Into You Series: The Complete Collection

3. Ian

CHAPTER 3

IAN

Present day

D o you ever wake up smiling?

That makes me sound like a weird guy, but honestly, just between us weirdos, do you?

When I wake up this morning, I know it will be a great day. I lie awake, staring up at my ceiling fan, and I can’t help but smile. If anyone were to see me, I’m sure they would think I’m enamored with the thing. Truth is, I am enamored, but not with my fan.

Let’s count the ways this week will be great. Number one, I am the best man at my pal’s wedding. Number two, I get to spend an entire week at the beach, and number three, I get to spend one whole week with Nia fucking Smith.

Could life get any better?

And I don’t mean that with any sarcasm intended. Nia Smith is a witty, intelligent force to be reckoned with. I have spent nine years— nine years— hanging out with her, playing the role of good co-worker, never making moves. I respect work-life balance enough to not cross that line; it’s a recipe for disaster.

But is there room for disaster now? Not so much, friends. Well, maybe a little. I can’t forget about the fact that, for some bewildering reason, Nia Smith has absolutely loathed me for the past two years.

Disaster pending, I suppose. We shall see.

My phone’s ringtone goes off in my ear. I still have yet to buy a bedside table, so for years my sleeping buddy has been the buzzing phone resting on the pillow beside me. I pull it closer and look at the caller ID. It’s my sister, Ramona. I answer.

“When are you getting here?” she asks before I can even voice any form of greeting.

“Well, I just woke up, so…”

“You’re planning the bachelor party, right?”

“Are we going to stay on one subject?” My sister isn’t one for staying on track. It’s a wonder she focused long enough in school to be a psychologist of her caliber. Then again, both of us Chambers kids could be poster children for the lessening attention span in America.

“I need to know what you’re doing because I’m planning the bachelorette party and there are only two strip clubs in town—not nearly enough.”

“Sure.” I lift my arms above my head, giving a big stretch and groaning.

“And the third bridesmaid: Nia.” My heart jumps at the mention of her name. “I still haven’t met her. What’s she like?” Ramona pouts on the other end of the line. She likes being in the know, and missing out on meeting a bridesmaid is probably killing her.

“Didn’t she go to bridal whatever stuff?” I ask.

“Grace didn’t tell me she was a bridesmaid until a month ago,” she says. I can practically hear the eye roll. “What was I supposed to do?”

“She’s nice once you get to know her,” I say with a chuckle.

“Good. So, okay, checking off the list…oh! You’ll be the designated driver most of the time, right…?”

It’s a silly question and she knows it; I can tell by the way the last word fades out like a sentence begging to be wiped from memory. I’ll give Ramona the benefit of the doubt. It’s been ten years since the car accident. We don’t talk about it much in our family, but it’s like a constantly healing wound. The second it’s mentioned, the stitches are loosened that much more, though I, for one, do not insist on viewing it as some taboo subject. It’s mostly their stitches that get tugged apart; mine are forced closed with glue.

“Drink to your heart’s content,” I say. “My baggage is your treasure. Is that the saying?”

“I think it’s trash,” she mumbles.

“Yeah, well, take advantage of my misfortune, and stop sounding uncomfortable. Of course I’m driving.” I try to lighten the mood as best I can. Sheesh, if I ever want to silence family or friends, bringing up the reason I stay sober on nights out is the sure-fire way to do it.

My phone buzzes and I hold it away from my ear. Cameron.

“Hey, it’s the groom calling,” I say, thankful for the reprieve from this discussion. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Do you think penis lollipops would be too much for a bachelorette party?” She gets the sentence out as one final light-hearted jab, and I switch over calls before I have to respond.

“Yell-o?” I answer, hitting the speaker button and laying the phone next to me.

“Ian, we have to leave in one hour,” Cameron says. It’s matter of fact, borderline demanding, and filled with exhaustion. “Can you make it on time?”

“That’s a bit last minute,” I joke with a grin only I can see.

Cameron pauses before letting out a heavy exhalation. I know I’ve pressed the wrong button. It’s definitely not the morning, day, or week for this. It’s his wedding week and, yes, I do mean wedding week . Everyone in the bridal party is receiving a complimentary one-week stay at the resort booked for their wedding, and we leave this morning.

Apparently in one hour.

“Why are you so difficult? Aren’t weddings supposed to be fun?” he asks.

“Have you ever been to a wedding?” I chuckle.

“No,” he says, slowly and skeptically.

“Exactly. Are you thinking, Well, mine will be different ?”

“Maybe.”

“Yeah, they all think that.” I exhale, hopping out of bed and walking into the bathroom. “I’ll see you soon.”

“And what is ‘soon’?”

“An hour.”

I hang up and take a quick shower, throw on my Friday best, and load up my bags. With the garment bag holding my suit slung over my shoulder and the strap of my duffel over my other arm, I switch off the lights. The chandelier in my foyer takes a second to fade out like some dramatic curtain closing on the stage of my barren townhome.

I zip through the city, but even with all my special maneuvering, I’m still late when I arrive.

Damn. Cameron is gonna kill me.

I’ve lived here my whole life and I love the city with a burning passion, but I still have trouble anticipating Atlanta traffic. Early mornings haven’t been part of my routine in months since I started working from home, living that self-employed life filled with web conferences in boxers and lots of delivered food to the house.

I anticipate Cameron’s wrath when I pull in, but I don’t have time to process anything he may want to say because— holy shit is that Nia?!

Standing on the opposite end of the driveway is the petite woman I’ve been anticipating seeing for months. Being caught off guard like this, I could not be less prepared. I expected maybe some cool interaction at the resort where I pull up laughing with Cameron and Grace. We’re having a good time! See? I can be chill!

Instead I’m running late and looking like a complete asshole, and she is absolutely stunning and out of my league.

Her white-blonde hair is a mess on the top of her head, her smooth arms still lifted up in the process of tying it. She’s wearing a very conservative blue collared tank top and thigh-length Bermuda shorts that cover way too much of her beautiful, slender legs. Her knees are already pink from the sun, and her cream-colored sneakers are just one shade darker than the tint of her pure, porcelain skin.

This day could only get better if I were devouring her right here and now.

“Well isn’t this a nice surprise,” I say, lowering my sunglasses and raising them again. I pop my trunk and retrieve my bag to throw in the back of Cameron’s Jeep, gingerly laying my suit down over it.

“Oh,” is the only response I get from Nia.

“I bet if you knew I was tagging along, you would have walked to Florida,” I say, giving a good-natured laugh. This only elicits a lifted eyebrow and a turn on her heel toward the rear driver’s side of the car.

“Right,” I say, letting out an exhalation. I was supposed to be cool, damn it!

Cameron grins back at me from the front seat. “Heyyy man,” he says, dragging out the first word as if this is some really awesome coincidence that I met him here.

I nod my head. “Congratulations on marriage. Or, well, to-be marriage.” I’m flustered. I just got here and I’m fucking flustered . I grip the car’s top cage and easily swing my way in. My long legs easily scale this car’s height while Nia, on the other hand, struggles to make her way in. I hold out my hand to assist, but she grips the side handle harder and pulls herself in with a determined, neutral stare. Her face is either pink from hatred of me or because she’s already burning from the sun.

“Polly, you’re already looking like a lobster,” I say, laughing. She throws me look. It’s not exactly a glare, but it still sends shivers down my spine. It’s both terrifying and enticing all at once.

“Hopefully I’ll grow claws too so I can pinch you,” Nia says through pursed lips.

“So crabby,” I tease.

Grace forces out a sarcastic, bored laugh while Cameron’s laugh from behind the wheel is genuine. “Ha ha,” Grace says. “You guys are so hilarious. What good fun.” I’m willing to bet the last thing Nia is thinking is how much “fun” this week will be. I plan to prove her wrong.

“I believe this will be a week for the ages,” I say with a grin. Nia’s eyebrow is lifted once more, as if analyzing any hidden meaning behind my sentence. She has this eternal look to her, like she’s waiting for me to present my ulterior motives out in the open—like I’m out to get her or something.

“Sure it will,” she says in a flat tone.

Grace huffs and I turn to see her pointing between the two of us accusingly as she walks to the passenger side, hopping in. “Now listen to me: I don’t want to deal with you two bickering the whole way down.” Her finger stops in front of me. “So, control yourself, Ian.”

“Me?”

“Yes, she’s talking about you,” Nia says, buckling her seatbelt.

“Last time I checked, you’re the lobster threatening to murder me.”

“If only I could be so lucky.”

“No, not today,” Grace says, twisting her body to look back at us as Cameron starts the car with this big grin on his face as if he’s admiring just how feisty his fiancée is. “Not this week. This is a happy time for me to marry the love of my life. I’m already irritated because we can’t take our dogs, and I refuse to take in these…these additional bad vibes!”

I’m now noticing the letters on Grace’s shirt peeking through her long hair: #Bridezilla . It looks identical to the custom shirts Ramona usually makes, and I’m willing to bet it’s one of her creations. Well, she hit the nail on the head with this one.

I extend my hand to Nia once more to offer a truce. “I won’t fight if you won’t?”

She narrows her brown eyes. They’re deep pools of chocolate, swirling with strings of lighter caramel. Nia is this odd mix of forced politeness fueled by a deeper, much darker personal vendetta against me. It’s almost like the grudge gives her confidence.

Her posture is perfectly straight as she says, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

What a woman.