On the Rocks(73)

“Good idea,” I said with a smile as I handed him the bottle. “There’s a corkscrew in the top drawer next to the stove. I’ll be right back.”

I walked down the hall past the front door and the bathroom and into my bedroom. When I closed the door, I found myself wondering if maybe what I had been looking for had been here the entire time. Maybe the concept of Bobby and me wasn’t completely crazy. We got along great, we both appreciated verbal sparring and combative banter, and we both agreed that Dark ’n’ Stormys are one of the most underrated cocktails on planet Earth. Since when can those things not be considered a sufficient basis for forming a relationship? What are you, crazy? I thought as I immediately pushed the idea from my mind. My friendship with Bobby was by far the healthiest relationship I’d ever had with a guy, and I refused to ruin it by developing feelings for him. I shook my head and reminded myself that I was just trying to feel a little less lonely after the wedding, and that the concept of ever getting romantically involved with Bobby was a train wreck waiting to happen. Besides, he was a better dresser than I was, and I had no interest in dating a man with a better wardrobe than I had. Now that I thought about it, I wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t gay and just didn’t know it yet.

I unzipped my dress, kicked it off into the corner of the room, and changed into some much-welcome sweats. Before I had time to take the earrings out of my ears, I heard banging in my kitchen, and then the unmistakable sound of a cocktail shaker in action.

When I went back to the kitchen, the mystery bag was open, and the bottle of wine was sitting on the counter. Next to it was a bottle of tequila, a bottle of triple sec, a box of salt, and a container of lime juice that had apparently been squeezed before being packed into Bobby’s portable Mexican cocktail kit. He was shaking a metal shaker like a maraca when I entered.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked.

“Forgive me, but I didn’t think wine was going to be strong enough for you,” he said as he danced and shook his money-maker around my kitchen. “You had a rough week, so I thought I’d bring over a proper cocktail. How do you like your margaritas? I probably should know that by now.”

“On the rocks,” I said. It was appropriate when I thought about it. On the rocks: my cocktails, my personal life, my mental state. If I had a car I’d make that my vanity plate.

“On the rocks it is,” he said as he popped ice cubes out of the tray he had removed from my freezer. He dropped cubes into the wineglasses and filled them with the now properly chilled cocktail, and handed me one. “Voilà,” he said as he handed me the glass. “Listen, I don’t mean to kick you when you’re down, but I couldn’t help but notice what you have in your freezer.”

“I had a rough breakup, I told you.”

“Do you actually have all thirty-one Baskin-Robbins flavors in there? Is every Girl Scout troop in Boston coming over to make sundaes? Or is that actually all for you?”

“I plead the fifth.”

“Ah, lawyering the lawyer. Okay, be that way. I don’t think you really need all that comfort food anymore considering how much better you’re doing since you met me. Maybe it’s time to throw them away . . . toss them right down the garbage chute with that dress.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said. Cleaning out my ice cream stash would be like getting rid of old friends. I pushed the thought from my mind. That would be tomorrow’s horror.

“Don’t think about it. Do it,” he said he collapsed on my couch. I followed him, stopping to grab the stereo remote control off my oval wooden coffee table. I hit Play, and the CD player came on.

“Ella Fitzgerald, huh?” he asked.

“Yeah, I love her.”

“Doesn’t it make you feel like you live in a Pottery Barn or something?”

“Not until this moment, no. Anyway, you listen to the Beastie Boys at the beach. You cannot judge my choice in music.”

“I’m not judging. I actually like jazz a lot. There’s a club in the Back Bay I go to sometimes on Saturday nights. They have an awesome jazz band. You should check it out sometime.”

I should check it out. Sure, Bobby, that’s what I should do. Go sit in a dark bar where people aren’t allowed to speak, alone. That’s the way to meet someone. Thanks for that.

“How was the wedding? Did you have fun?”

“It was okay,” I muttered. “Going alone was kind of a buzz-kill, but otherwise it was fun.”

“Why didn’t you bring a date?”

“What? Are you serious? You’ve had a front-row seat to my dating catastrophes this summer. Who should I have brought with me? The pink-pants-wearing architect was out of the question because I couldn’t fit a fire extinguisher in my purse.”

“I don’t know. You could’ve brought a friend or something.”

A friend? What, like you? Did he just ask me why I didn’t bring him to the wedding? Am I in Oz?

“Nah, I didn’t want to bring a friend to a family event like that where I’d be preoccupied tending to my sister half the night. Works out well for you, though. If I had, I might have gone out somewhere afterward, and you’d have packed your boozy travel kit for nothing.”

“Good point.”

“Wanna see what’s on TV?” I asked as I switched off the CD player and turned on the Sony flat screen hanging on the wall facing my couch. I sat down next to him and flipped through the channel guide. Pretty Woman was playing. Jackpot.