Taking the glass from him, I smile. “Thank you.” How the heck does he know what wine I like and what on God’s great Earth is going on?
Parking himself against the stone wall next to me, he casually slings an arm over my shoulder and looks at Connor. “ I remember you, man.”
“Yeah, umm, Connor Powell. I’m a big fan.”
“Oh thanks, I appreciate that.” He plants a soft kiss on the side of my head and pulls my body so that I am leaning fully against him, and it feels damn nice. A little disconcerting, but damn nice. His scent is some kind of clean man soap and I really want to sniff him.
“So, where are you living these days, Connor? Are you still here in Jersey?”
“No. No, I’m in Atlanta these days.”
He’s looking at me for a reaction, but before I can speak, I’m preempted with, “Hotlanta. Good town… good town. We’re out in LA,” he informs Connor.
“Yeah, I figured you would be, with the TV industry and all.” Connor is practically stammering. “I didn’t realize you were out there as well, Rose.”
My wine glass is to my mouth and I’m halfway into a sip, so I just nod.
“Yeah, we love it there. This one needs to be near the ocean.” He’s referring to me. “But I’m sure you remember that.” Whoa, good zing.
“Yeah. I do remember that.”
“How’s Piper?” I finally find my voice again.
Connor shakes his head. “We’re not together anymore.”
Shocker! “Oh, what a shame.” I smile at him. And then I just can’t help myself. “Was she worth it?”
He pauses and his stare does not feel friendly. “We had some good times.”
“Well, good for you.” He just looks at me and emboldened by wine and a very handsome, famous, and successful faux boyfriend, who has now begun to play with my hair, which is really hot and I am dying, I add, “The grass always seems greener, but you really gotta watch out for crab grass, that crap grows everywhere.”
Connor and I just stare at one another. This was clearly not the first encounter either one of us expected.
Nodding his head, he steps forward and gives me a kiss on the cheek and extends a hand to my companion. “I’m going to go find myself a drink.”
I watch him as he moves away from us, crossing the length of the slate terrace.
What the hell just happened?
When he’s finally inside the ballroom, I turn to my companion. My look is questioning, my smile wide.
“Rosie-blowsy, do you even know who I am?” His smile is wolfish. Damn, he is handsome. His hair appears almost black, shining in the moonlight.
“The asshole who sat behind me in geometry.”
“ Good memory.” He looks seemingly happy that he made an impression on me.
“You tortured me.” What I’m not telling him is that beyond him calling me Rosie-Blowsy and drawing neon colored logos that said, Rose Blows, he tortured me when I was falling asleep at night. He was my dirty boy fantasy. He was hot even back then, but he was also a total derelict and I was an A-student and our social circles were not overlapping on the same Venn diagram.
“My social skills with the opposite sex were not very well developed in tenth grade.”
“Well, that never stopped you from having a girlfriend.”
“Yeah, I don’t know how that happened. But I wasn’t doing a lot of talking to them.”
“Lucky you.” I guess he was having a lot of sex while I was studying.
“No. Not lucky me.”