Arm Candy (Real Love #2)(61)

“She’s not ready,” I tell Vince.

We’re at the bar at McGreevy’s. Grace isn’t working tonight, but her brethren are. Whenever Candace or the other girl wanders by, I change the subject.

“I can sense it. I rushed it.”

“You’re going to have to back up.” Vince takes his coat off and sits down. This isn’t the first time I’ve bombarded him the second he enters the room. “What did you rush?”

I take a drink of my beer and then another as Vince raises his hand to get Candace’s attention.

“What can I getcha, sugar?” she asks him. He orders a draft and Candace pours his beer. She delivers it and pats my hand before walking away.

“What was that about?” Vince asks.

I shrug. “Beats me.”

“Looked like she was consoling you.”

I laught, but…was she consoling me?

“You do look a little George Bailey sitting there.”

I meet the eyes of my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. My tie is loose and the collar of my jacket is sticking up on one side. I jerk it into place, but Vince has a point. My posture is a cross between It’s a Wonderful Life’s downtrodden protagonist and Lord of the Rings’ lurching Gollum. I straighten my tie, then my back.

“How long did you wait to tell Jackie you loved her?”

“Fuck me, that’s what this is about?” Vince’s eyes go wide.

“Thanks a lot,” I grumble, feeling worse.

“It was after our ‘dark moment of the soul.’?”

He says it so seriously, I scrunch my face.

“After you tried to pry my head out of my ass and it didn’t work,” he explains. “And after you appealed to Jackie’s sensibility. I owe you for that one. I’ll buy your beer.”

“You’re going to have to do more than buy me a beer.” I shake my head at my own stupidity. “Grace is freaking out.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Let’s just say I know what it looks like when a woman is about to freak out.” My tone is martini dry.

“Fair enough.” Vince lifts his glass. “When are you seeing her next?”

“I haven’t talked to her since she left my place without a goodbye yesterday.”

My best friend’s expression is foreboding.

“What?” I bark.

“Nothing. Jesus! Calm down.” Vince laughs. I might be overreacting. I’d love it if I were overreacting. “Everything is fine, Kemosabe. So you love her? So what? At least you told her that instead of cramming your head in your ass.”

He gulps his beer.

“Here’s the deal,” Vince says. “Tonight, meet her. If she starts any sentence with the words ‘I’ve been thinking,’ interrupt and tell her you’ve been thinking too. Tell her you didn’t mean to smother her. That you’re just so into her you got ahead of yourself.”

His logic is stunning in its simplicity. My rigid shoulders lower a few inches.

“It’s hard to know what to do,” he continues. “You were almost married. Then you went from forever with Hanna to being content to bang every broad in town and not get tied down.”

“Broad? What is this? Film noir?”

Vince laughs.

“I don’t feel tied down.” It may be the first time I’ve admitted it aloud. “And this will not surprise you at all, but the women I dated before? I was just killing time.”

“We don’t think deeply about that kind of stuff. We just do it. We’re doers.” Vince stops short of banging his chest like King Kong.

“How did you get those women to want you, Davis?” Vince asks, his smile smug.

I narrow my eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you a dose of your own advice. How did you keep them wanting more?”

I take a breath and blow it out. I didn’t sit and psychoanalyze every nuance of what we did together, that’s how. A night of sex was followed by a normal morning, not second-guessing.

“Shut up,” I tell my best buddy.

“You’re worrying too much.”

“Fuck off.”

He spares me his next bout of laughter. We turn our attention to the television.

But he’s smiling. I can sense it.

The bastard.





Grace


It’s a rare occasion when my mother and I get together, but she’s throwing a ladies’ luncheon for a few of her single clients and asked me to help her plan. If anything can bond the Buchanan women, it’s planning a party.

“You’re welcome to come, even though you’ve never been divorced. All single woman are welcome.”

We’re in a spice store, and I stop at a rack of various hot chocolate mixes. I’ve had my eye on the cayenne one since we set foot in here. I pretend to be fascinated with the ingredients on the back of the tin.

“Grace.” She drags out my name likes she’s scolding me.

“Yes, Mom?” I place the tin on the shelf.

“What’s going on?”

I could lie. I should lie. But I don’t. I put two tins of the hot chocolate into my basket and tell her the summarized truth.