Zach
Damn it, I don’t want to talk about it. Haven’t since it had happened two years ago. A woman and I guy I’d trusted with my life had ground rocks into my face and walked away.
I don’t want to talk about it to beautiful Abby Warren, gazing at me with sympathy in her big brown eyes.
She straightens up. Signals to the waiter. “Does he have any whisky over there? Good stuff?”
The waiter, a young kid probably just thrilled he gets to carry drinks around to drunk wedding partiers, says he’ll check and scuttles away.
“It was a long time ago,” I say. “I’m over it.”
“Don’t lie to me.” Abby leans in. “I was your first, remember?”
The glitter in her hair catches the light. It had sparkled and gleamed while we danced, she laughing at me with her coral-lipsticked mouth. The lipstick is a little smeared now, left on the glasses she’s drunk from, but it doesn’t detract from her at all. Her natural lip color shows through, red and sexy.
“You still remember that awful kiss,” I say, my face warm.
“You remember it too,” she accuses me. “Or you wouldn’t know it was awful.”
“I didn’t know what I was doing.” The young waiter brings over two glasses of amber liquid, neat. I reach into my pocket and toss a twenty onto his tray. “That’s for you.”
The kid stares at it. “Oh, I’m not supposed to accept tips tonight.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” I whisper.
He looks me fully in the eye for the first time then grins and says thanks. The twenty vanishes and the kid walks off with a spring in his step.
“Nice of you.” Abby is happy with me.
“Probably is getting a crap wage from the hotel for working his ass off.” I shrug, lift the whisky. “Here’s to … a great dance.”
Abby clicks her thick glass to mine. “Nah. Here’s to you dodging a bullet.”
I blink, glance around the tent. “What bullet? What are you talking about?”
“I mean your girlfriend. First of all, any woman who walked out on you must be an idiot. You want to be tied to an idiot? Second, she was obviously sizing up your best friend at the same time, and he was … what’s that called? … bird-dogging. Obviously neither of them gave a shit about you. And seriously, they were married by a cheesy Elvis impersonator and thought it romantic? You should be thanking your lucky stars you found out about them before they mired you in their drama and bogged down your entire life. It’s like you finding out you wanted to play football for fun, not make it into work.”
She speaks emphatically, close enough to me that I can breathe her perfume, watch the sparkles in her hair. She punctuates her words with her jabbing fingers. They aren’t sharp claws—she has real nails, neatly trimmed and touched with pink polish.
Abby finishes delivering her speech and lifts her whisky. “So, here’s to you. For being a bad-ass. Free of people who have no brains or compassion.”
“When you put it that way.” I raise my glass. “I am pretty bad-ass, aren’t I?”
“Damn straight.”
We click glasses and down the whisky. I get up and go for more.
I half expect her to be gone when I return, or dancing with a guy who can’t get enough of her. But Abby’s there, watching the crowd bounce up and down to the music, her feet tapping to the beat.
A lady who likes to dance. I picture us in clubs, in the dark, dancing side by side, laughing, or holding each other close.
I push aside the thought. I’m lonely, I’m half drunk, she’s beautiful, and I have a connection to her, if an awkward one, from childhood. I remind myself we’re here to celebrate a wedding, and that’s it.
Abby smiles at me as I hand her the whisky, and my reasoning goes to hell. She’s lovely, she’s funny, and after tonight, it might be a long time before I see her again, if ever. You get swallowed into your routine, and you rarely leave your circle, even with the best intentions.
“Enough about me,” I say, sitting next to her. “What about you? How’s your life treating you?”
Abby takes the glass I hand her, our fingertips brushing. “Oh, you know. You get through it.”
“Let me be nosy now. What have you been up to in the last twenty years?”
Abby laughs, her eyes softening. “Pretty much same as you. High school, college. I moved to Chandler because my parents split up, which you probably know. Lived with my mom—we took care of each other. I always envied you with your big family.”
She sounds wistful. I’ve done my share of complaining about my interfering brothers, and have yelled more than once that I wished I were an only child, but I know I’m lucky. I have three best friends, and because they’re my brothers, if I tell them to get lost for a while, I’m reasonably sure they’ll be around when I’m not as crabby. Same in reverse when they’re sick of me.
“I can’t deny it’s been good,” I say.
Abby perks up, as though she can’t stay down long. “My mom and I were good together too—no huge dramas. She got married a few years ago to a guy who’s been around a long time. Jim. He’s always been like a dad to me.”
Abby appears happy about this, so I figure things turned out for the best.
“You and your brothers work in the same business?” she asks in admiration. “Calandra told me a little bit, but not much—when she talks about Ryan it’s how good-looking he is, and how sweet, and how well he skis, among other things …” She flushes, and I hold up my hands.
“I do not want to know those other things about my brother.”
“I didn’t want to know them either.” Abby’s shuddering with me. “I’m amazed you have a family business in this day and age.”
“It’s more common than you think,” I say. “We’re renovators, sort of. When you move into a house, even a new build, and it’s crap, we come in and replace the junk with decent stuff—appliances, windows, doors, cabinets, whatever. We also work with developers when they’re building in the first place, so the stuff inside the house is better quality.” I screw up my face. “And now I sound like our brochure. Please shut me up.” I drink my whisky in desperation.
“No, it’s cool. I work in a giant corporation on a massive campus—I’m lucky I can find my way to my cubicle. The small business sounds nice.”
“Lots of work, but we do it. Ryan’s the heir apparent.” I gesture with my glass to my brother who is holding his bride, a dazed look on his face. “He works closest with my dad and mom to keep us running. He’ll take over when they retire.” I have no envy about that—better him than me, is my thought. “Ryan is the best bro a bro can have. Ben’s our IT guy.” I point out Ben, two years younger than me. He’s been cornered by Dad’s aunt Mary, and is nodding politely at her—he’s nice like that. “A total geek, but what Ben can’t do with a computer program isn’t worth knowing. Austin is the screw-up.” Austin, the youngest, is dancing with a sleek young woman in a slinky gown—figures. “He’s a good salesman, though. Knows the business and can bring us clients like it’s nothing. Doesn’t break a sweat and is surprised when we mention his talents.”
“And your mom?” Abby glances at my parents, Virginia and Alan, who are surrounded by friends, so happy their firstborn has married a fine young woman. Their words.
“Mom runs all the financials,” I explain. “Without her, we’d be toast. She’s Mrs. Numbers. Ben takes after her.”
Abby pins me with her bewitching gaze. “What about you? Are you management, computer geek, or brilliant salesman masquerading as a screw-up?”
I shrug. “None of those. I take up the slack on what everyone’s too busy for. I keep track of our charitable work, or I’ll land a client Austin’s found, or make sure Ben has the hardware he needs—half the time, I have no idea what the hell Ben’s talking about, but I know where to order it.”
“Ah.” She’s impressed, to my surprise. “You’re the linchpin.”
“I think of it as batting cleanup. You know—if they’re too busy or it’s out of their sphere … call in Zach.”
“And you ballroom dance the clients into submission?” Her nose wrinkles with her smile. It’s adorable.
“Yeah, that’s one part of it.” I give her a wise look. “You’d be amazed how often it comes up.”
“I’ve seen your ads around town,” Abby says. “McLaughlin Renovations. Very functional.”
“It gets the point across. We hired a PR firm once to spread the word, but it cost more than it really helped. I about shit myself when I saw Austin’s face on the side of a bus. I was glad when that ad ended. I was scared to drive anywhere for a while.” I feign a shudder.
Abby chuckles and sips her whisky. “Poor Zach. I asked because that’s what I do—sales.”
“Oh yeah?” I lift my brows. “Do you stroke the merchandise and make it look sexy?”
I’d never have said that if I wasn’t mostly drunk. And she wasn’t so sexy. Would she throw the drink in my face and walk off?
No, she laughs again. Whew.
“I wish,” Abby says. “Selling what my company makes is harder than you think. I have to explain whatever gadget the hot new thing is and why people need it. I don’t always understand what it does myself. I sit in booths at trade fairs and say, We have the latest doo-dad that will increase your productivity ten-thousand percent. Would you like a pen?”
She holds out the rose in demonstration. I take it.
“Why thank you, ma’am,” I drawl. “I’ll order a dozen boxes of your doodads, no problem.” I’d take anything Abby offered me.
“Aren’t you sweet? Most people stare at me blankly and walk away, or they explain why their company’s doodad is so much better than ours.”
“Ungrateful bastards.”
“I always say that.”
“Out loud?”
“Depends.” Abby smiles so wickedly that I want to hold her as close as I had in the tango.
I lay down the rose and stick out my hand. “Want to dance some more? You can barely sit still. Either that or you need the bathroom.”
“Hilarious. Let’s go”
“To the bathroom?”
Abby grabs my hand as she stands up. “If you want. I’m going to dance, my friend.”
And we do. We find the rhythm and shake it—damn, can she shake it. My eyes stay on Abby’s curvy figure, legs that know how to move.
We join hands and do some ballroom dancing to the tunes, for the hell of it. People applaud us. Ryan and Calandra don’t notice—but they don’t need to. They’re lost in their own world, as they should be.
Austin dances up and tries to take Abby away from me, but she, the sweetheart, waves him off. Austin points two fingers at me like, You rock, dude, and gyrates away. Ben’s now dancing with Great Aunt Mary. If I was noble, I’d rescue him, but I have Abby, and Great Aunt Mary is making some good moves.
In the glare of the string lights, with my friends and family dancing like fools around me, Abby is a glow in the grayness. My life isn’t terrible, but there’s not much to it either—day by day fixing problems and helping my parents, hanging out with the brother pack or friends, most nights on my own.
Ryan’s starting his own life now, and it won’t be the same. I’m happy for him, but he’ll be missing in the four-pack. That fact and all the drinking is making me a little sad.
But sadness vanishes when I focus on Abby. Beautiful woman, warm night, hot music. I want more.
Will I have more? That’s a speculation I can’t answer. Whatever Abby’s thinking, she keeps to herself as she dances like a goddess in yellow, a firefly in the dark.
The crowd is well relaxed when Ryan and Calandra, who’d disappeared for a while, reappear dressed for their drive up to the mountains. They’ve decided not to spend the night in the hotel—wise. Ryan doesn’t trust us, his three brothers, to leave them alone. Even Ben would join in the practical jokes.
Calandra’s mom is hugging her, tears in her eyes. Her dad, the same. Shaking Ryan’s hand, as if to say, Take good care of her, son.
Ryan would. Mr. Stevenson didn’t have to worry. The rest of us would take care of Calandra too. She was family now.
Damned if my eyes aren’t wet. Abby and I must have drunk a lot.
Calandra’s ready to throw her bouquet. In the movies, women mob each other to catch it, but the ladies here look almost afraid of it. I don’t know if they’re being nonchalant or in no rush to tie themselves to some guy who can’t wash his own clothes.
Calandra turns her back, Ryan sidestepping out of the way. She tosses.
The bouquet goes up and up—a long, spinning pass. She’s got a good arm, even backwards. Abby watches, bemused, as the bunch of flowers, ribbons fluttering, hits its arc and comes down, down, down …
Straight into the arms of my little brother Ben.
We shout with laughter. Bright red, Ben quickly shoves the bouquet at Great Aunt Mary. She takes it in delight.
“Why thank you, sweetie.” Great Aunt Mary wears a redder lipstick than Abby’s, her silver hair perfectly coiffed. “Wouldn’t mind a little of that action.”
We laugh again, Great Aunt Mary taking the pressure off Ben. It’s why she’s everyone’s favorite.
Ryan and Calandra depart amid hugs, well wishes, and waves.
The DJ continues with the music as Calandra and Ryan vanish into the darkness, but the heart has gone out of the party. People begin drifting away, heading for the hotel rooms booked for the wedding party and guests.
“I guess it’s over.” Abby sorrowfully glances around the emptying dance floor.
“We could go on to a club, if you want.”
She shakes her head, shoulders slumping. “It was more fun with friends and family. Clubs can be … impersonal.”
True. If you aren’t with a group of friends, clubs can be boring as hell. I grope around in my mind, trying to come up with a way we can hang out together longer. The number of places in Phoenix open after nine p.m., even on a Saturday night, are few and far between.
I open my mouth to suggest the bar here at the hotel, when Abby says, “Walk me to my room?”
As I stare, my mouth frozen in its open position, Abby flushes. “I’m a little drunk,” she says hurriedly. “I don’t want to be found face-down in the hall in the morning.”
“Sure.” I’m a gallant gentleman. Of course I’ll escort a lady home.
I offer my arm, and she takes it. We’re both unsteady, and she leans into me, soft woman against my side.
No one comments on us leaving. Most of the guests are gone anyway, except Ben. I feel his eyes on my back, but Ben I trust. He’s not one to gossip and ruin a lady’s rep.
The hotel is a swank one, with many wings surrounding the grounds—giant pool, open air patio, perfect for our winter weather, beautiful on a mild April night.
Abby’s on the second floor, in a suite. Apparently they dressed the bride there.
We take the elevator, too shaky to walk up a flight of stairs, and find her door. Abby fishes her key from a tiny pocket in her dress, a pocket that would never fit more than a key card. She starts to hover the card over the reader, and hesitates.
“Want to come in?” she asks in a shy voice.
Do I? Shit, yeah. Heat rocks my body, though she’s only asked me to go inside. Maybe to help her clean up from the bridal outfitting. I picture female accoutrements everywhere—gloves, hats, ribbons, whatever women wear to weddings these days. Maybe even embarrassing pieces of underwear.
Then again, Abby’s smile doesn’t tell me she’s interested in a little housecleaning.
I swallow. “Sure,” I try to say casually. The word is a hoarse grunt. “Why not?”
I take the key from her and wave it over the pad. Fortunately, the light turns green on the first try, so I don’t have to make several clumsy attempts.
The lock clicks. I shove the door all the way open, gesturing Abby inside. “After you, my lady.”