“What do you know about fishing out shoes?” she asked, her shrug subtle. “I seem to have dropped mine.”
Chapter Four
Bri
As it turned out, he knew surprisingly a lot about fishing out shoes.
The guy pushed up his shirt sleeves.
He exposed long arms corded in lean muscle, ready, but most importantly, willing to actually satisfy my request.
How curious.
I watched him behind an observant gaze, this man physically laboring over my error. They hadn’t even been my shoes, but I’d lost them, on loan from a friend. Said friend had also left me to fend for myself tonight, busy with a previous engagement surrounding our work. Evie hadn’t said what had come up, just that she had to leave town to head into the office but assured me we’d both been placed at the singles table for this wedding tonight so I wouldn’t be alone.
I’d been alone, exceedingly so, as I had to watch what was, quite possibly, the most ridiculously lovely wedding I’d ever attended. There’d been magic, love everywhere, like a soft slap in the face and a fuck you for ever trying to go out and actually forget your failed marriage.
At least, that was what I’d felt like.
The other singles, not so much. Most of them appeared to know each other, locals.
This Ramses seemed to know his way around as well, knowing exactly where to get the pool strainer, and I believed I did recognize him from today. Though, I wasn’t quite sure when. I’d made it to the wedding itself late today. I’d actually missed the ceremony, dragging my feet into the reception after Evie finally convinced me over the phone that coming to the wedding without her was okay.
“You’ll get to know some people. Everyone will be at this wedding tonight.”
She hadn’t been lying, the room so full I hadn’t even been able to see the bride and she’d been sitting up front with the groom. They’d both been at a sweetheart table, in their own little world. Every time I had seen her, she hadn’t been without him, a permanent staple at her side and the groom completely doting over her. It’d been sweet.
Goddamn them.
My manicured nails lodging into my scalp, I dragged my hair around to my front, stepping back on bare feet when Ramses placed sopping wet red-bottom heels in front of me. He’d used that pool strainer to get them out, rising like Mt. Vesuvius when he stood. He was easily over six-foot-five. Six-foot-five I knew, and he completely stomped on that number and claimed some inches above. He’d been ready to help me, again, curious.
“One and two,” he stated, dashing a grin down at me. He passed them out like penny candy, so ready to give them out. Like he didn’t care.
Like he enjoyed being happy.
My brain, as pessimistic as it tended to be as of late, thought good for him. If it was easy to be happy, people should be happy.
Yes, good.
But with wet shoes, I obviously couldn’t wear them, and Ramses made quick work of this as well. He had a towel at the ready, one he’d grabbed after he’d appropriated the strainer, which let me know he was either a very good sleuth or did simply know his way around this place, a local too. A local with a muscular ass who filled out his trousers like David Beckham.
A visual dick print included.
I hadn’t been particularly trying to check out his package, but it’d been there, and his pants had been tight. They weren’t exceedingly tight, but this guy was so well-endowed it was there as well as a set of finely chiseled abs that pressed obviously through the thin lining of his dress shirt. He had a tapered body, strong and broad at the shoulders until the hems narrowed and hit tightly at his waist. This Ramses guy was a very big man.
And you so should not be looking at him like that.
I had a few years on him, that much was clear. If I had to guess, he couldn’t be any older than twenty-seven or so, twenty-six at the youngest. Anyway, he was young.
But you have eyes.
He had eyes under dark umber waves, thick but controlled curls over his dusky-colored irises. They had a hazel tint to them, like the light couldn’t help but come and jazz them up. I noticed it when the underwater pool lights hit them.
“May I?” he requested, asking for my hand. He’d dried off my shoes, the towel off to the side. “You should be good to go.”
I seemed to be, taking his hand and angling into my shoes. His lengthy digits wrapped around my entire wrist, his hold strong but steady. I slid bare feet into only slightly damp shoes, and as that’d be better than no shoes at all, I’d take it. I wavered slightly, but Ramses had that covered too, the soft heat of his hand orbiting around the space at my shoulder. He’d be there to catch me, if I fell.
I didn’t, quickly taking back my hand. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” Again, handing out those smiles like candy, his jaw clean-shaven, angular and almost boyish. Like he was completely untainted by the world, and with his age, he might not be quite yet. He pocketed those big hands of his, a skinny tie gracing his neck but no suit jacket. A glance and I saw he had it folded over the pool’s rails.
“Ready to go then?” he asked, his head tilted. Oh, yes, my moment of temporary insanity. Had to be.
Why the fuck had you invited him out for pizza?
It’d sounded like a good idea at the time, and anything to make the moment less awkward for me.
Sure, keep telling yourself that.
He’d been about to leave. I’d been in the clear, but I’d still invited him out. I suppose I’d only blame that partially on the eyes. He certainly wasn’t bad on them, a heritage that straddled the line of two maybe three and left him with the golden complexion of an underwear model. I’d find this guy circulating the beaches of Brazil, his hair dark and that smile of his for days.
It was easy to let him lead me out of the pool area after he grabbed his suit jacket off the pool’s handrails, then later to coat check, but I wasn’t a complete idiot. I didn’t know this guy at all, and even if I had indulged in casual banter with him tonight, I most certainly wouldn’t be going anywhere with him.
No, that wasn’t happening.
And, like a few things tonight, I’d been once again surprised at how he’d handled that. I let him know I’d prefer to take a ride share, drive separately since I didn’t know him. I hadn’t driven myself tonight since I wasn’t sure if I’d be drinking and not only had he not gotten offended, he’d pulled the app up himself and got me a ride to our destination.
He even followed us.
His sleek Mercedes Benz crushed ice swiftly behind, a smooth and handsome chrome finish. The ride actually reminded me of my own. I had an SUV that I’d bought with some of the alimony I got from the divorce. A note would have taken me a little bit to pay off otherwise, which was why it surprised me someone of his age drove such a thing. I knew it was him behind the Honda Civic I was in, though. I got a flash of that cool smile of his through the windshield whenever my driver stopped at a light or turned a corner. It was definitely him behind us, and I suppose that type of vehicle could be driven by a young professional. This guy Ramses must have done pretty well for himself.
And he’d picked a pretty packed place.
Several people were coming in and out the pizza house he’d punched in for my driver to head to, and after thanking my driver for his service, I ventured outside.