Arm Candy (Real Love #2)(6)

I put down the hand mirror after admiring the straight, smooth hairdo she’s given me, with only a passing thought about how Davis preferred my curls the other day.

“Let me see it again.” I put down the mirror.

Rox knows what I’m talking about and it sure as hell isn’t my hair. She thrusts her hand in front of my face and I’m blinded by a gorgeous diamond set in fourteen-karat gold and surrounded by other smaller, shining stones.

I cradle her hand in mine. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She gives me a playful shove as she fetches the broom from the pantry and starts sweeping the inch she trimmed off my ends. “I know you don’t buy into the whole matrimony thing, Grace. It’s okay.”

She hoists a dark brown eyebrow and pushes her hair behind her ears before continuing to sweep. Rox, like any hairdresser worth her salt, has phenomenal hair. Smooth, straight, and down to her elbows. She prefers to keep her natural dark color but always has a few pieces of bright purple or royal blue—or both—peeking out from underneath.

“Yes, but for you I make an exception,” I say sweetly. I stand, remove the plastic cape responsible for keeping the hair dye off my person, and carefully carry it outside to give it a good shake. Back inside I continue. “I’m still coping with the fact that you didn’t call me until two days after it happened.”

Rox, done sweeping, gives me a sheepish look. “I’d apologize by asking you to be in the wedding, but Mark is talking about a destination wedding and I wasn’t sure you’d want the expense.”

“Oh, like Puerto Vallarta?”

“Or Cancún.”

We both purr at the same time, then giggle at our shared brains.

“That’s nice, though!” I argue. “If you’re going to do it, do it right.”

“Yeah, well, it’ll be awhile. He’s not done with his master’s degree yet.”

“No harm in waiting until you’re ready.”

Rox stands in front of me and cocks her head. “I could say the same thing to you.”

“I’m not even dating! How could I be waiting to get married?” I chuckle as I fold the cape, but my stomach does a sickening flop. Marriage, even talking about it as if it’s way out in the future, is a terrifying prospect. And not just because my parents hated each other and divorced after I graduated from high school.

They stayed together for me. (Gee, thanks, guys.) Growing up with that sort of animosity around doesn’t foster visions of dream weddings. Logically I know my parents are individuals and their marriage doesn’t set the tone for anyone but them. But the idea of falling in love and watching it devolve into hate—or, worse, ambivalence—terrifies me.

“What about that guy…? What’s his name?” Rox asks.

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

“You do too! The one who wore the hipster-style black glasses. And rolled his skinny pants at the ankles.”

“Ugh. Micah.” I was trying to forget about him.

“Micah. He was cute.”

“He was okay.”

“You only went out with him three times.”

“That’s because I thought okay would graduate to not bad. By date three he’d gone from okay to meh. Once they slide down the scale, I’m out.”

Rox lets out a small laugh. “You’re quick to cut them loose.”

Better a fast death than a slow, dragged-out one.

“There’s no such thing as—”

“Mr. Right,” she finishes for me.

“There’s not.”

“It doesn’t mean you can’t have great sex in the meantime,” Rox says as she continues sweeping.

It’s not a throwaway statement. Rox knows of what she speaks. She was the epitome of the girl who didn’t want to settle down. She played the field quite a bit, and I don’t mean that in a slutty way. I mean she played the players, and she was damn good at it. And then she took a class at the community college where Mark was teaching applied physics. His big brain won Roxanne’s big heart.

Go figure.

“I don’t go anywhere except work and here. How am I supposed to meet anyone besides drunk guys on the other side of the bar?”

“What about coworkers?” she asks, stashing the broom back where she found it.

“None I’d consider.” But my mind is locked on Davis. He’s not drunk and belligerent. However, he’s typically on a date with a blonde, so I don’t consider him an option. Even though lately our animosity has turned borderline friendly. I remember the way he stood up to bail me out of the cherry-stem incident the other day, and warmth gathers in the pit of my stomach.

“Whoa. Who is he?” Rox asks.

I blink to focus on her saucy smile and raised eyebrows. “Who is who?”

“Whoever you thought of just now. Your entire posture changed. You got this far-off look in your eyes and you’re twirling your hair.”

I pull my fingers from the sleek strands in a rush to prove her wrong, but when I shrug, my movements are jerky. “No one.”

“And your voice went up an octave. Don’t keep potential Mr. Right from me.” Rox trudges over and clings to my shirtsleeve. “Pleeeease.”