she barreled out of the pub onto the busy street and charged down the sidewalk, ignoring the homeless woman who asked for change. With a sigh, she then turned around, fished in her pocket and threw a five-dollar bill into the woman’s outstretched hand.

  “Shit. Thanks, lady.”

  “You’re welcome. And I’m not an ice queen.”

  “Whatever you say.” The woman got up from her stoop and walked around the corner.

  Winn watched the woman disappear into a convenience store, and she then continued down the sidewalk at a determined pace. By the time she reached the next block, she stopped short and rolled her eyes.

  Lost in thought, she’d headed in the wrong direction. Huffing, she turned and aimed for the subway station around the corner, her stomach issuing warning growls all the while.

  * * * *

  “Damn,” Patrick muttered, checking the time again. The drive from Toronto to Woodbridge had been more stressful than Moses’s walk through the parted Red Sea. Once he got back into the political arena, his first article would be a scathing diatribe on the crumbling infrastructure of the city. Toronto politicians thought nothing of throwing up scads of high-rises all over town, congesting the roads, before ever considering improving those roadways. Why, if he ever got another chance to sit down with the mayor, he’d…

  He’d what? Tell him about the latest in bridal fashion? Tell him, no, sea-foam blue really does not complement every complexion?

  Grunting, he checked his GPS to see how close he was. There, up ahead. He spotted the church and peeled into the parking lot, his tires screeching. He turned off the ignition, swore a few more times, and got out of the car. He’d hoped to snag a seat up front so he could watch Winn in action, but he’d likely be stuck in the back pew now.

  Maybe, while he was there, he should say some prayers. After spending the evening with her at the Stallion Club, his last couple of sleeps had been laced with bizarre, sexual dreams. Only Winn had been the star of the show, prancing onstage for him in one of those sequined G-strings.

  Okay, Hot Chocolate had been there, too, but he’d only been cheering them on.

  Fi
xing his tie, he crept into the church in case the bridal party was gathered in the foyer. However, Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow was one of these new fancy churches with all kinds of meeting rooms attached. He had to pass a couple to get to the inner sanctum.

  As he marched by the small anterooms, he heard heavy breathing and looked in. Much to his surprise, there stood Winn, all alone, attired in her huge dress. He took a moment to check her out. The seamstress had been right. The dress was better after alterations, and Winn’s boobies popped pleasantly from the tight bodice. However, he couldn’t help noticing how those boobies rose and fell with shaky breaths.

  Damn. She was hyperventilating.

  He rushed in. “Winn, are you okay?”

  With one hand on her stomach and another to her pale forehead, she looked up and cringed. “I’m…uh, just taking a minute.” She promptly turned the color of Kermit the Frog.

  He put a hand on her shoulder and guided her to a chair. “Here. Sit down.”

  She plunked into the chair. “I’ll be fine.”

  He took the chair next to her. “You look sick. I mean, you look very nice, but sick. Do you want me to call someone?”

  “No!”

  “Okay, okay.” Her pallor disturbed him, but even as they sat together, the roses began to return to her cheeks. She forced a few more breaths and closed her eyes. He rubbed her hand, staring at her buffed fingernails. Perfectly coifed, from head to toe, she wore her blonde hair in a tight bun with jewels in it. Despite her unfortunate gown, the hair was nice. The sort of hair a man would like to free of its pins and watch as it cascaded around her face.

  Oh, brother. So she cleans up good. So what? You’re here to do a job, you horny bastard.

  She opened her eyes and offered him a sheepish glance. “I’m better now. Just a little winded.” She stood up, still sucking in slow breaths but in control of them once again. “I need to get to the bride.”