When she got to the makeup, he perked up. “Oh yes, I think I met your makeup artist over at Rick’s place when we were, uh, working on some updates.”
She laughed. “When you were ripping the place apart and redoing it, you mean?”
“Uh, yes there was a certain amount of redoing involved.” They both laughed. Jimothy said, “She dropped in unexpectedly.”
“Really. I never got the idea she and Rick had that familiar a relationship.”
“Actually, he seemed surprised to see her now that you mention it.” Oh, Jimothy, you shameless manipulator.
“I introduced them, but I was surprised they’d hit it off. She’s not his type, in my opinion.”
“Interesting. What is his type?” Jimothy picked up the dryer.
Alice shrugged. “Funny. I’m not sure. He dated cheerleaders in school, but I never thought he was very into them. The poor guy’s worked so hard since he was seventeen and even before, I don’t think he’s had much time for girls.”
Jimothy flipped on the dryer and started blowing out Alice’s hair. The whole time he dried, she stared into space with a perplexed crease between her brows. He almost laughed. Chances were high that was the does-Rick-really-like-girls expression.
After a couple minutes, he turned off the dryer, ran his hands through her hair, and said, “Voila.”
Her gaze focused, and her mouth opened. “You’re kidding me.” She touched her hair where it framed her face in choppy layers that seemed to have a life of their own. “How did you do that? There’s not even any hairspray on it.”
“It’s all in the cut. You just wash it every few days, put in a little of the product I’ll send you home with, blow the dryer around for a few minutes, and it will look like this for quite a while. Eventually, you’ll have to come in for a trim because it’ll lose its bounce.”
She waved her hands at her hair. “But this looks just like me.”
He flashed his dimples. “I know.”
“You’re”—she focused on him like a scientific experiment—"amazing!”
Jimothy planted his fists on his hips. “It’s all physics, my dear.”
She stared into the mirror, ostensibly at her hair, but her gaze kept landing on Jimothy. She whirled in the seat and faced him. “Will you come to my wedding?”
He stopped in the middle of putting his equipment away. “Don’t you already have a wedding stylist?”
“She can do the bridesmaids.” She clapped her hands together just like he did. “Come early, do my hair, and then be my guest at the wedding, okay? Rick doesn’t really know many of the people at the wedding. I bet he’d feel more comfortable to have a friend there, and I’d love for you to meet Hank’s parents.”
The swelling in his chest matched the sinking in his stomach. He was totally delighted that Alice wanted him at her wedding, but putting Rick in that position? Way too tricky. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll come and do your hair.”
She gave an exaggerated sigh. “I know, I’m so presumptuous. Assuming you don’t have anything better to do on Saturday than attend my wedding.” She clapped her hands again. “But I really would love it if you’d come since I know we’re going to be great friends, and I’m going to be asking for your advice on just everything.”
He tapped her nose. “What time should I be there for the hair? And where is there?”
“There is the Four Seasons. I have a suite of my own until Hank moves in that night. You know, everyone likes to pretend we haven’t been sleeping together for two years.” She laughed, and then her eyes widened. “Oh gosh, I don’t know what time. How long does it take to get dressed for a wedding?”
Jimothy splayed his hands. “Darling, don’t you have any girly-girls to advise you on these things?”
She showed her teeth in a grimace. “Honestly, no. I don’t have a mom, my mother-in-law’s a super socialite, and while she planned the guest list and the menu, she’s not really my confidante. Most of my bridesmaids are Hank’s relatives, and my girlfriends are as clueless as me.”
Jimothy pressed his hands dramatically against his chest. “That’s it. Play on my sympathies.” He leaned over her. “What time’s the wedding?”
“Uh, at three at my in-law’s church in Newport.”
“And how are you getting to the church?”
Her face looked so clueless, he barked a laugh.
She said, “I know there’s a limo taking us back from the church to the hotel.”
“That’s a blessing anyway. What time’s makeup?”
“Uh, one thirty, I think.”
“At the hotel for you and your attendants?”
She nodded.
“I’ll be at your hotel at ten thirty.”
She leaped up and threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you, thank you.” She jumped up and down, which was hard while still hugging him. “Oh my gosh, for the first time, I’m actually looking forward to my wedding.”
Jimothy blinked back tears.
Fifteen minutes later, still bouncing, she was gone.
Felicia watched her leave and then gave Jimothy a look. “That’s Rick Ronconi’s sister?”
He nodded.
“My God, she’s the female you.”
Rick pulled the truck up to the curb across from Jimothy’s house, turned off the engine, and sat. He glanced at the house and his stomach clenched. How did this happen? How had he managed to get everyone he knew involved with Jimothy? At work, Fred had asked for Jimothy’s number so he could get his haircut and he too could look like a movie star. Alice had called to say her hair was fabulous, and Jimothy had agreed to do her styling for the wedding. Hell, Rick had texted his damned father with Jimothy’s number.
What’s wrong with this picture?
Two weeks before, he’d never heard of Jimothy Castelmane. Now, the guy who embodied every passion and fetish of Rick’s, every desire he’d hidden like a dirty secret from all the people around him, was traipsing through Rick’s life like some escaped holiday elf. Shit.
Still, the idea of spending the evening in Jimothy’s house, maybe winding up in that amazing bed in the incredible bedroom with cats piled on top of him, made every nerve ending tingle.
He grabbed the bottle of dry vermouth he’d gone to the high-end liquor store special to get and strode up the walkway to the front door.
He rang the bell once, and aside from some faint meowing, got no answer. On the second ring, the door popped open and there stood a short, willowy man of probably fifty-something with thinning brown hair and a friendly smile. “Hello. You must be Rick. Come on in. I’m Timothy, the father. Jimothy’s on the phone.”
Considering what he’d just been thinking about Jimothy, Rick felt a wash of warmth in his cheeks, but he smiled. “Good to meet you.” He stepped into that beautiful entry and was instantly surrounded by kitties, which only heightened his blush.
“Want me to take that off your hands?” Timothy pointed to the vermouth.
“Oh, thanks.” He handed it over.
“And your jacket.”