Out of Practice

by Carsen Taite

  Abby laughed. “Go ahead and put her through.” Graham disappeared quickly, and a moment later Abby saw the flashing green light telling her she had a call waiting. She’d spent the last few hours wondering if she’d made a mistake sending flowers to Roxanne. It wasn’t like she’d never sent flowers to a woman before, but they’d always been whatever the bloom of the day had been, never anything personal or referencing a shared experience. She wasn’t sure what had possessed her or why she was so hell-bent on getting Roxanne to have dinner with her. She told herself it was so she could continue to plead for Barclay’s case, but she suspected it was more than that, and her suspicions signaled danger lay ahead.

  She punched the button and picked up the line. “BBF? I have a question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Is it acceptable to have a cash bar for the reception?”

  “Hmm. That’s a sticky one. I completely understand the desire to limit costs, but do you really want your guests to have to remember to stop by the ATM on the way to the wedding? If you want to serve alcohol at your wedding, make it as seamless as possible. If cost is an issue, offer only beer and wine or a signature cocktail, and then they can pay if they want to order off menu.”

  “Are you always this prepared with spontaneous answers to wedding related questions?”

  “Well, it’s kind of my job, so yes.”

  “I like a woman who’s good at her job,” Abby said, and then winced. “Sorry, that didn’t come out the way I intended.”

  “Would you like to explain what you really meant? Perhaps over dinner?”

  Abby sighed with relief. “I’d love to. I know a really good place down near South Congress, and I bet I can get a table on the fly. Shall I pick you up at seven?”

  “Actually, I was thinking of something a little more low profile. Like Chez Roxanne. It’s not fancy, but I can promise there won’t be any BTBs or press around.”

  Abby took a second to register that Roxanne was inviting her over. To her house. Just the two of them. Was this some kind of thinly veiled method of recapturing what they’d shared in PV? The prospect excited her, and she answered before she let her natural instinct to shy away from this kind of intimacy take over. “Sounds perfect.”

  “Great. Give me your cell and I’ll text you the address.”

  “Can I bring anything?”

  “Just you and your appetite.”

  When they hung up, Roxanne’s words lingered. Abby had an appetite for sure, but she wasn’t thinking about food. She spent the rest of the afternoon pretending to work when she was really daydreaming about the evening ahead. Negative billable hours later, she’d made little headway in her work when Grace and Campbell showed up in her doorway.

  “We’re quitting early,” Campbell said. “Come with us to Charlie’s. Partners meeting.”

  “Can’t.” Abby pointed at her computer. “I have to finish this research.”

  “Says who?” Grace asked. “Your boss? Because last time I checked, that’s you.”

  “Exactly. And if I don’t do what I say, then I don’t get paid. Seriously, you two go.”

  Campbell marched over to her and stood in front of her computer. “Nope. We’re a team. If you don’t bring home the bacon, none of us get to eat.”

  “And now all I can think about is a BLT. Thanks for that.”

  “Happy to help.” Campbell grabbed her bag and held it just out of reach. “Come on, we can brainstorm ideas together.”

  Abby considered for a moment. It was four o’clock and she wasn’t supposed to be at Roxanne’s place until seven. And she really could use Grace and Campbell’s help. One drink plus three brains thinking together might equal a plausible solution to help Tommy out. “Okay, I’m in, but only for one drink and I’m taking my own car because I have to leave by six thirty. I have a thing.”

  Grace winked at her and nudged Campbell. “She has a ‘thing.’ Looks like Abby’s back in business. Now I can live vicariously again. You and Wynne with your coupled-up coziness aren’t doing it for me anymore.”

  “Speaking of Wynne,” Abby said, “Is she around? I was going to ask her about some of this research.”

  “She’s meeting her parents for dinner to talk about her dad’s case. I offered to come with, but we both figured he might feel more comfortable not having this talk in front of the girlfriend.”

  Abby nodded. Wynne had shared with them that her parents were grifters and her dad had been arrested a few months ago for working at an illegal gaming room in town. “I get it.” She looped her arm through Campbell’s. “So, it’s the three of us on the town for happy hour. Perfection.”

  The bar was crowded, but Campbell, who knew someone everywhere they went, managed to coax the hostess into letting them sit at one of the tables that was marked reserved. They slid into their seats, and Abby asked, “What did you say to her?”

  “I merely explained that empty tables made the bar look like a dud of a place, and people who were cool enough to have reserved tables weren’t going to show up this early. We warm the seats and bail before the VIPs arrive and it’s a win for everyone.” Campbell waved at a cocktail waitress passing nearby and they ordered a round of their usual drinks, which appeared at the table with lightning speed.

  Abby raised her martini glass. “Here’s to early bird VIPs.”

  Grace and Campbell both said “I’ll drink to that” at the same time.

  After the toast, Campbell set her tequila on the table. “I’d like to call this meeting to order. First item, Barclay’s. Ms. Keane, you’re up.”

  Abby cleared her throat. “We’ve got a problem. The twins are refusing to budge on reopening the stores, and every day that goes by with the stores closed is damaging Barclay’s reputation and value.”

  “Does Tommy really want the stores reopened?” Grace asked.

  “Yes. Maybe. Kind of.” Abby took another sip of her martini. “He definitely wants to stay in the industry, but he gets that brick-and-mortar may not be where it’s at anymore. He’s got an investor lined up to fund a new online wedding dress enterprise that combines the best of both worlds with easy back and forth shipping for custom fits and virtual tailoring. But what he wants in the short-term is to reopen long enough to satisfy Barclay’s existing obligations to try to keep his reputation intact. If Barclay’s is synonymous with ruining everyone’s ‘special day,’ then any new business venture is dead before it starts. The twins are convinced it’s a trick, and once he gets them to reopen, they’ll start incurring even more debt.”

  “What’s your plan?” Campbell asked.

  “Wynne and I think our best shot is a minority shareholder oppression suit. Basically, we say that even though the twins have the majority interest, they acted in bad faith by calling a shareholder meeting when they knew Tommy wouldn’t be around to argue his case, and we ask for an injunction, allowing for some limited reopening long enough for Tommy to take care of any customers with a current order.” Abby noted their skeptical expressions. “Long shot, I know, but Tommy wants to go for it, and if nothing else, it shows he’s trying to do the right thing.”

  Campbell, ever the optimist, raised her glass. “To brides and their dresses.”

  The three of them toasted. “I think this might be the best martini I’ve ever had,” Abby said, munching on the edges of one of the blue cheese stuffed olives.

  “A good warm-up for your date,” Grace said

  “It’s not a date.”

  “But I thought you said…” Grace scrunched her brow like she was mentally replaying the conversation. “Now that I think about it, you were purposefully vague. If it’s not a date, then where do you have to take off to?”

  “I’m having dinner with Roxanne Daly.” She waited a beat, but neither Grace nor Campbell seemed to click. “The Bride’s Best Friend.”

  Grace turned to Campbell. “Sounds like a date to me.”

  “Me too.” Campbell ticked points off on her hand. “It’s dinner. They’ve h
ad sex before. And it’s preplanned. Yep, it’s a date. Do you think we need to caution her about fraternizing with the enemy?”

  “Yes,” Grace said, “But I should be the one to do it since you fell in love with the competition last time this was an issue.” She swiveled in her chair until she was staring right at Abby. “Be careful. I know things were wonderful when you two were in paradise, but Roxanne’s got a job to do just like you do, and the juicy story is to keep all those brides whipped into a frenzy.”

  “Please. I got this. You two can sit here and ponder my personal life all you want, but I’m headed out to perform some very important public relations with a blogger to keep her from trashing our client.” Abby swallowed the rest of her drink and stood. “Business. Meeting.” She ignored their knowing smiles and left the bar.

  It was a perfect night for driving with the top down and she took full advantage, enjoying the way the breeze blew through her hair, and telling herself if this really was a date, she’d be more concerned about arriving carefully coiffed than enjoying the ride. She arrived in minutes and found Roxanne’s place was a charming little house with a cute front porch. She put the top up on her car and walked to the door, suddenly wishing she wasn’t showing up empty-handed, but she quickly pushed the thought away as too date-like. This was a business meeting. Business. Meeting.

  When Roxanne opened the door, any pretense at business was swept away. She wore a midnight blue floral print maxi dress with a really high slit up the side, and Abby fumbled for words. “You look amazing, but I thought we were staying in.”

  Roxanne reached for her arm and tugged her inside. “We are, but there’s no reason not to look nice, am I right?”

  “You are indeed right, but I’m afraid I didn’t get the memo.” Abby looked down at her own outfit. “I came straight from a meeting with my partners and didn’t think to change out of my lawyer drag.”

  “You’re perfect.” She led the way farther into the house. “After seeing you in a swimsuit and then nothing at all in PV, it’s fun to witness the other side of you. If you’d told me then that you wore a business suit every day, I’d never have believed it. You were the consummate resort rat.”

  Abby wanted to respond, but she was stuck on the word naked, and for the first time she could remember, words failed her. Instead she sniffed the air. “Is that dinner? It smells amazing.”

  “Yes, there’s been a bit of a battle, but I’m hoping I won the war.”

  They walked into the kitchen. It was small and cozy, and every available surface was covered in pots and pans and bowls. Roxanne wrinkled her nose. “A mess, I know, but the recipe called for no less than a million ingredients, all cooked separately. Things got a little out of hand.”

  Abby laughed. “Thank God. By the smell of things, I figured you were secretly a gourmet chef and I wouldn’t be able to pronounce anything we were having.”

  “I confess I’m more of a drive-thru gal, but I spotted this recipe for duck confit risotto in this month’s magazine, and it sounded amazing. Apparently, this is a dish the bride-to-be should make to impress her new in-laws.”

  “Are you trying to impress me?”

  Roxanne play-swatted her with a spatula. “Maybe. If you don’t die from my cooking, I expect you to be fully impressed.”

  Abby peeked under the lid of one of the saucepans. “It doesn’t look deadly. Actually, it looks amazing.”

  “Do you cook?”

  “Not at all. I do have every restaurant delivery app there is, but a home cooked meal is a special treat. Are cooking tips part of the whole wedding blogger thing?”

  “Hmmm. I’m guessing you haven’t checked out my blog.”

  Abby raised her hands. “I have actually, but you have a lot of posts. Most of what I saw had to do with the day itself, not deep background.”

  “You don’t know the first thing about weddings, do you?”

  “I know some. My mom’s about to have her fourth. In my experience, there are flowers and cake and bridesmaids and rings. I’m sure there’s more to it, but that’s more than I ever wanted to know.”

  Roxanne handed her the spatula and motioned for her to stir the vegetables she was sautéing. “And here you are, having dinner with a wedding blogger.”

  “More than a blogger now. You’re going to be a TV star.”

  “Star? Hardly.”

  “How did you get into it? I mean I read about how you covered weddings and social events when you worked for KNOP, but have you been married before?”

  “Me? No.”

  “Was that such a strange question?” Abby asked.

  “No. I mean yes, but you’re not the first person who’s asked. Here’s the deal, I’m not sure being married really qualifies anyone for being an expert on weddings. I mean that’s like saying because I ate out at one restaurant, I can be a restaurant critic. I learned a lot about engagements and weddings, covering both for the news, and I don’t mind saying I was one of those little girls who used to think about having my own big, beautiful, fairy-tale wedding someday.” She pointed at the vegetables Abby had stopped stirring. “Those are done if you want to put them in that bowl. Since we’re on the subject, what made you decide to become a lawyer?”

  “Lots of time spent at lawyers’ offices with my mother while she worked out the terms of her many divorces?” Abby watched for a smile on Roxanne’s face, but all she saw reflected back was surprise and maybe a little pity. “Sorry, that was crass, but it’s not far off the mark. My mother is a serial bride, but no matter how many times she tries, she doesn’t get any better at it.”

  “The allure of the wedding is strong.” Roxanne grinned and pointed to the cabinet near her head. “Why don’t you grab a couple of plates and some wine glasses. I have a nice pinot noir breathing, but I can open something else if you have a preference.”

  “Pinot sounds great.” Abby shrugged out of her suit jacket and hung it over the back of one of the dining room chairs, rolled up her sleeves, and reached into the cabinet to grab the dishes. She maneuvered around Roxanne and made her way to the far counter and poured them each a glass of wine before taking a sip. “This is delicious.” As she handed Roxanne her glass, she was suddenly struck by how very domestic this whole situation was and how it felt…nice. No, it was way better than nice. She’d never spent time with a date cooking dinner, and there was something very easy and comfortable about the whole experience.

  Date. There was that word again—it just kept popping up. She took another sip of wine and brushed away her concerns. This wasn’t the first or last time she’d have a business meeting with food. Get over it.

  “Are you okay?” Roxanne asked. “You look like you’re deep in thought.”

  “Would it be weird if I said I wished we were back in Puerto Vallarta?” Abby blurted out the question before she could think, not realizing until she spoke the words that she’d even been thinking about PV.

  “No. Azure was the perfect spot.”

  “The resort was nice, but I wasn’t talking about that.”

  Roxanne put down the knife in her hand and stared intently into her eyes. “I know.”

  “You could’ve told me you were there for work.”

  “Maybe I should’ve. It just seemed strange. I’m used to being totally anonymous when I review venues, and after you were so adamant about being anti-wedding, announcing what I did for a living seemed like it might be a huge buzzkill.” She stepped closer and purred the next words. “And I didn’t want to kill the buzz.”

  Warmth coursed through Abby’s body at Roxanne’s declaration, and flashes of her naked blurred her ability to think about dinner or Barclay’s or even her own name. She reached her hands around Roxanne’s waist and leaned in close. “The buzz? It’s still going. It hasn’t stopped. You make me crazy.”

  “How hungry are you?”

  “Pretty damn hungry, but dinner can wait.” Abby captured Roxanne’s lips in her own and moaned with pleasure at the familiar feel of
her mouth. “You taste so good.”

  “You. You do,” Roxanne murmured. “Wait here and don’t move.”

  She eased away and Abby watched her deftly flick off all the burners and turn the knob on the oven to warm. A second later, Roxanne was at her side again. “This way.”

  Abby’s head swirled. She shouldn’t follow Roxanne because she was here for business, but she had no choice. She hadn’t been lying when she told Roxanne the buzz had never gone away. It had been a low hum in the background ever since she’d returned from PV, distracting her with its temptation. She would give in eventually—why not go ahead and get it out of her system? Then she could focus on her job and her client. It was just sex and she’d done this dozens of times before with other women whose names she didn’t even remember. That Roxanne’s name and face were firmly implanted in her memory was a small obstacle in the path to pleasure and she wasn’t about to let it trip her up.

  Chapter Thirteen

  From the moment Abby had walked through the door, Roxanne had been off-kilter. In a good way. If she’d had doubts about inviting her here, they’d been swept away while she watched Abby roam around the kitchen in her go-to-court suit, being all domestic and stuff. The juxtaposition was hot, and all Roxanne could think about was the time they’d spent together in PV and how much time they’d wasted since.

  She paused in the hall and looked back, locking eyes with Abby. The air between them was smoldering, but was it enough for Abby to follow her all the way? She held out her hand and waited. One, two…On three, Abby stepped closer and grasped her hand, raising it to her lips. Within seconds, they were locked in an embrace, hands roaming over each other’s bodies, all the first date jitters lost in the familiarity of knowing each other’s bodies so well.

  “So many clothes,” Roxanne gasped.

  “Definitely different than beachwear.”

  “We could remedy that.” Roxanne ducked her head to get a good look into Abby’s eyes. “If you want.”