“Are we friends?” he asked.
She rubbed her lips together a few seconds before she answered, “I think so.”
“We’re friends,” he rumbled.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Oh yeah.
He was gonna taste her.
Their preparation for this gig was gonna be thorough.
They were gonna sell the shit out of it.
“Friends look out for friends,” he pointed out.
“This is asking a lot.”
“Did you ask?”
Her eyes got huge again.
“How pissed is your sister gonna be when I actually show up?” he inquired.
Her gaze traveled him down and up, and that was when her eyes lit, and he could swear he saw a little dimple come and go in her right cheek.
All his life, he’d had women admire him. Hell, he’d lost both legs, and he still had it.
But never in his life had he felt it like he felt it when she said everything about how attractive she thought he was without saying one goddamn word.
Oh yeah.
They were gonna sell the shit out of this.
“I’ll buy your ticket out there,” she offered.
The hell she would.
He turned back to the wine, saying, “We got time to figure it out.”
He then poured her a huge-ass glass.
When he turned to give it to her, he got her big eyes again as she took it.
Good.
That was what he was going for because he liked that look on her.
But she gave him a bonus.
She actually giggled.
It, too, was her. Quiet and it didn’t last long.
But coming from Alex, it was a big deal.
He nabbed his beer and pointed the neck at her.
She lifted her glass to his bottle and caught his eyes.
“Here’s to us, baby,” he whispered. “And our long and happy life together.”
More color hit her cheeks, but she didn’t lose his gaze.
Nope.
That dimple came back.
And this time, as she touched her glass to his bottle, it stayed embedded in her sweet, round, glimmering cheek.
Chapter 7
The Rocks
Alex
I woke up before the alarm went off on my phone.
I was surprised I’d slept at all.
I curled up my legs, tugged at all the pillows I could reach, shoving some under my cheek, cuddling with others, and aimed my eyes at the windows, seeing desert for a short while before my vision blurred and my thoughts went to the night before.
After Rix and I toasted to our fake future together, we made a deal.
This trip was work, so even though, through spending time together, we’d naturally be getting to know one another better, in order to keep work boundaries, the “deep research” (Rix’s words) would begin when we got back to Prescott.
It was a deal I was happy to make.
It took the pressure off.
Yes, the giddy, ohmigod-Rix-was-going-to-do-this! feel had abandoned me after my first sip of the massive glass of wine he’d poured me, and my anxiety instantly started spiraling.
But I could do work.
Which was what we did, over beer and wine in his room, then steaks and wine in the restaurant, ending up at the bar, with more wine for me, and some bourbon on the rocks for Rix.
I was loose, but I wasn’t drunk.
Though I was comfortable talking, because we were talking about CTB. We were talking about Frank and Hale and the kids. We were talking about the interviews, what we thought, what we’d learned, what surprised us, what didn’t, and what was up next for our trip.
Rix had complimented me for how the kids connected with me, and when he expressed concern he didn’t know how to reach them, I’d assured him that it was likely the kids didn’t open to him as much because he was intimidating.
“You can imagine, for the majority of them, they’re where they are because of parental issues,” I’d told him. “And the truth of the matter is that the majority of that is absent or abusive fathers. So a big, built guy is already a natural threat. One who cares is something they may have little experience with. So you’re overwhelming on two fronts, physically and emotionally.”
I watched, and I’ll admit I did it with fascination, as Rix took this in, sifted through it and had a myriad of reactions to it, being angry, interested, pensive and clearly cataloging it for future encounters.
We’d gone on to talk about Trail Blazer, going deep because Rix invited, “Say we don’t have five hundred million, say we have five hundred billion, what would you do?”
That idea was so fantastic, but so awesome, and I had so much swirling in my head, I went crazy, giving it all to him.
He was right there with me the whole time, listening, and sharing his take, his thoughts, the things he’d like to see from Trail Blazer.
Then we went off on tangents, creating crazy schemes that would save the world (well, Rix didn’t do so much of this, but the way he smiled a lot, chuckled a lot and often out-and-out laughed egged me on to do it).
It was fun.
I was having fun with Rix Hendrix.
Though, it wasn’t all about CTB and Trail Blazer.
I’d learned the super cool story that his parents met in college in Kansas, went on a couple of dates, didn’t think it’d go anywhere, so that was the end of that. They’d then miraculously both ended up in Flagstaff, where they ran into each other again. Either taking the hint from the cosmos or being older and wiser and knowing more what they wanted, their couple status took hold that time, and now they’d been married for forty years.
Rix had been born and raised in Flagstaff, the second of two sons. His brother Joshua (and Rix shared, he was known only as Josh, like Rix was known only as Rix, which, of course meant Rix admitted he often called him Joshua), got married in the summer of last year. Seven months later, he and his wife Hailey gave Rix’s parents their first grandkid, a girl, Kinsley (who heartmeltingly sounded like the apple of her uncle’s eye). And on a recent phone conversation, Josh had shared with Rix that they were considering it was time to think about number two.
On my side of things, Rix had learned Blake was older than me (she was thirty, I was twenty-eight, which led to the knowledge that Rix was thirty-four, but next month, the week before we’d be going to NYC, he’d turn thirty-five). She was my only sibling. My parents were divorced, and didn’t get along, before and after their marriage.
We dug no deeper than that.
However, I had filled him in with the details Cathy sent me about the wedding itinerary, which included an indication that Mum and Dad were one-upping each other, because Mum was hosting a brunch on the Thursday before the Friday rehearsal/rehearsal dinner. And therefore Dad was hosting a cocktail party on the Wednesday evening.
“This means,” I shared with Rix, “Mum planned her brunch first, and then, not to be shown up, Dad decided to do a cocktail party, and ever since, they’ve been escalating hostilities. I know this because, for some reason, it’s strongly encouraged for the women to wear a hat to brunch, and the cocktail party is formal.”
“Well, shit,” Rix muttered.
Shit was correct.
“But you don’t have to show for those,” I told him. “You can fly in on Friday or Saturday sometime. The wedding isn’t until five.”