Rusty Nailed (Cocktail #2)(22)
Author: Alice Clayton

A chairful of hot blonde had taken up residence, and over her giggles and squeals, Neil made sure to catch Sophia’s eye. And wink.

Message delivered: Two can play at this game.

Shit.

• • •

The rest of the wedding passed by in a flurry of images. Jillian and Benjamin sharing a spotlit first dance. A five-tier wedding cake being cut and unceremoniously shoved into the groom’s gorgeous face. Simon toasting Benjamin with raised glasses and laughter, and more than one throat clearing.

Neil parading around a preening Blonde in front of Sophia and Hot Barry. Sophia clocking Hot Barry when he had the nerve to look at Blonde himself. Neil’s stone face as he watched Sophia and Hot Barry dancing in a very, very close way. A bemused Benjamin as Hot Barry tried to sell him additional life insurance.

And sharing my own dance with Simon, swaying under the disco ball. Which always seems like a terrible idea, but in reality bathed everything in the coolest sparkles ever. He held me close, his hand fitted into the small of my back, the other holding my hand. Weddings are romantic by nature, and I wasn’t the only one who had sparkles in her eyes tonight. The sapphires were off the chart.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked him, my voice dreamy. Simon looked dreamy too. What was on his mind? Me in this dress? Me out of this dress?

“Fishing poles.”

“What?” Not at all what I was expecting.

“Fishing poles. You asked.” He chuckled, twirling me.

“I see. And what about fishing poles?” I asked, my nose wrinkling.

“Where I grew up, there was a state park not ten minutes from the house. River, rocks, old mill spillway, and walking trails everywhere.” His face grew peaceful, describing it. He so rarely talked about his past, I wondered what it was about this night that made him think about it. “Anyway, the last time me, my dad, and Benjamin were all together was one Sunday afternoon, fishing. And Benjamin sat on my dad’s favorite fishing pole, almost broke the damn thing!” He laughed, his hand holding mine just a tiny bit tighter.

“It’s funny how you remember certain things. Someone was burning leaves that day, so everything smelled like smoke—you know that smoky smell that you only get in the fall? I remember that, and how cold the water was. Nobody caught anything that day, not even a nibble,” he finished, his eyes faraway.

I let my hand tangle in the back of his hair, slipping down to smooth over his brow, feathering my fingers there. “Sounds like a good day.”

“It was a good day.” He smiled down at me, pulling me closer still. The band began to play Duke Ellington, and I was twirled and whirled and dipped by my Wallbanger.

This was a good day too.

Made even more so by nary a dick ending up in a hot dog bun.

chapter eight

“Okay, all your extra linens and towels are in closet down the hall, extra blankets in the cedar chest, hmm . . . what else? Oh, the window next to the bed tends to stick a little when it’s raining, but not too bad. I left notes on all the remotes with instructions on how to use everything—it took me forever to learn how to just turn the damn thing on . . . let’s see, oh! Let’s go back into the kitchen and talk about the burners. There’s a trick to getting the back one to turn on high and—”

I followed Jillian through their Sausalito house Sunday afternoon, while Simon went through the same thing in the garage with Benjamin. House-sitting isn’t what it used to be; you can’t just bring in the mail and have a party.

As we toured the house, taking notice of everything we’d need to know while staying there, I was reminded of how perfect it really was. Situated in the hills just above the main street, the house was two stories in almost a triangular shape, so that practically each room had a view of the bay and, in the distance, San Francisco. Along with a multiterraced outdoor seating area, dotted with benches and fire pits, there was the in-ground hot tub they’d installed. Perfectly isolated, perfectly private, with a killer view.

The hot tub is where we found Simon and Benjamin, hunched down by the controls. Simon was having a great time, turning the interior lights from pink to blue to green to purple with a big grin.

“Caroline, look! It’s like having a light show!” he exclaimed excitedly.

“And I think that’s everything,” Jillian said. “Car keys are in the bowl by the front door, alarm codes you’ve got written down, you know how to work the hillevator. Oh what am I forgetting?” She pulled her notebook out, frantically checking her notes.

“Don’t worry about anything—we’ve got this. You two just enjoy your trip,” I replied. “And you’re not allowed to call and check in for at least a week. Go have sex with your husband.”

“Yes, go have sex with your husband,” Benjamin chimed in, closing her notebook and wrapping his arms around her from behind. “Thanks, guys, we really appreciate it.”

“You sure you don’t mind? You don’t have to stay here every night; just maybe a few nights a week?” Jillian asked.

“Oh my God, shut up already, will you? It’s a real big hardship, staying here— what a sacrifice.” I laughed, gesturing to the house.

Benjamin said, “All right, let them get outta here. Simon, thanks again for everything. And make sure you check out those bike trails; I left the maps with everything else.” As Jillian went for her notebook once more he told us, “I’d make a run for it if I were you.”

“Oh, let go you big oaf, I need to hug her,” she protested, engulfing me in her arms. “Thank you; you have no idea how much I need this,” she whispered. When she let me go, there were tears in her eyes. “And remember, I’m just a phone call away.”

I hugged them both and let Simon pack me into the Range Rover for our trip back over the bridge. We were both quiet as we entered the city, winding through the streets toward our apartment building.

He parked, then walked around to my side to open my door. Taking my hand, he said, “You know, this might not be so boring after all. It could be fun, having a house.”

• • •

Later on that night, Clive and I were playing Kill the Ponytail—a game we’d created a few years ago when I made the mistake of lying down next to where he was sleeping, and swishing my ponytail in front of him. He woke up to a giant piece of dancing hair in his face and went utterly apeshit. The object of the game, as closely as I could understand, was for Clive to chew on, bat about, and all but dangle from my ponytail.