Damn. Maybe he’s gay!“Out?” she asked, trying to lag behind Darcy’s lead.
“I just retired from the army after twenty. It’s good to be back in New York and civilian life.”
Whew. Maybe not gay.“Are you from the city?”
“I’m a born and bred Manhattanite.” He grinned, two dimples winking back at her.
And that’s when she knew she was totally screwed.Dimples.
The thing is, usually, when her lady bits spoke, there was little she could do about it—other than the obvious—but she had no choice but to ignore the flutter. And while she may have had that minor, very temporary lapse of judgment with George, this guy was family!
They settled at an intimate table in the corner of the dining room, and following Darcy’s ordering of wine, his phone rang.
“This better be good,” he said, then grimaced, mouthing, “I’m sorry,” when he placed the phone to his ear.
“Hey, no problem. I get it—you’re an important guy.”
Darcy left the table, followed by Pete, who had eyes on them from the bar.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” Rick asked with a chuckle in his voice.
“I confess, I don’t,” she said.
“Maybe it’s just as well.”
“Oh, c’mon! You have to tell me.”
“Regretfully, I threw you into my aunt Catherine’s koi pond when you were about twelve.”
She laughed. “I remember that! You were the pimply fat kid?”
“That was me.”
“Boy, you’ve changed.”
“So have you, String Bean.” They both laughed.
Her gaze raked him over. Yeah. He certainly had changed.
“So, Gigi tells me you’re an interior designer. What’s that like?”
“Oh! I love it. William helped me to open my consulting firm, and I guess, my first few clients were his business associates, but now I’m doing the hustle, pitted against the multi-generational design firms of Madison Avenue and Manhattan’s wealthy mavens.”
“I bet you handle them all just fine.”
“I try. I mean, I’m not professionally trained, but it sort of comes naturally since I’ve always loved design and playing with different styles, whether it be fashion or home. I would like to go back to school eventually.”
Talking to Rick felt so comfortable. She didn’t feel the need to impress or put on airs or even seduce him to be heard or even liked. Oddly, not even Darcy knew she wanted to go back to school for a design degree.
“How about you? Did you always want to go into the military?”
“Not really. I didn’t have a choice.” He joked. “My father sent me off to a military academy when I started hanging around a bunch of no-good-nicks in Hell’s Kitchen. Man, how I missed that crowd my first year at NYMA, but then the disciplined lifeand eventual leadership grew on me, and before I knew it, I was in the club for twenty years.”
Oooo—a bad boy at heart.“Let me guess ... you own a motorcycle.”
“Two. How did you know?”
She shrugged, then smiled.
