“Hmmm.” She takes another sip, brows up. “Tread carefully, if that’s the case. You’d be better off settling for dessert, Deck. Short and sweet.”
“Do I seem like a man who settles to you?” My laugh is humorless because I’m afraid this time I might have to.
“Avery’s been through a lot this year.” Sadie’s eyes appear suddenly slightly sober. “And she doesn’t need some player making things more complicated than they already are for her.”
“Former player,” I say. “In every sense of the word.”
“Would your ex-wife agree on the former?”
“What the hell does that mean?” We trade glares over her presumption.
“Meaning I know they don’t take the trash out of those tunnels every night, and ballers like you scoop it up, take it home, fuck it, and don’t let a wedding ring stop you.”
“I never cheated on my wife.” I check the anger and frustration her assumptions are burning under my collar. “If you’re asking if I got ass when I was single, then let me assure you, I got ass. If you’re asking if I still get ass, then yeah. I still get ass, but if I’m in a monogamous relationship, I play one-on-one. Not that it’s any of your damn business.”
“Avery is my damn business.” She mutters under her breath what sounds like “cabron.”
“If you’re gonna call me a motherfucker, you can do it in English.” Humor relaxes my shoulders a little after the last few tense moments.
“You speak Spanish?” She doesn’t look chagrined at getting caught.
“Only enough to realize I’m being insulted from time to time.”
Her mouth loosens into a slight grin before she looks up at me frankly.
“Look, Avery may seem like she’s having a great time.” She waves her hand at the dance floor where Avery is dancing her ass off while managing to hold a Cosmopolitan. “But like the song says, blame it on the alcohol. The last thing she needs is some one-night stand holiday cheer.”
“I know that.” I hate the defensive note in my voice, but I resent her thinking I’m like Mike Dunlov, looking to capitalize on Avery’s vulnerability.
“But do you know that today is the day?” Sadie asks softly. “That her fiancé died a year ago today?”
“Shit.” I swipe a hand over my face. “I didn’t know that.”
I return the assessing look Sadie’s giving me, and then some. Can I trust her? Can she trust me?
“What can you tell me about him?” I ask. “About his death?”
“Nothing.” Sadie’s mouth tips in a wry grin. “If you’re serious about Avery being the . . . how’d you put it? Main course? Then that’s a story she needs to tell you herself.”
“Sadie!” Jerry, a cameraman I’ve seen on set, calls from a few feet away. “Get out here and shake what your mama gave you.”
“This may take a while.” Sadie laughs and hands me her glass. “’Cause Mama gave me a lot!”
She shuffles off toward the dance floor. As soon as a server passes by, I set her glass and my barely-touched Jack and Coke on the tray. The party is in full swing, but I’m already thinking about the bed upstairs in my borrowed penthouse suite. Knowing how hard today has to be for Avery, there’s no way I’m leaving her at the mercy of these wolves.
Some Mariah Carey Christmas song comes on. The one from Love Actually. Everyone starts singing along and dancing even harder. I hate dancing. I was that guy sitting in VIP balancing a girl on each leg since I didn’t really drink and definitely didn’t dance. Just posted up, which is all I plan to do tonight, too. Besides, the wall gives me a great vantage point to keep an eye on Avery. If the final stage of grief is horny, I may have to protect her from herself. With Sadie off shaking what her mama gave her, it’s up to me to keep Avery’s virtue intact. Ironic since I’ve wanted in those pants for a very long time.
Another Mariah Carey Christmas song comes on.
What is up with Mariah Carey and the holidays?
Some other guy steps in to dance with Avery. She’s good, her body moving gracefully, that dress hanging on to her curves by a literal thread. If she pops it one more inch, I think we’ll have a wardrobe malfunction on our hands. Her expression is open and free like I’ve never seen it, but that could be because of the drink in her hand every time she dances by.
A slower song comes on, and the guy pulls Avery close, his hands slipping to her hips and his palms drifting lower. She laughs up at him and steps back, shaking her empty glass and heading to the bar.
My turn.
“Merry Christmas.” I lean against the bar and block Avery’s view of the rest of the room.