Accidental Tryst (Charleston #1)(65)

"Which is ironic because he's likely less than three hundred yards away from us."

"Exactamente. This is crazy."

I let out a sigh and texted him back.



* * *



Yes. But your phone was dead and I couldn't tell you. Sorry.



* * *



Another text came through as I negotiated the cobblestones in Annie's shoes.



* * *



Suit Monkey: Tomorrow we'll meet up and trade phones. You should know I'm following your advice tonight.



* * *



What about?



* * *



Suit Monkey: Getting to know my family.



* * *



Good luck. No matter how much they've upset you, family is precious.



* * *



Then I felt a little on my high horse.



* * *



But also, take no shit. Gotta go.



* * *



Armand grew exasperated. "We should go home," he moaned. "Actually, better idea, let's walk back two minutes and you can have this conversation with him in person."

"No way," I said, and at that moment our Uber arrived. I shrugged at Armand then got in the back seat. "Anyway, he's with his family. I promise as soon as we get there, I'll put it away and not think about it."

He climbed in behind me, and the car began moving. "Do you want to hear from him again?"

"I—" I looked out the window as the sidewalks flashed by. "Yes. No. I don't know."

"Let me help you. The answer is yes. So stop brushing him off."

I glared at him. "He's a man-whore," I hissed.

Armand shrugged. "Why do you say that?"

Pulling up all the dating apps, I started reading them out loud. "Why does this not bother you?" I asked when I got to the end.

"Because I don't think it's a big deal. So he dates? So what? That's what normal hot-blooded single people in their thirties do. It's what I do."

"So you're okay if I show up sobbing into my granola in your restaurant with a broken heart," I snapped.

"Oh, mi amor. Listen to yourself."

"What? Okay, maybe not a broken heart, but you know what I mean. A very bruised ego. I'd like him way more than he’d like me, and then he'd be gone, and I'd be here."

"So you should stay in your safe castle with your kitty cat. No chance of getting hurt. Or having fun." Armand shook his head at me.

"Stop looking at me like that!" I turned my head away in irritation. "I have fun."

He shrugged. "Sure. How long has it been again?"

"Ugh. I haven't found anyone I could be bothered to get naked for." Until Trystan, I added in my head.

"Well, let's hope he's as taken with you as you seem to be with him. Because one of you needs to take the first step, and I guess it needs to be him."



* * *



The beat of the Latin music spilled out onto the night air outside the club. Annie, Armand, and I had been coming to Django since we were friends in college. Being from Colombia in South America, he'd sought out any flavor that reminded him of home. But the lines on Friday and Saturday nights had become annoying. Not enough to stop coming, obviously, but still.

"Remember when this place was uncool?" Armand grumbled.

"Was just thinking the same thing. It's like when your best-kept-secret breakfast place three doors down is suddenly seven deep at the counter when you're late for work and only want a coffee." I looked at Armand pointedly and slipped my arm through his. Heads of all genders swiveled as we passed because Armand was basically a dead ringer for Enrique Iglesias with slightly longer hair.

"I told you I can have a cappuccino ready to go at the same time every morning. You just need to get into a routine."

"I know, I know." I was chronically disorganized in the mornings.

Greeting the guy who'd worked the door as long as we'd been going, we then slipped through the rope and into the darkness and the swirling sultry beat.

Keeping my promise to Armand, I handed him my phone since I had no evening purse. It lit up as he took it.

"What?" I shouted.

"Nothing," he mouthed and slipped the phone into his back pocket. Then he made a let's get drinks motion, and I followed him to the bar.





31





Emmy





Annie, Armand, and I had decided long ago that there was no point standing around drinking fancy drinks here because you couldn't talk over the music. So we either took a shot of Patron or drank water, and then we danced. It made things easier. Armand mimed short or long with his fingers to distinguish the two drinks. I held my thumb and forefinger out in an approximation of a shot glass. Smiling and nodding at regulars we knew, I scanned the bar area. There were lots of new faces and several men looked boldly at me, trying to catch my eye. Their gazes dropped away as Armand came back to my side.

We both took a shot and made it onto the dance floor as the DJ began spinning a classic Colombian cumbia beat in with the dance music. Armand's mother had insisted he learn to dance as a child, and I for one was thankful. The man's hips did not lie. He was a sensual and beautiful creature when he danced, and he made me look freaking awesome. We swirled, sidestepped, ground together, swayed, and danced ourselves into a sweaty stupor for the next hour. We moved together so well we often drew a small crowd. It was a high like nothing else when we were absolutely nailing it like this, it was like having pure sexual heroine running through my veins. It made me feel powerful and strong.