Wedding Bell Blues by Meg Benjamin

of the players. Otto stood holding the ball negligently at his hip, his lips slightly pursed. He was doing a great job of concealing his concern.
    Pete turned toward Otto, his face thunderous. “Cheap shot, Friedrich.”
    Otto shrugged. “He was over-balanced. I didn’t realize. Sorry.”
    Janie took a breath. Otto didn’t sound that sorry. She glanced at Pete Toleffson again.
    His hands were flexing at his sides, and his eyes were dark. Suddenly, he seemed huge, his shadow spreading across the grass in the late afternoon sun.
    Lars stepped beside Pete quickly, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Football, Pete. It happens. Remember?”
    “Football sucks.” Pete’s voice sounded hoarse. His gaze stayed locked on Otto.
    “The way you play it, sure.” Otto’s mouth curved up slightly.
    “Time to cook dinner,” Reba chirped, stepping in between the two men. “That fire looks just right! We’ve got three grills over there. Who all’s gonna be our barbecue chefs? Peter, Otto, you start grilling now.” She pushed Pete gently toward one of the huge gas grills set up at the far end of the pool.
    After a moment, each man headed toward a grill, regarding the other through narrowed eyes. Janie took another deep breath and blew it out. She had a feeling she was about to see barbeque become a competitive sport.
     

Chapter Seven
    Janie studied Otto as he walked toward the nearest grill. His chest was marked by thick ridges of muscle. The fine dusting of reddish brown hair glinted in the sunlight. He looked like his body had been sculpted from bronze.
    And she suddenly realized she hadn’t the slightest desire to know what it felt like to have him thrusting inside her.
    Pete’s bare chest was broader but less muscled and covered in a thick pelt of black hair arrowing down to the waistband of his jeans. He was still breathing hard from the game and reaction to Cal’s accident, his chest rising and falling in the dying sunlight. Right then, he looked like the most dangerous man Janie had ever seen.
    She took another deep breath. Her brain reeled with visions of Pete Toleffson, his shoulders gleaming in a darkened bedroom, his face taut with desire.
    Clearly, she was losing her mind.
    She wandered toward the grill where Otto regarded a small fleet of burgers and sausages with narrowed eyes. He held a long-handled spatula in one hand.
    “Can I help?” Janie managed a smile.
    Otto raised his eyebrows at her. “Women grilling? Don’t think so, sweet thing.”
    Janie’s jaw tightened, her smile fading. “I grill at home all the time, Otto. It’s never been all that difficult.”
    “You have to have a feeling for it.” He shrugged. “Men know meat.”
    She pressed her lips together hard. So many things to say. So little time. So little chance that Otto would understand more than a fraction of it. She walked toward Pete Toleffson’s grill, trying not to grind her teeth.
    Janie blinked. Pete was grilling zucchini.
    Also eggplant, onion slices, and what looked like a few portobello mushrooms. A bowl of tomato slices sat on the shelf next to the grill.
    Pete glanced at her. “Got any idea what eggplant looks like when it’s done?”
    “Is it marinated?” Janie stepped forward, peering at the vegetables.
    “Haven’t a clue.” Pete grinned at her. “Reba handed all of this to me and I’m following orders.”
    Janie removed the tongs from his hand and rolled an eggplant wedge to its other side. “Marinated. And it’s got grill marks.”
    “You think I should salt and pepper it?” Pete’s brow furrowed. “You don’t salt meat, but I’m not sure about mushrooms.”
    “Nope, it makes them sweat. Plus they’ve all been marinated.” Janie flipped the eggplant wedges then handed Pete the tongs. “There. Now do the rest of the slices. Only don’t turn the mushrooms—the juice will spill out if you do.”
    “Okay.” Pete industriously flipped vegetables. “You want to put those tomato slices out? I figure