Rusty Nailed (Cocktail, #2)(46)

“Um, maybe. Littlefield sounds familiar,” Simon puzzled as we walked.

“It’s Henderson now; she’s my wife.”

“You’re married? Wow,” Simon exclaimed, shaking his head.

“Yep, this past summer,” he said proudly, waggling his ring finger in Simon’s face.

“Wow,” he repeated, and looked at me.

I just laughed and crooked my arm through his. “Come on, Homecoming King.”

We grabbed a drink at the bar, said hello to a few more people, and sat down with his friends. And I say that broadly, because everyone here seemed to have been friends with him at one time or another. As I sipped my cocktail, I watched some of the girls begin to circle. Simon had obviously been a big swinging dick around here, and I wondered how many of them had taken a turn on that swing . . .

I met Trevor’s wife before they started serving dinner, and as Simon left me to go say hello to an old teacher, I chatted with her. Megan had gone to school with them, two years younger.

“Didn’t matter, though; everyone knew Simon. He was the guy every girl wanted.” She sighed, a dreamy look on her face. Then she caught herself, and looked guiltily at me. “Sorry, is that weird?”

“Nope, I totally get it.” I smiled, maybe smirking a little bit. He was shaking hands with an older gentleman, the teacher, I assumed. “So you just got married, huh? Congratulations.”

“Thanks! It was great. We had it here, even though we live in New York now. It was just easier with the families being here.”

“New York? State or city?”

“City. So both, right?” She laughed.

“And what do you do there?” I asked.

“I’m not working anymore. I worked until we got engaged, for the Food Network? I was a food stylist. Anyway, once we started planning the wedding, it was just too hard, commuting here to organize everything, so I quit. We got married at—”

I was seeing stars.

“Sorry, I can’t even pretend to have heard anything you said after Food Network. You worked there! And you quit there! Why, woman—why in God’s name?” I cried, my jaw hanging open so wide it was a good thing we were sitting down. Otherwise I’d trip.

She laughed and raised her eyebrows. “Let me guess. Barefoot Contessa?”

“Yes!” I screamed. Everyone stopped to look at us, and I turned red. Simon looked over from the bar, and I gave him the all clear.

I regrouped. “I mean, yes, I am a fan,” I said coolly.

“Me too. She’s super nice.”

“You’ve met her?”

This time Simon excused himself from who he was talking to and started toward me, Trevor and the apostles in tow.

I know it’s not logical; I know it’s not even physically possible—but I swear on all that is holy, they walked in slow motion. Like in some kind of action movie. Simon took point, Trevor just off to his left, and the rest slightly behind, like geese in a V. Everyone stopped to watch. It was like the sexiest train wreck ever; no one could look away.

I’d say it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop, but music from the early 2000s was on heavy rotation, and 50 Cent’s “In Da Club” gave the boys their own soundtrack. All I saw were the sapphires, and they were laser locked and speaking volumes. I was familiar with this Simon.

Strong Simon. Authoritative Simon. Big Swinging Dick Simon. And on this, I could confirm.

Wallbanger Simon.

He reached our table, sat down next to me with an amused look on his face, and slid his arm around my shoulder.

Oh. My. God. Simon Parker put his arm around me! Like, in front of everyone!

Wait, this wasn’t high school. This wasn’t even my high school. But that didn’t stop girls from throwing eye daggers at me from all corners of the room. I smirked a little, preening with my shoulder candy.

“You want to tell me why you’re over here screaming?” he whispered into my ear, and I melted. But before I melted totally, I got control.

“Your girl Megan here has met Ina Garten, in person!” I announced, looking fondly at her. “You’re my new best friend!”

“I bet I could get you a signed cookbook,” she offered.

“Trevor, your wife is the coolest person ever,” I gushed. “I’m buying you a drink—what’re you drinking?”

“Just club soda,” she said, casting a shy smile at Trevor, who beamed.

I looked between them, then arched my eyebrow at Megan, who nodded. “Congratulations! Wow, that’s great! You must not be far along, you’re so tiny!” I gushed.

“Wait, what’d I miss?” Simon asked.

“She’s only about eight weeks—we just found out.” Trevor grinned, taking her hand across the table.

“Wait, what’d I miss?”

“That’s so great,” I said. “And so soon after the wedding. What a year for you— What, Simon?” He was tapping me on the shoulder.

“I don’t get it. What’s eight weeks?” he asked, looking bewildered.

“She’s pregnant,” I said, rolling my eyes at Megan, who responded in kind.

Simon looked at Trevor in shock. “Dude?”

Trevor nodded. “Dude.”

Simon digested, then grinned wide. “Dude!”