Once Upon A Wild Fling
Page 3
I try again to clear my head, but then I spot a woman with a familiar face. She’s walking past the restaurant and I do a double take.
It’s not Roxy.
Instead, the brunette with the sharp, straight nose is smack out of my high school yearbook. I wave to get Natalia’s attention, and she stops in her tracks, raises her arms, and runs excitedly into the café, an impressive feat given she’s sporting a pregnant belly. I stand and give her a big hug when she reaches the table.
“How the heck are you? It’s been forever,” I say when we separate.
“Only fifteen years, but who’s counting? I heard you were in Manhattan these days. How lucky am I to run into you? How are you?”
“I’m well,” I say, then make quick intros to Ben and William. “Natalia was our class president. And now you’re. . .” I wait for her to supply an update, including about the resident in her body.
“I’m a director at an advertising agency, happily married, with a two-year-old at home and another kid on the way.”
“Congratulations. That’s fantastic.”
We chat about school, and I love that she hasn’t first asked me about music or touring or anything like that. It’s nice to catch up with someone who knew you years ago.
She parks her hands on her hips and stares down the sharp bridge of her nose. “So . . .?”
“So what?” I ask, confused.
She wags a finger. “I sent you an invitation. You still haven’t RSVP’d.”
“To what?” I ask, hoping it’s not a baby shower. Those give me the willies, though that may be because She Who Shall Not Be Named demanded we have a joint one when she was five months pregnant and then played the most awful games imaginable, including Guess the Position the Baby Was Conceived In.
“Our fifteen-year reunion. It’s next weekend.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “I guess I missed it.”
“You have to come. It’s going to be so much fun, and it’ll be a great chance to catch up with the gang. Remember that joke you made at prom?”
I squint. A joke? At prom? “Not sure.”
Natalia punches my arm. “C’mon. It was about this very reunion.”
William leans back in his chair, crosses his arms, and stares like a satisfied cat. “I can’t wait to hear the prom joke.”
Natalia’s bright smile spreads as she looks to William then me. “Well, Miles played at our prom junior year, and we were wild about him being on stage. We all danced and sang from the audience and had a blast. And he was shockingly crowned prom king.”
“Such a shock,” William deadpans.
“And when he accepted, he told us if we bought his first album, he’d come back and perform for the reunion when he became a famous rock star.”
William slaps a palm on the table, hooting.
I blink at the memory that tickles my brain. “Did I say that?”
William points at me, cracking up. “Did you?”
“Oh, he most definitely did,” Natalia says, with a clever little grin. “We caught it on camera. It started making the rounds last week on our reunion email list. We were all trying to figure out how to reach you about your offer.”
She whips out her phone, clicks on the screen, and shows me a grainy video. William leans in close, and so does Ben.
I’m onstage in the high school gym, sporting my favorite accessory—a Stratocaster. Damn, that was one fine instrument I played in high school. I grab the mic and the reverb echoes, then my voice grows louder.
“You’re a great crowd! I will never forget this night. I will never forget playing here. If I make it to the big time, I promise I’ll come back and rock out at our high school reunion.”
I gape at my sixteen-year-old self, cocky and barking out goals.
William chuckles. “So, you had a real problem with self-confidence back in high school, Miles.”
Natalia laughs too. “We were so excited when he said that, since so many of us loved his music already. And on our email chain recently, we were all sharing stories about when we listened to your first song with the band and then all your solo albums. You have so many fans at Northwell High.” She glances at her watch. “I have a pitch meeting in ten minutes. I should go.”
She drops a kiss to my cheek. “Anyway, I’m glad you spotted me. It’s so great to see you. Your son is a sweetheart, and we’d love to have you perform.” She turns to my friend. “And nice to meet you, William.”
She waves goodbye, swerves through the tables, then she’s out the door. I sit down again, scrubbing my hand over my jaw. My son looks at me, his eyes big.
“What?”
“Dad!”
“Dad what?”
“Daddy, you’re going to play at your high school,” Ben practically shouts.
I hold up my hands. “Whoa. Not so fast.”
He crinkles his brow. “But you told everyone. You said you would. That’s so cool that you told everyone you were going to become a rock star, and you did. And now you can go back and play for them.”
William parks his chin in his hands and stares at me, batting his eyes. “What would Ed Sheeran do?”
I sigh, partly because I’m not sure if I’ll run into the same situations I try to avoid—like the come-ons at the Bingley School. But honestly, the reunion intrigues me. I loved high school. Loved the friends, loved the good times, loved how it all rolled into some of the best moments of my life. Playing at the reunion also sounds like exactly what I should do—honor the promise I made fifteen years ago. “Looks like I have a reunion to go to.”
But when William’s sister walks into the café, I’m not thinking of high school or teenage years. I’m thinking about how sexy she looks in those jeans and that green top that slopes down one shoulder, revealing pale skin I’d like to—
I slam on the brakes.
She’s your buddy’s sister. And you’re not interested in anything serious because serious sucks.
“Hey, Roxy,” I say, then do my damnedest to strike the dirty thoughts from my mind as we chat and William tells her all about my reunion promise.
Even though I’m thinking about her legs most of the time.
For the record, it’s really fucking hard not to think about something when you know you’re not supposed to—that pretty much guarantees it’s the only thing in your head.
But once the food arrives, the chicken sandwich is so insanely tasty it distracts me from imagining how my friend’s sister would look naked.
God bless chicken sandwiches.
5
Miles
William pays for lunch, checks his watch, then tells us he has to take off. “I have an earnings call I need to be on.”
“Wall Street,” Roxy says, rolling her pretty hazel eyes. “Give it up, bro, give it up.”
“Should I join you at the dog salon? Maybe I can set up a pet hotel next door.”
Roxy makes a sound of approval. “That would be a fabulous idea.”
He bends to kiss her forehead. “Don’t lift any Great Danes, okay?”
She shoots him a narrow-eyed look. “I can totally handle lifting Great Danes.”
“Oh,” William says, straightening and smoothing a hand over his tie. “Of course. I meant none of those English mastiffs. Those are too big for anyone to lift without . . .” He pauses like he’s searching for a word. “Pulling a muscle.”
“Have you done that before?” I ask as William leaves.
She answers quickly, waving a dismissive hand. “I once pulled a muscle lifting a Saint Bernard. It was nothing, but you know how he is.”
“Protective?” I ask.
“Overprotective,” she says, practically singing it, reminding me once more that overprotective brothers are precisely the type of dudes I want to avoid when it comes to dirty dreams about sisters.
“But you can lift Chihuahuas, right?” Ben asks.
“Absolutely. I can lift them, cuddle them, and kiss them all over,” she says then pretends to p
epper his cheeks with little kisses, adding in a few tickles of his waist that make him laugh insanely hard.
“That tickles! Do it again!”
We both crack up. The kid loves to be tickled even though he hates it.
She grabs her purse. “I should head back.”
“Great Danes wait for no one.” But I don’t entirely want to let her go, protective brother or not. “What time is the appointment?”
“In an hour.”
I sense an opportunity. “We’re stopping by the playground a few blocks up. Want to come with us?”
Maybe that’s not the most enticing offer for a smart, sexy single woman, but she agrees instantly.
“Sure, sounds fun.”
When we reach the park, Ben promptly takes off for the slide, and I stand at the edge of the playground with the gorgeous woman I’ve absolutely stopped thinking dirty thoughts about. “Tell me about the lucky Great Dane. Is he getting fluffed today?”
“Very funny, Mister Naughty.”
“Whoa. Do you have a one-track mind?” I ask, feigning innocence. “I meant, will his hair be fluffed?”
“Sure you did. And to answer the question, Sarge is scheduled for a standard mani-pedi.”
“Question: Why is it a mani-pedi for dogs?”
A warm breeze sneaks by, blowing some of her red hair across her cheek. She raises a hand to brush it away. “What do you think it should be called?”
But several auburn strands are fighting valiantly to stay on her face. I lean in and sweep them away. There’s a slight hitch in her breath that is borderline tempting.
Hell, it’s way more than borderline. It’s thoroughly tempting. But I don’t give in.
“Shouldn’t it be a pedi-pedi?”
She chides, “Don’t make fun of dogs for not being bipeds.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “Far be it from me to engage in any sort of quadruped discrimination.”
“But honestly, I think we call it a mani-pedi for a pooch because of how we anthropomorphize animals. Which is a big reason why I have such a successful business.”
“Anthropomorphism for the win.”
She nudges me, her eyes drifting to my feet. I’m in jeans and Chucks today. Which means I’m in my everyday outfit. “You should consider a mani-pedi for yourself someday.” She arches an eyebrow playfully. “I can even handle you myself if you’d like.”
Oh, man. I ought to stay far away from that. But I can’t. I fucking can’t. I meet her eyes, holding her gaze for a second before I say, a little huskily, “Why yes, Rox, you can handle me anytime.”
“One-track mind,” she says, laughing.
“Pot calling the kettle black.”
“Touché.” She clears her throat, glancing around the playground. It’s early afternoon, so we’re the only ones here, and I like it that way. “So, you’re going to play at your high school reunion. It’s pretty hilarious that you made that offer.”
I smack my forehead, groaning. “What was I thinking?”
“You wanted to stay grounded. To keep in touch with the people you grew up with,” she says with a sweet smile. “And you clearly had that desire to do anything for your dreams—that’s what it’s like when you’re young, don’t you think?”
I flash back to that night years ago, and I swear I can still taste my own ambition, my naked desire to play music for as many people as possible. “That’s true. That pretty much describes my younger self perfectly, and my older self is pretty damn happy I’ve achieved those dreams,” I say, with a shrug. “What about you? Are you willing to do anything for your dreams?”
She looks away briefly, swallowing, and I study her face, trying to read that small gesture. But when she looks back at me, she says, “Definitely. That’s why I left Wall Street to open Fluffy & Fabulous, and it’s been going so well, I’ve started looking into expanding it.”
“Yeah? Where to?”
“I’m considering adding a location in Brooklyn.”
I smile. “That’s fantastic, Roxy. Pets need to be pampered all over New York City.”
“They absolutely do. But back to you—you’re going to do it, right? Play at the reunion?”
“Ben and William made it clear it was a done deal. Seeing as I said I would.”
“I think it’s great that you’re keeping your promise from so long ago. A lot of people might try to wiggle out of it, but you’re sticking to it.”
“I’m not a wiggler, Rox. I’m a man of my word.”
“I like that. Men of their word are my favorite kind.”
“I take it that means the opposite are your least favorite kind?”
She heaves a sigh. “Exactly, and I’ve met far too many of that type in the online dating world.”
My skin crawls at the mention of her dating. Briefly, I think of the men who’ve broken promises to her, and I clench my fists. But I don’t like thinking of her and other dudes, so I bring it back to the topic at hand. “It should be a fun gig. Something different. I’ll rope my brothers into it, and in one week, we’ll play both the Beacon Theater and Northwell High.”
“And you do know you’re going to be mobbed at the reunion, right? There will be single women, divorced women, and so on. They’ll all want a piece of you.”
“You think so?”
She raises her fingers, ticking off her list. “Let’s see. Sexy rocker and hot single dad? Bring it on.”
I lift an eyebrow. “You think I’m hot and sexy?”
“Most of the female population does.”
And I’m going to walk right into this minefield too. My resistance is shit with this woman. “And does that include you?”
A splash of pink races over her cheeks. “I just said you were. It’s kind of a fact.”
Fact. That’s one of the least sexy words there is.
But at the same time, she makes a good point.
I flash back to earlier today with the waitress and then further to the “anytime, anywhere” offer from the Queen of the Nile. I do get hit on a lot. I’m not complaining—it’s part and parcel of the life I’ve chosen. But, yes, it is a fact.
When I glance at Ben, happily rocking on a seesaw horse, I realize I’ve enjoyed this small sliver of time when no one has come up to me and asked for an autograph or a number.
Why is that?
The answer to not getting mobbed at the reunion is right in front of me.
“Roxy, would you be my plus-one at the reunion next weekend?”
6
Roxy
Roxy: Just so I’m clear, my primary role at the reunion will be to serve as your bodyguard. Correct?
Miles: Absolutely. I’ll expect you to escort me in, scan the premises, and do that thing where you press a hand to your ear like you’re listening for a message from the Bodyguard Command Center.
Roxy: I presume they’ll be parked out front in a white van?
Miles: Of course. A couple of guys wearing nylon jackets, drinking 7-Eleven coffee, and sporting ’staches.
Roxy: Perfect. I have a pair of aviator shades, and I’ll wear them too, no matter how dark it is. That’s how a bodyguard should dress, right?
Miles: Ideally, security detail should wear a black suit, but somehow, I think you’d look better in a dress. More incognito. Especially if it’s a short one. You could still handle bodyguard duties in an extra-short dress, right?
Roxy: Hmm. I’m getting the feeling you like short dresses. :) Any requests for the color of my incognito super-short bodyguard dress?
Miles: Sheer?
Roxy: One-track mind.
Miles: Nude?
Roxy: *rolls eyes*
Miles: Nude is a color. You can’t deny I chose a color.
Roxy: I’m not denying it. I’m doubling down on my diagnosis of acute One-Track Mind.
Miles: Oh, I’d be a liar if I denied I suffer from high levels of OTM. But seriously, it’ll be good to have you there. I’m psyched you said yes.
Roxy: I’m glad yo
u asked. It’ll be fun! And I must confess, I’ve always been curious about high school reunions, especially since I never went to mine.
Miles: Any reason you didn’t go?
Roxy: I haven’t kept in touch with anyone since high school. I was sort of the loner girl.
Miles: Does that mean you were lonely? Or was it intentional?
Roxy: Intentional. I was vastly more interested in the company of books, but I was also OBSESSED with college. Every spare ounce of energy I had was devoted to beefing up my résumé for college apps rather than socializing.
Miles: It paid off, Miss Yalie.
Roxy: The Yalie who runs a pet salon, and who’s now moonlighting as a bodyguard for a rock star. :) So tell me what, exactly, I should do. If some former cheerleader or prom queen tries to sink her claws into you, that’s when you want me to break out the Krav Maga skills, right?
Miles: You have Krav Maga skills? Damn, woman. That’s fiery hot.
Roxy: I can totally knock you on your ass.
Miles: You’re not helping my OTM.
Roxy: You find getting beaten up sexy? Weirdo. :)
Miles: I find a woman who can kick ass sexy. And I also admire any variety of martial arts skills, especially since I started tae kwon do when I was five. And I also finished tae kwon do when I was five.