“Promise me this barbecue is not one of your elaborate ways to set me up with one of your friends.” I take a bite of the carrot dipped in ranch and fight the urge to gag. Nope, still don’t like vegetables. “Why do people eat this shit?”
“Because it’s good for you,” Desi says as she hums around her bright pink kitchen with a black-and-white checkered floor like she’s freaking Martha Stewart.
“No. Sex is good for you. Chocolate is good for you. Wine is even better for you. They feed the soul. This crap,” I say and hold up the carrot, “only serves to make you miserable.”
“Says the woman who could eat nonstop every day and maintain her to-die-for figure.” She rolls her eyes as she wipes her hands on a dishtowel.
I reach for the dish of M&M’s and grab a handful with a grin. “Sucks to be me.” I finish chewing them as she mixes something in a bowl. It looks nasty now, but I know will taste like heaven when she’s done with it. It always does. “I’m serious, Des. You know I love your cooking, but it isn’t enough to keep me here if you play matchmaker again. You try, and I’m gonna bail.”
“Pfft. No you won’t. My cooking is ten times better than anything you could make on the hot plate at your place.”
She isn’t making eye contact with me. That in and of itself makes me question whether I believe this whole party isn’t a ruse to fix me up with one of the many people that come and go in her life. She’s done it so many times, and yet, still has no shame.
“I mean it. I have plenty of men I can call up if I want a good time. I don’t need your help in that department.”
“Yeah. I’m well aware.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I narrow my eyes and stare at her until she looks my way.
“It means you purposely pick men you don’t want to stick around.”
Here we go again.
“And there’s a problem with this . . . why?”
“Because, at some point in your life, you’re going to want a guy who is around longer than just a couple of orgasms, that’s why.” Her tone is serious when I want to be anything but.
“But damn, those orgasms feel incredible.”
“I’m serious, Em. What’s so wrong with settling with one man instead of having many?”
I sigh audibly to let her know I’m done with this conversation. “Many? You make it sound like I sleep around. It’s one man at a time . . . even I have standards. And nothing’s wrong with settling down; it just isn’t for me. You know me—no rings, no strings.”
“You sound like a guy.”
“I sound like me.” I shrug. “Promise me, Des.”
“Ah look, Leo’s here. I’ll get the door.”
“Don’t knock it till you try it, Cassy,” I say to one of Desi’s friends.
“There is no way in hell you’re going to get me to jump out of a plane. No way, no how. I’d have to have about fifteen more of these to even consider it,” she says as she raises her empty glass of wine and shakes her head.
“Drink up,” I tease. “The offer stands, though. You wouldn’t have to do anything other than enjoy the ride since you’d be strapped to me.”
“That sounds like a bad porno, but it still won’t get me to change my mind,” she says through a laugh.
I lean back in my chair as the conversation wears on. Leo talks about his most favorite dive in Machu Pichu. Desi flits between the twenty or so guests, making everyone feel at home with her easy charm. The fairy lights in the trees add a soft glow, there’s a welcome chill to the summer air, and the Carne Asada cooking on the grill smells like absolute heaven.
Even better, she’s kept her promise. I don’t see any unfamiliar faces she can try to set me up with. And while I don’t know most of them other than a casual hello, I’ve at least seen them before. It’s the perfect night.
“Don’t you think, Emerson?” Leo’s voice pulls my attention back from my thoughts, and I find eight pairs of eyes staring at me waiting for an answer.
“I’m sorry. I was in La-la Land. What am I supposed to be opining about?”
“We were talking about—”
I don’t hear another word he says because, just over his left shoulder, I see Grant Malone standing in the frame of the door. He’s wearing shorts and a cream-colored Henley, and his hands are shoved in his pockets while his eyes are trained on me.
I hate that the sight of him makes my breath catch and causes a flutter somewhere deep inside me. I despise that when I meet his eyes, I want to see the little boy I once knew instead of the achingly handsome man he’s become. More than anything, I hate that he needs to go when all I want him to do is stay.
There’s an awkward moment where everyone notices my blatant distraction and falls silent. They shift to look at Grant before, almost as one, they turn back to stare at me.
“Excuse me,” I murmur as I rise from my seat, a mixture of anger and confusion rioting through my veins.
Desi broke her promise. And not only did she break her promise but she did so with the one man who made the dreams I haven’t had in years come back. Last night, I woke in a blind panic: Pillow soaked with sweat, hands gripped in the sheets, and heartbeat out of control.
My rational self knows it isn’t his fault, and yet, I blame him for scraping up the past, which is better left dead and buried.
If looks could kill, the one I shoot Desi would put her six feet under. The other guests murmur about who the stranger is as I make my way toward him.
“What are you doing here?” He smells incredible. Like soap and mint and why am I even noticing?
“Hi, Grant Malone. Nice to meet you.” Cool as can be, he ignores the irritation in my tone and holds his hand out for me to shake.
“Seriously?” I eye his hand and then look back to him.
“Oh, you’re going to remember that we know each other now? I’m sorry. I wasn’t quite sure if you were still playing the ‘I’m not Emmy, I don’t know you’ game like you were the other day.”
I grit my teeth because I deserve the dig, but hell if I’m going to let him know that. “What are you doing here?”
“Okay, so now we’re admitting we already know each other. That makes life much easier, don’t you think?” He drops his hand. “Desi invited me. She said she’s a good cook, and well, I like to eat.” The shrug he gives me is casual, as if there is no other explanation needed, and that smile of his never wavers from its boyish slant. I haven’t seen him in twenty years, and all the sudden, I cross paths with him twice in one week.
“In that case, she’s right over there.” I point to where Desi is sitting, cautiously staring our way. It’s only then that I realize most of the guests are also watching us.
“That, and I wanted to see you again.”
The words on my lips falter as I try to process why him being here has me so irritated, but it does. And just as bewilderingly, I can’t stop studying him. I can’t stop wondering about him and the man he’s become. Is he anything like the person my mind had conjured him to be on the odd occasion I thought about him?
I can feel the weight of everyone’s stares on my back and know they are wondering why I’m acting so bizarre. Normally, I’d hug whoever the new person was and welcome them into our transient circle without a second thought.
“Okay . . . well, then . . . beer is over there in the cooler and food is on the table. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go to the restroom.”
The kitchen is empty when I enter it, and I’m so very thankful for the silence to collect my thoughts. The irony is that the quiet doesn’t last long. Someone turns on the radio and music drifts in through the open french doors, along with my friends’ laughter and a voice that is unfamiliar yet familiar all at once.
I’ve come inside to get some distance from Grant so I can think, and yet I’m standing here studying him through the window. His dark hair and five o’clock shadow. How the sleeves of his Henley are pushed up to his elbows to showcase strong forearms. His natural ease talking with everyone and instinctual awareness of everything around him like his dad used to have when we were kids.
He’s just like the little boy I used to know and nothing like him at the same time.
That’s a brilliant thought, Em. He can’t be both of those at the same time . . . and yet, he is.
“Watcha looking at?”
I jump back at the sound of Desi’s voice and am shocked to find her standing beside me, admiring the same view I am. I was so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t noticed her come in.
“Nothing. Just thinking.” Needing something to do with my hands, I turn on the faucet and begin washing them.
“Uh-huh. That nothing you’re thinking of has a mighty fine ass, if I say so myself.”
It’s then that I realize I’m supposed to be mad at her. “You promised, Des.” I drag my eyes from my hands to meet hers. “I said I was going to bail if you did this, so I guess it’s time for me to leave.”
“Have I tried to fix you up with him?”
“No, but I know that’s only a matter of time.” I cross my arms over my chest and follow her gaze. He does have a fine ass.
Oh my God. What am I thinking? I can’t stare at his ass. Or notice how handsome he is. Or wonder if his hands are as strong as they appear. He was like a brother to me—my best friend—isn’t it creepy if I agree with her? He’s from memories I erased long ago.
And this is why I came into the house in the first place. All I wanted to do was have a few drinks and relax with my friends, but now my head’s all over the place—courtesy of Grant Malone.
“I swore I wouldn’t, and I intend to keep my promise.” She bumps her hip against mine. “Besides, I made your favorite for dessert, so you can’t leave yet.”
Dessert? My ears perk up at the same time I try to fight the smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “Which kind?”
Her laugh fills the small space. “You like all my desserts, so does it really matter?”
“No.” I laugh. And of course, now my mind is on whether she made a lemon tart or cheesecake or . . . crap, she’s right. I’m not going anywhere. Not when her dessert is involved.
“Look, we ran into each other again, and I thought it might be nice for you guys to reconnect. What’s the harm in that? He’s obviously someone from your past. He’s obviously interested in catching up. He’s obviously drop dead attractive. He’s—”
“You’re obviously losing your mind.”
“I meant no harm by it. I promise. I wasn’t even sure he was going to show. We’re typically surrounded by all my friends, so I thought it would be cool if you had your own friend here, too.”
I eye her, knowing I can’t argue since she invited him with nothing but good intentions in mind. “Your friends are my friends,” I say exasperated.
“Exactly. He’s my friend now, too. That means I was allowed to invite him.” Her smile is smug as she expertly maneuvers me into a baseless argument.
“You’re exhausting.”
“And you love me,” she says, refilling my glass of wine.
“Most days.” I take a sip but my eyes are still fixated on Grant Malone, and my mind is still on the confusion seeing him again has created.
“All days.”
I shrug and agree. “All days.”
“Okay, well, I need to get back out there. You coming?”
“In a minute.”