Arm Candy (Real Love #2)(36)

“Since these boys are pansies, allow me to take you up on the offer,” Charmaine tells Simps. She loops her arm in his and walks with him to the back of my house. I hear her add, “That way if we kiss, we’ll be on even ground.”

“She’s something else.” Vince shakes his head as we hear the balcony door open and shut.

This past summer, Char offered Vince sex in no uncertain terms. He declined—he was already seeing Jackie—and then he asked why I never dated Char. The answer is simple: I don’t date or screw chicks I work with. Even if we aren’t showing up at the office together, Char is a no-go for me. She is a blonde, and an attractive one at that, but not my type.

Now that I think about it, I always told myself Char wasn’t my type because she was bawdy and a touch too bold. Sounds like a certain wily redhead, doesn’t it?

“I didn’t put those two together.” Vince tips his head toward the back bedroom.

“Char and Simpson,” I comment, having never thought of it before. Simps is a good guy. Smart, funny, and not a dick to women. Char is tough but prides herself on being, as she calls herself, a classy lady.

I notice Vince’s empty bottle. “One more?”

“Sure, why not?”

At the fridge, I answer his question. “Because Jackie has your balls in her pocket and wants you home by eleven?”

“Nice try. You’re just bitter because you’re alone.”

I hand over his beer and Vince takes the opportunity to be sincere instead of berating me further. Honestly, either was fine. I’m used to him giving me shit. Dudes aren’t known for their sensitivity with each other.

“Sorry about you and Grace.”

“Why?” I’m genuinely perplexed for a few seconds. I prop my feet on Char’s abandoned chair and cross my legs at the ankles.

“Jackie was pretty excited when Grace mentioned you two were seeing each other. She said you were—and this is a quote—‘perfect’ together.”

“How did she—?” and then I remember how Vince and Jackie scoured the town looking for me not too long ago. “My wedding day,” I conclude, pulling a hand down my face. “You worry too much.”

“Davis.”

Vince was ankle deep in the sand with me on my wedding day. He witnessed every agonizing second of my waiting for my no-show bride. He was there afterward, too, for as long as he could be before he and Leslie had to fly home. And he was there way after the fact when I returned home and didn’t know my ass from my elbow. It’s more than I can say for every other person who attended. I don’t talk to any of them anymore.

“You can alleviate Jackie-O’s concerns.” I drink from my fresh Sam Adams. “Grace and I picked things up again.”

Vince’s eyebrows climb his disgustingly handsome face. His dark hair and blue eyes make us mortal men peasantlike by comparison.

“That’s great,” he tells me, but I can tell he’s waiting for more. When I don’t offer it, he pushes. “What’s going on?”

I shrug. “She chose a package and ended things and then showed up at my house on the night you told her not to.”

He ignores the package reference, because he’s busted my balls about it too many times to count. Instead he addresses the alarming fact I just shared.

“Grace came to your house on your former wedding day?”

I nod.

“And you let her in.” This is stated in rigid monotone, Vince’s narrowing gaze suggesting he’s wondering who body-snatched me.

“I was on my way out to see her anyway. No reason not to let her in.” I frown, uncomfortable with the look of alarm on Vince’s face.

“Are you going to make me play one hundred questions, or are you going to fess up and tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“Nothing’s going on. We ended, then we started up again. What’s the big deal?” But even as I ask, a prickling, uncomfortable sensation climbs my neck. This isn’t typical for me and Vince knows it.

“Oh, I don’t know, could it be because Grace is the first woman you’ve really dated since Hanna?”

I shrug again.

“It’s significant, Davis.”

“It’s not an issue, Carson,” I snap, using his last name.

Vince leans on the kitchen table, hand wrapped around his beer bottle. “I’m going to break this down for you, because you would do the same for me.”

He waits for me to argue, but I don’t. He’s right. I would absolutely break things down for him if there was a bigger picture to which he was blind. I care about the guy, and he cares about me too.

“Six years ago,” he continues, “Hanna left you standing barefoot on the beach when she didn’t show up for your nuptials. You spent your honeymoon solo—unless rum counts as a companion—”

“Sometimes rum is the best companion.”

“—and since then you’ve been face-planting onto every blonde who crosses your path without coming up for air.” Vince pauses to think. “Almost every blonde. Charmaine wasn’t on your to-do list.”

I nod my affirmation.

“And then you start dating Grace, who you tried to get me to ask out, I might add.”

“Only because someone should. Anyway, she bet me two hundred dollars I wouldn’t ask out the next nonblonde who approached me. You know I can’t pass on a sure thing.”