“We can do better than that.” He turns back to the bartender with two fingers up and arches an eyebrow at me. “Another round?”
“Let’s do it.”
Armed with our refilled glasses, we grab a cocktail table off to the side. Both of us are visibly more relaxed than we were ten minutes ago.
Taking in the fine quality of his fitted suit, I sigh. “I feel under-dressed.”
“You look gorgeous.” His dark eyes rove up and down my frame. “I noticed how good you looked before the auction.”
I blink in surprise. “Really?”
“Sure did.” He nods slowly. “And I wasn’t in any condition to be noticing beautiful women at that moment, and I still clocked you.”
“Well, thank you.” My cheeks flush under his appreciative stare. “As much I appreciate the compliment, I still feel basic. I mean, you’re in a bowtie.”
“Oh, that.” He groans and tugs off the tie and tosses it carelessly on the tablecloth. He removes his pocket square and cufflinks. “How’s that?”
“Much better.” I cock my head to the side. “Did they make you get a tux for tonight?”
He grits his teeth. “Actually, I was already wearing this for something else.”
“What, were you going to prom?”
“My wedding.”
I burst into another fit of laughter. It takes a full minute for me to realize he isn’t laughing either.
I blink rapidly. “Wait, are you serious.”
“I’m afraid so.” Taking a deep gulp of his tequila, he leans forward and fills me in on the last few weeks of his life.
By the time he finishes with how he ran out on his wedding and accidentally found himself being auctioned off for a date, my jaw is basically on the ground.
“Oh my God.” I blanch. “You poor guy.” I grab two glasses of champagne from a passing server and thrust one at him. “Here. It sounds like you could use this.”
“Thanks.” He once again raises his glass to mine. “To better company.”
“To narrow escapes.” Our glasses clink and we drink.
By now, the full effects of our recent rounds and my pre-gaming are in full effect. I’m not exactly wobbly on my feet, but I’d much rather be sitting than standing at a cocktail table.
“Have you eaten?” I ask.
“Not since breakfast.” He shakes his head. “Should we grab a bite?”
“I could eat.” I rub my stomach which is in real danger of rumbling with hunger. “What’s good and fast around here?”
His lips curve up into a half grin that makes my heart skip a beat. “I know a place.”
Somewhere between a plate of nachos and a few more tequila shots, Josh and I are well past our initial stilted conversation.
Shrugging out of his tuxedo jacket and casting it aside, he leans toward me, shouting to be heard over the mariachi band. “It’s like my buddy Jesse says. I’m too damn trusting.”
“I can totally see it.” I rub my back against the booth and end up wiggling closer to him. “But, also, that old friend from high school wasnota good friend.”
“You’re right. She was a bad friend.” He nods emphatically. “Not like you. You’re a good friend.”
“I am a good friend. Just like you would be a great husband.”
