“You mean the guy who gets to walk you down the aisle?”
“Yes.”
“The guy who gets to dance the first dance with you?”
“Yes.”
“The guy who is supposed to be at your side all day tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Nope.”
“What?”
He grinned. “I’m just an usher.”
Tasha felt a spark of disappointment. To hide it, she looked at her watch. Now she was officially late. “We’d better get in there before someone notices we’re missing.”
“We can’t be missing,” he said, “if we haven’t arrived yet.”
“You like to play with words,” she said.
To her surprise, his smile faded. “I never play with words.”
“But—”
“I work very hard at them.”
She smiled again. But she felt that some of the lightheartedness had left the conversation. She wasn’t quite sure why.
“Since we know everything else about each other,” he said, “maybe we should add names. I’m Rick. Rick Chance.”
“Tasha Morgan,” she said.
“Well, Tasha,” he said, holding out his arm. “Shall we march into the fray?”
She took the offered arm. His skin was warm and smooth, but she could feel the muscles beneath. “I guess we’d better.”
And together they walked to the back room as if they’d known each other all their lives.
THREE
ONLY TWO SEATS remained when Tasha and Rick arrived, and those seats were side by side. The table filled the private dining room, which had once been a small patio overlooking the pier. Someone had encased it in glass, and placed large ferns against the only wooden wall. The table was polished oak, and the chairs were so heavy that Tasha felt she could get a workout just by lifting one.
There was a large bare spot of floor between the kitchen and the table, and Tasha looked at it with alarm. A piano, a drum set, and instruments stood in a corner.
No one had told her there would be dancing later. Usually Brooke warned her about these things.
Of course, when Brooke warned her about dancing, Tasha always found a reason not to show up. She wasn’t a dancer. Her feet got in the way of each other and usually landed on her partner’s, much to his chagrin. Or she ended up slow dancing with someone she didn’t like, who pawed at her and sweated on her and whispered clichéd nothings in her ear.
Tasha looked away from the dance floor and finally faced the group. Relatives she knew all too well, friends of Brooke’s, and strangers who bore a faint resemblance to Rick shouted greetings. Tasha smiled and let Rick lead her to the open chairs in the center of the table.
Her cousin Brooke sat at the head, looking radiant. But then Brooke always was radiant, with her short cap of red hair, her dainty features, and her peaches-and-cream complexion. She wore a sea-green dress that made Tasha’s green gauze look as if she had accidentally put on a robe for the evening.
Gerald sat next to Brooke. He had a square sort of Clark Kentish build, but without the muscles. When his metabolism slowed down, he would have the soft, squishy belly and flabby arms of a man who never exercised or even went outside. Still the jacket he wore suited him, and the pale peach shirt he wore brought out what little color his skin had. Obviously Brooke had been dressing him, and doing a good job of it.
Brooke and Gerald didn’t notice that Tasha was late—they were too wrapped up in each other—but Tasha’s father shook his head slightly as she entered. Her mother glared at her, and Tasha’s brother collected a five-dollar bill from Brooke’s brother Elliot.
Rick saw the interchange too, and he put his free hand over hers, giving it a squeeze before they separated to take their seats.
The rehearsal dinner proceeded through toasts—hers was inane, Rick’s elegant—salads, wine, and food as bad as Rick had predicted it would be. Midway through the dessert (chocolate cheesecake, the only edible part of the meal), the band members filed in and began tuning up.
“Can we leave now?” Tasha whispered to Rick.
“You’re the maid of honor,” he said. “You’re supposed to stay to the bitter end.”
She groaned. Why had she agreed to this? It had already forced her to buy two dresses—the one she was wearing tonight, and a pink hooped thing that made her look like a petit four. Not to mention the matching shoes, purse, hat, and earrings. Or the hair appointment at the preferred salon, which was going to be another sixty dollars out of her very meager pocket.
She would be damned if she asked for any of the family money to pay for her part in this ridiculously expensive wedding. She’d declared her independence too long ago to crawl back now. Besides, her parents didn’t need to know how badly a thousand dollars broke her budget.
The band was poised and in position. Fortunately, someone had decided to make another toast with the after-dinner drinks.
“No one’ll notice if we just fade away,” Tasha whispered.
“If I fade away, maybe,” Rick said. “But you have to dance.”
He seemed to be relishing her discomfort.
“Why do I have to dance?”
“Bride and groom first, followed by the maid of honor and best man, then the attendants.”
“I thought that was after the wedding.”
“And this is rehearsal,” he said. “You don’t think they’ll follow the same traditions here?”
“How come you know so much about this stuff?”
He leaned back in his chair and took a sip from his long neck bottle of beer. He held the bottle between two fingers, and tilted with practiced ease.
“You go to enough of these things,” he said after his sip, “you figure them out. This is one of the traditional ones. They’re the easiest to predict.”
“How many have you been to?” she asked.
“Enough.” He still wasn’t looking at her. Apparently something in the marina had caught his eye.
Brooke stood up. She had a bit of color in those delicate cheeks, and her eyes were a little glassy. “We need to dance!” she said, and swept her arm toward the band.
The band glared at her. Tasha had a hunch this was not the introduction they’d wanted. A piano player, a drummer, a guitarist, and, of all things, a trombone player. All of whom were male and all of whom looked like they had seen better days.
But, obligingly, they launched into their first song, and it was a pop-swing thing that had “dance to me” in every beat. Tasha was surprised. They were very good.
Brooke and Gerald slipped onto the dance floor. The other attendants were standing. Rick nudged Tasha.
“You’d better get up,” he said.
“Not until I know who the best man is,” she said.
“Weren’t you at the rehearsal?”
“They had it in the afternoon. I had to work.”
“Oh, well. Your weekend’s date is over there.” Rick nodded to the only blond man at the table. He was pudgy, and too short to make the pudginess look good. He wore glasses that didn’t fit his face. When he caught her looking at him, his eyes lit up and he smiled.
He seemed harmless enough, but she was terrible at small talk and she didn’t like dancing with strangers.
Although she wouldn’t have minded dancing with Rick.
“Side by side,” Rick said, “for the entire wedding.”
“You’re enjoying this too much for a man whose just met me,” Tasha said.
“Believe me it’s nothing personal. Usually I’m the only person who is uncomfortable at a wedding. It’s nice to meet someone else who shares the feeling.”
The best man had worked his way around the table, and bowed before her. The tips of his wispy hair fell forward as he did so. He looked as nervous as Tasha felt.
“May I have this dance?” he asked.
Tasha had promised Brooke. So she gave the best man her best smile. “Sure.”
She didn’t look at Rick as she took the best man’s h
and and let him lead her onto the dance floor.
His hand was damp, but his grip around her waist was surprisingly sure.
Right away, she apologized for her lack of dancing skill.
“It’s not a problem,” he said as he expertly guided her across the floor.
“I’m sorry,” she said as she caught her breath. “I don’t remember your name.”
“Howie. Howie Klatch.” He adjusted his glasses, as if he were trying to see her better. When he put his hand back on her waist, the glasses slid down his nose.
“I’m Tasha.”
“I know.” He smiled at her. His smile made seem rounder, but pleasant somehow. “It’s okay. We were never properly introduced and you couldn’t come to rehearsal.”
The floor was filling up with the rest of the attendants. And after they straggled on, so did the parents and the other couples. She couldn’t see Rick.
“What do you do?” she asked Howie.
“I run an Internet startup. We went public a few years ago. Maybe you’ve heard of us—”
“The same company that Gerald owns?” she asked.
Howie nodded, then his smile turned into a grin. Now he looked impish and almost cute. He apparently liked it when people figured out he was rich. “We started it together. We never expected it to go so well, but we’re not complaining.”
“I guess not.”
He was leading her pretty well. Her feet hadn’t gotten tangled yet, and she’d managed to avoid stepping on him. He was still looking at her, and so was Brooke—casually, over her shoulder. Tasha got a scary feeling that she and Howie had been matched in this wedding for more than one reason.
This song seemed like it was going on forever. She glanced at the clock and realized that the song had been going on forever. Five minutes at least with no end in sight. Damn Brooke for hiring a jazz and swing band.
Howie was still smiling at her. Actually, he was smiling up at her. He was short enough to make her uncomfortable.
“So,” he said, “Brooke tells me you’re pretty good with computers.”
“Computer crimes,” Tasha said.
“Oh?” His eyebrows went up. “You’re a hacker?”
She laughed and was about to correct him, when she saw Rick loom up behind him. Rick tapped Howie’s shoulder, and said, “Mind if I cut in?”
Before Howie had a chance to answer, Rick swept him aside and took Tasha in his arms. His grip was firm, his hands were dry, and he was the perfect height for her.
“Thank you,” she said.
“My pleasure.” His voice was deep and low, and in her ear. “I’ve never danced with a hacker before.”
“You’re not dancing with one now.”
“You told him that to impress him?”
“He misunderstood me.”
“Oh.”
Over his shoulder, she saw Brooke frown at her.
“I think Brooke and Gerald are trying to fix me up,” Tasha said.
“With him?” Rick sounded surprised. “Don’t date much, huh?”
“Don’t like dating,” Tasha said, not wanting to get into it. If she wasn’t careful, she would confess to him what her job was, and she didn’t want to do that. Not tonight. It would only ruin a lovely evening.
“Enjoying yourself yet?” Rick asked.
“I’ve got to admit, you’ve made this a lot nicer evening than it would have been.”
He pulled her even closer. She had never danced with a man who made her feel small. Maybe that was why she always tromped on them.
“You’ve made it nice for me too,” he said. “I was afraid that I’d spend the entire evening fending off polite queries about my work. You know, the old ‘have you figured out yet what you’re going to do with your life?’ question.”
He smelled faintly of wood smoke. His shirt was soft against her cheek. She had no idea how her head found its way to his shoulder, and she looked up at him abruptly.
“That’s a familiar question,” she said. “It comes when you’re not working or when you’re working at a job that the people in your life don’t approve of.”
“Sounds like you’ve heard it a few times.”
“Too many.” She winced again. The next question would be “so what do you do?” and she didn’t want to answer that. So she said rather quickly, “Want some punch?”
“Not really.” He eased a hand up her back. She could feel the warmth of his palm through that silly gauze. “I’m enjoying the dance.”
She was too. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been held like this. The music had slowed down and she hadn’t even realized it. She put her head back on his shoulder, and he wrapped his other arm around her.
How could she feel so close to someone she didn’t even know? Maybe one of her fantasies was finally coming true. A handsome man, a wonderful flirtation, a great dance. Nothing had to go beyond this night. Maybe nothing should. After all, reality was always worse than the fantasy. If her job had taught her anything, it was that.
The music stopped, rather abruptly.
She and Rick kept dancing, but he turned so that he could see the band. Then she noticed that everyone else stopped too. She felt self-conscious, and she pulled away.
For a moment, he continued to hold her close, then he let her slip out of his grasp. She looked at the band. Gerald was there, talking to them. And Brooke was heading her way.
Tasha cursed. She knew what was going to happen next.
“Think we goofed up somehow?” Rick asked.
“I think we ruined best-laid plans,” Tasha said just as Brooke got close.
“Tash!” Brooke gave her a quick airy hug. Her cousin smelled faintly of lilies, and she seemed perfectly put together despite the stress of the day, lateness of the hour, and her alcohol consumption. “We haven’t had a chance to talk. Excuse us?”
She didn’t even look at Rick as she said that last, just led Tasha to the bar. Friends still gathered there, but the family moved out of the way. Apparently this had been a Plan to make sure that Tasha Learned the Errors of Her Ways.
Or maybe it had been a Plan to Invite Tasha Back into the Fold. Or maybe the Plan had been to Find Tasha A Man So That She Would Stop This Nonsense.
Whatever it was, Tasha, as usual, had screwed it up.
“What are you doing?” Brooke asked in a tone which said How-Can-You-Do-This-To-Me-On-The-Night-Before-My-Wedding?
“I was dancing,” Tasha said.
“And flirting.”
Tasha shrugged. “Rick seems nice.”
“Nice? Nice? Do you know anything about him?”
“Only that he’s Gerald’s nephew and he’ll be an usher at the wedding.”
Brooke sighed theatrically. “How do you always pick the wrong men?”
It was Tasha’s turn to sigh. She was never going to live down Bobby Bailey, from high school. Bobby had been a dope-smoking musician who had seemed romantic at the time. Eventually he got arrested on a DUII and disappeared into the court system.
“I didn’t realize I’d picked anyone,” Tasha said.
“You were supposed to spend the evening with Howie.”
“I hadn’t been informed there were rules.” Tasha had to struggle to keep her voice down. She could see Rick at his spot near the table. He hadn’t sat down. He was watching them. His gaze was intense.
He saw her looking at him. Need help? he mouthed.
She shook her head slightly, then wished she hadn’t. Maybe she did need help.
“Tash, at a wedding, the maid of honor always spends her time with the best man.”
“But this is the rehearsal dinner.”
“E-yay-aaah,” Brooke said, making the word into three syllables. Whenever she did that, it meant “how dumb can you be?” Tasha was amazed at how much of her conversations with her cousin were always in this kind of code.
“I just thought we’d eat and leave. I didn’t even know there’d be dancing. Howie asked, I danced with him, and then Ric
k cut in.”
“You let him.”
“It’s polite to dance with the cuttee,” Tasha said through clenched teeth. “Did you want a scene?”
“It would be just like Rick to provide one.” Brooke tapped a manicured finger against her perfect white teeth.
Tasha saw the wheels move, saw Brooke’s opinion shift from blaming Tasha to blaming Rick. Brooke slipped her arm through Tasha’s and pulled her close, just like she used to do in high school when she wanted to gossip. “Listen, Tash, Rick’s not your kind of guy.”
“I thought you just said he was.”
Brooke let out a little whistle of air, her extreme exasperation sound. “He’s trouble, Tash.”
“I’m a cop, Brookie. I can handle trouble.”
“I don’t want you to blame me for it,” Brooke said. “He’s not the kind of guy you should be with.”
“Even for one night?”
“Tash!”
“Sorry,” Tasha said, but now she was intrigued. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Everything,” Brooke said, and looked at him. Tasha couldn’t help herself. She looked too.
He smiled and waved two fingers, just as if he knew what they were discussing. It was a roguish smile. It suited him as much as the twinkles in his eyes did.
“He’s good looking,” Tasha said.
“They all are.”
“His family?” Tasha asked.
“No, silly,” Brooke said. “Womanizers.”
“He’s a womanizer?”
“He’s got a woman for every day of the week, and twice on Sundays.”
Tasha turned toward her cousin in surprise. Brooke rarely spoke in clichés. In fact, that particular cliché was the province of Tasha’s mother, who usually said that of any handsome man.
“Oh, so he likes women,” Tasha said.
“He doesn’t like them. He uses them,” Brooke said.
“He seemed nice to me.”
“Tash! That’s how they get their victims.”
“Victims?” Tasha frowned.
“You know what I mean,” Brooke said.
“No, I don’t.”
“Look, Tash, he’s a user. He can’t hold a job, so his women support him. And he’s macho. He does all those guy things.”
“What guy things? He watches too much TV? Scratches himself in public? What?”
The Perfect Man Page 2
