Simon.
He was leading a gray-haired woman in a jaunty waltz in the middle of the street, dressed in a black tux tailored to perfection. Gone were the jeans and simple T-shirt that he’d worn the last time I’d seen him. He looked every inch the Southern gentlemen-politician in black tie. Several women in matching seafoam green dresses watched him like he was last Versace dress in creation designed by Gianni himself. Bridesmaids. A surge of jealousy ripped through me to think about Simon as the stereotypical groomsman who would, by the end of the night, undoubtedly have the opportunity to nail one—or more—of them. I suddenly felt ridiculous. I looked down at the nine dollar wine in my glass, my wife beater, tight, pale gray skinny jeans, and two dollar flip-flops. For a split second I wished I still had some of the wardrobe that would put those bitches to shame. I gave myself a mental shake. No. That’s not me. And it’ll never be me again.
I shouldn’t have called him. Shouldn’t have left that stupid message. I’d never belong in his world. And what’s more, I didn’t want to belong there. I didn’t.
I turned away from the parade, spirits doused, and struggled to fit my key into the lock. My hand shook, and I kept missing the tiny keyhole. A large, tanned hand closed over mine. A second hand gripped the bars and trapped me in the circle of his arms.
I stared down at the white dress shirt and monogrammed silver cufflink peeking out from the sleeve of his black jacket.
He spoke into my ear, his voice low and gravelly. “If I keep seeing you, I’m going to take it as a sign.”
I swallowed and squeezed my eyes shut. Huck growled, but I reached out a hand and patted his head through the bars. He quieted and lay down against the gate. I turned in Simon’s arms, careful to avoid spilling my wine, and stared up at him. At five-four, I wasn’t exactly short, but he dwarfed me, especially when we were this close. He had to be almost a foot taller than me, and with his broad shoulders filling my view, I couldn’t see anything but him.
Rather than his face, I focused on the black studs in his pristine white tux shirt, and cleared my throat.
“A sign of what exactly?”
He released the bars of the gate and tilted my chin up so I was forced to meet his eyes.
“I’m not sure. Maybe just my own good luck because I wanted to see you again.” He paused before adding, “Have dinner with me.”
I forced a humorless laugh. “I think you’re a little busy right now.” The crowd had started to move again, although slowly, but he was going to be left behind if he didn’t rejoin the wedding party.
He glanced over his shoulder and nodded. “Later. After the reception. Meet me somewhere.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Charlie—”
His words were cut off when someone yelled, “Duchesne, let’s go!”
I spun and shoved my key into the lock. Simon’s heat melted away as he stepped back.
“I’m guessing, based on the monster dog, this is where you live?”
I didn’t reply. I pulled the gate open and slipped inside. Simon didn’t try to stop me as I maneuvered around Huck and shut the gate in his face.
From behind the safety of my iron bars, I finally found the courage to look up at him again. His hazel eyes burned into me.
“I want to see you again. Just dinner. Or drinks. Your choice.”
“I think you should go. You’re losing your friends.”
“I’ll catch up. Just give me your number. Please, Charlie.”
I shook my head. He made me want things I couldn’t have. “Maybe I’ll see you around, Simon.” I turned and walked down my narrow corridor back to the safety of my garden oasis.
I thought about getting hammered at the reception, but I didn’t want to be that guy. Besides, there were too many flashing cameras to catch any missteps I might make. So I gave my toast. Tasteful, heartfelt. Derek and I had been friends since we were old enough to climb through the fence that separated my parents’ Garden District home from his. Given the close connection between our families¸ my parents had attended the wedding, though not the parade. My father was two weeks out from a knee replacement and would be recuperating through the summer at the house in Bar Harbor. Which meant I’d be saved from their meddling in my love life—or lack thereof—for two months. I loved them to death, but they were relentless in their quest to see me settle down. My father’s lectures about finding a woman who would be an asset to my political career were enough to make me want to find the nearest bottle of scotch. I didn’t want an asset; I wanted a best friend, a lover, a partner, someone I could depend on and raise a family with. At thirty-one, my friends were pairing off, and it occurred to me that I wanted that too. Not today, or maybe even this year, but sometime in the foreseeable future. Except I certainly wasn’t settling until I found the one. It was corny and cliché, but I was only planning on doing the marriage thing once. So I’d wait until I found her.
I pictured the woman who’d effectively shut me out earlier today. Charlie. I didn’t know her, or know anything about her, but I wanted to have the chance to get to know her. It was a nebulous feeling, but it seemed imperative. I didn’t want to let her walk away, but I wasn’t the kind of guy to keep going back where I clearly wasn’t welcome. She was just so damn different from every other woman I’d ever met. She wore her attitude like armor, daring someone to challenge her so she could tell him to fuck off. I shouldn’t have found it so appealing, especially because I was the one she’d most recently told to fuck off. But it was. She made no apologies for who she was, and it was sexy as hell. And I needed to move on.