Chapter 10Rose
Chapter 10
Rose
“Y ou should have seen the look on your face when he took off his shirt.” Lauren was doing her famous giggle-snorts and falling off her bar stool at the same time.
We were now well into the after-dinner-drinks phase of our evening—did somebody say “limoncellos all around?”—and we were perilously close to feeling no pain.
All our laughing was just what we both needed. It was only the two of us this time, out for dinner at my favorite Italian place before Lauren flew back to California—and her unraveling life—tomorrow.
We’d spent the entire afternoon together. Lauren had dragged me out of the Chocolate Lab early, with Mateo waving goodbye, and Rafe looking mystified. After my initial protests, after I’d agreed to “chill the fido out,” she’d treated us to a salon-and-shopping spree. An early birthday gift, she’d said—although my birthday wasn’t until next April. Also, she knew I’d never do this on my own. Because, well, money and time.
The new day spa across from Fay’s had been our first stop, where Lauren’s charm—and, I suspected, her pocketbook and an earlier call—had gotten us in the door. A fresh cut and style, a green tea facial and a pink-painted pedicure later, we’d strolled out and down the street to a tiny boutique that Lauren had spied.
One look, and I’d turned to go. My bestie had grabbed my arm and propelled me backward.
“Uh-uh, girlfriend. You need to wander out of your comfort zone. Trust me!”
An hour later, we had poured ourselves into our new outfits—tight, clingy skirts, silky camisoles, short flirty sweaters and strappy sandals—and had set out for the liquid portion of our day.
The neighborhood around Limoncello’s was usually packed, but I’d squeezed into a spot on a side street. Over our first Manhattans, we’d agreed on one rule for the rest of the evening—only funny, happy, lighthearted talk. We’d already dissected the sad stuff in both our lives ad nauseam. Enough.
During another round of Manhattans and a bottle of red, with a “side” of pasta, Lauren had shared more stories from the dance fest that’d wrapped up Mom’s party.
I’d gone missing in action by that time—it had gotten to be too much for me.
“You nailed it, Rose,” she informed me with glee. “Most of the guys took one giant step back when Adam asked everybody to find a partner and dance.
“Luckily, your good boy pulled his Aunt Mica out into the cleared area, Jen and I joined them, and we got things started. Pete asked Mateo’s little sister to dance—or really just swing hands together. So cute! Scott convinced his twins to come out and rock with their old man and proceeded to embarrass the hell out of them—on purpose, I’m sure—with all his crazy moves. Even Jen was laughing.”
Scott was Jen’s ex. They’d split a couple of years ago under sad circumstances—anytime we saw her being lighthearted was a win. He still lived in the Dogwood neighborhood and saw his girls all the time.
“By that time, most everyone had gotten into the spirit,” Lauren continued. “People were dancing like you hoped—even if they were dancing by themselves. And here’s the sweetest thing. Mateo had asked his mom to dance when one of the slower songs came up where they could two-step. After a couple of minutes, Pete tapped his shoulder and cut in to dance with Liliana…and they slowed it down even further, basically to a waltz, I guess. So sweet.”
“From what I could see when I walked back in, you knew how to waltz too,” I pointed out. “You’ve been hiding your talents from us!”
“I was just following Jean-Luc’s lead. It would’ve seemed rude to say ‘no’ when he asked me to dance. He has elegant, smooth movements, I think. Don’t you agree?”
She trailed off and looked at me. I raised an eyebrow.
“Not a word about this to Jen and Mica,” Lauren begged.
“Of course not.” I was so going to pass along her opinion of the handsome Frenchman.
“Well, speaking of really being able to move, what did you think of Rafe at the soccer match?”
By this time, we’d settled our dinner bill and were seated at the bar with our house-made limoncellos—my treat this time. I let the abrupt change of topic pass because I was that type of friend. And because we’d eventually come back to it.
It was Lauren’s turn to rib me about the new guy on the scene. Before she even started in, I blushed—or was it flushed? —the sizzle sweeping from the tips of my breasts, up my throat, over my face and under my hair to settle in a heated pulse, pulse, pulse inside my head.
Was I under the influence of too many Manhattans? Or was I ready for a distraction after this week?
Even though we’d put them on hold for this evening, my deepest and darkest emotions had overshadowed my week.
Grief had hit me anew after clearing out the apartment where Mom and I had spent so many weeks toward the end. Melancholy had struck next after sorting through memories from Mom and Dad’s lives while moving into the main bedroom. Even loneliness replaced the joy of welcoming Finn home when I’d had to literally push him out the door to catch his ride back to college.
Being long sensitive to what made me tick and with the bestie of intentions, Lauren launched her diversionary tactics. “So when did you start to notice all the fine that is red hot roaster Rafe? Was it when he flexed his muscly kindness to pull the soccer supply cart all those blocks to the park?”
Rather than trying to jam everything into my car, we’d loaded my garden cart—aka soccer supply cart. Its rollability had been tested with an ice chest crammed full of waters and juice, bags of oranges, a first aid kit, orange cones, towels and extra T-shirts. Rafe had won the right to haul the cart while Finn had wrangled the excited dogs. We girls had been left to carry nothing heavier than our phones.
So I smirked at Lauren and said, “Check.”
“Or was it when he tugged his T-shirt over his head and revealed all those muscles upon muscles?”
See, Rafe was real-life—not some guy in a book or a movie I used to get off with Mister Vibrato. I was sure my jaw had dropped a mile with the big reveal. Well, the encore reveal, because I had caught a peek before.
Still, I had to stop myself from drooling over his broad chest narrowing to his compact six-pack, his bulging biceps leading to his corded forearms, his ridged muscles at the dip of his spine crowning his tight rear and muscular thighs.
So, yeah, Lauren had caught me looking. I again said, “Check.”
“Or, finally, was it when he ran the ball all the way down the field—and passed it to Finn to make the winning goal, rather than shooting it himself?”
Hotness was not just the physical goods, and my girl got that too.
So, “Yes, Lauren. Yes! Check, check and double check!” I all but shouted. “Rafe is FINE in some and several ways.”
Doggone it. Now I was speaking, not just texting, in shouty caps.
At that, we broke into giggle-snorts, hanging on to the bar so we wouldn’t pitch off our stools. Obviously, our drinks—and our girls’ day-slash-night out—had done the distraction-from-our-lives job well. So well that I knew I couldn’t drive us home safely.
I shared this fact with Lauren, who nodded, and continued to nod and nod and nod.
Case closed.
“Here,” I said, digging around in my purse for my phone. “Nature—or rather, our liquid dinner—is calling. Why don’t you use my app to call for a ride while I hit the ladies’?”
She took my phone and nodded again—it was getting to be a thing. I hoped she’d still be upright when I got back.
Thankfully, when I returned a few minutes later, Lauren was sitting where I’d left her. And she had a big Cheshire cat grin on her face.
“Okay, what’s going on?” I squinted my eyes at her. “What have you been up to?”
She wiggled off her stool while her grin got even bigger, if that were possible.
“I called Rafe to give us a ride home. He—and Princess, I guess—are gonna be here in a couple of minutes. Oh, and I changed his name to ‘Red Hot Roaster’ in your contact list.”
Oh, no, no, no. I grabbed my phone from the bar and checked my “recent calls.” Yep, there was a call to Rafe. I hit the phone icon, but the call went to voicemail. Guess he was already on his way here.
I was going to kill Lauren.
We hurried out of the restaurant just as Rafe’s pickup pulled up to the curb. Rafe jumped out while Princess was pacing around in the back of the cab, ready to help.
I immediately babbled, “I’m so, so sorry. Lauren overstepped.” Yeah, throwing my girl right under the bus. “We could’ve called a taxi or ride service.”
He held up his hand in a stop-it-now motion and nailed me with those dark-fringed cobalt eyes. “Not a problem. Appreciate you not driving when you’ve been drinking. Rather drive you home than have you ride with a stranger.”
What could I say to that? Nothing, except “thank you, Rafe.”
“Did you leave anything in your car that we need to retrieve? I’m assuming the car’s locked up and parked in a safe place?”
Lauren and I looked at each other and grinned for two reasons. First, we were wearing all our new gear, with the old stuff stashed in the trunk. Second, on a scale of zero to ten, it was minus ten that anyone would want to steal my old clunker.
“Nope and yeah,” I answered back, figuring he’d get my drift.
Rafe opened the passenger side door of his pickup and paused, eyeing—not in a pervy way, but in a frowny way—our short, tight skirts.
“Okay, Rose, you first,” he rumbled. “Turn your back to the door, and I’ll lift you up.”
I didn’t argue, because I realized I had no chance of climbing up on my own without everything showing. And by everything, I meant my panties, heinie and hoo-ha. When I was situated, Rafe did the same thing for Lauren.
He went around and climbed into the driver’s seat. The three of us were squished together on the bench. Luckily, manual transmissions were a thing of the past. I was pressed into rock-solid goodness, my left shoulder, arm and thigh right up against Rafe’s. Evidently, Princess was in pup heaven since she snuggled her muzzle on my left shoulder and sighed.
We made it back to Dogwood and my house in under twenty minutes, Lauren chatting all the way. And me? I was silent, holding it together. Rafe parked in my driveway, told us to sit tight and came around to open the passenger door. He lifted us both down and closed the door so Princess couldn’t follow. I repeated my thanks, trying to tamp down the effusiveness.
Then Lauren capped the evening.
“Rafe, thanks again for coming out to give us a ride,” she said. “And just think, it’s like one of those billboards. If you lived here in Rose’s apartment, you’d be home by now.”
I was so going to kill that girl.