“Epic rescue and you get the girl. Not a bad week after all.”
Oh, it’d been a clusterfuck of a week. He stared over Riley’s shoulder to the squat form of the Museum of American History. “I don’t have the girl. We met, she was interesting, but then I had to make a meeting at HQ. Didn’t even get to say goodbye or pin her to a date.”
“Not like you to give up so easily,” came Josh’s calm assessment.
“There’s no giving up.” Ever. Not ever. Not in any part of Griff’s life. “I know where she works.” He hadn’t gone back to find Chloe yet. She didn’t deserve to catch blowback from his filthy mood. Griff had needed time to get his head straight. So he’d pounded out the anger by swimming laps until his arms were noodled. Ran until his knees buckled. This game, followed by dinner with the ACSs, ought to take him the rest of the way back to normalcy. Then he’d track down the winsome writer.
“You’re just going to go back and the deal will be done?”
Shouldn’t be hard. “That’s the plan.”
Riley emptied his pockets into his duffel. “This guy at my work got epically spanked asking a woman out this week. Maybe I should send him to you for lessons.”
The tallest of all of them, Riley had the whole leading-man thing going for him: chiseled jaw, dark hair, light blue eyes. He didn’t target-lock on every passing panty wearer like Knox did, but when Riley wanted a woman, he had one. That simple. “You’re not scraping the barrel in the female department, Ry. Help him yourself.”
“He won’t listen to me. Hodges figures I’m just trying to make him feel better.”
Dating trouble. Perfect. This could be the solution to Griff’s currently blank extra blog post. “What’d she do?”
Riley scrubbed his fingers across the top of his head. “Hodges is coming off a starter marriage.”
That was an endless topic well they dipped into all the time for Naked Men. You couldn’t throw a stick without hitting someone who’d been in a fast and finished marriage. “Let me guess—itching to get back out there, but terrified at the same time?”
“Exactly. We took him out for a drink. Thought we’d try the group wingman approach.”
“A bunch of NTSB investigators?” Knox snorted. “You’re all the most cautious, detail-oriented people I’ve ever met. Not the right crew to loosen up a nervous Nellie.”
Knox said it, but Griffin knew he and Josh had been thinking it. Boringly OCD was the nicest thing they’d come up with to call Ry’s colleagues. Right after they begged him never to invite them to a party at their house again.
Riley stole the ball from Knox and tucked it under his arm. “That attention to detail was our strong suit. Everyone took a lap around the bar, making their pick for him. By the second round, we found her. Pretty, but not super hot. Her friends had all scored phone numbers, so she was the odd man out.”
With an approving double click of his tongue, Josh said, “The perfect setup.”
“Should’ve been. Too nervous for a direct approach, Hodges had the bartender send her a drink. When the bartender delivered it, he pointed out Hodges to her.”
Knox nodded his approval. “Old-school. Add a fedora and she’d think Cary Grant was hitting on her.”
“Should’ve worked,” Griff agreed. He preferred a more direct approach, but he’d used the drink delivery once or twice. Never failed.
Riley tossed the ball from one hand to the other. “She picks up the drink, comes over, and slams it down. Says, ‘Don’t waste your money. If you’re not man enough to ask me to my face if I’d like a drink, then you’re sure as hell not man enough to end the night in my bed.’ ”
“Stone cold bitch, table for one.” Had to be the title of his blog post. And it made Griff appreciate Chloe all the more. She hadn’t agreed to coffee without some effort on his part, but she hadn’t been rude about it, either. Matter of fact. Fun. But in no way bitchy.
A good reminder that dating was a crapshoot. Griff couldn’t afford to let a good one slip away. Tomorrow morning he’d head to Busboys and Poets first thing.
“Who do we know?” Griff blurted out.
Knox rolled his eyes. “We know a metric shit ton of people. Give us a better clue.”
“This guy needs a setup. I’ll write a blog post about this. It’ll show Hodges he did everything right. Just with the very wrong woman. But the only way to fix him is to get him on a date ASAP.”
“Now you’re a matchmaker?” Knox stroked his chin. “That’d be an interesting way to monetize the blog. We could set up an algorithm and—”
“No!” Griff, Josh, and Riley all shouted in unison.
“You’ve got a whole techno empire to fill with algorithms and computerese. Don’t drag it into Naked Men,” Griff ordered.
It was great that the dirt-poor kid on a full-ride scholarship to Roosevelt Prep had turned into a tech mogul. Really great when they hitched a ride on Knox’s plane to a weekend in the Caribbean. But being proud of how far he’d come didn’t mean they had to listen to him start talking apps and bytes and God knows what. Even blood brotherhood went only so far.
“Ahhh.” Riley tapped his temple with his index finger. “I get it. You want to rescue Hodges. Figures.”
They always made it sound like a bad thing. It’s not like he ran around in a damn cape and a mask. And what was so wrong about lending a hand? “I’m not rescuing him,” Griff snapped. “The guy’s lonely, not on the edge of a cliff surrounded by bears, for fuck’s sake.”
“You wanna save Hodges badly enough to serve him up your cappuccino girl?”
“Her name’s Chloe.” A weird wave of protectiveness rolled through Griff. Weird because they’d maybe spent half an hour together, at most. “And she’s off-limits. Not just to him, but to all of you.”
Jaw practically to the floor, Riley said, “Dude, we don’t poach one another’s women. You know that.”
It was true. They had a strict policy about never going after a woman in play by one of the other ACSs. And an ask-first policy about going after rejects.
“Typical only child. Never wants to share his toys,” teased Josh.
Picking from their own pool of potentials probably was a bad idea. Griff came up with a work-around. “Ry, get me a photo of Hodges. I’ll run it with his stats at the bottom of the post. When he sees how many women are interested, his dick will feel two feet long.”
“Right. ’Cause that’s what I hope for all my work associates,” Riley said in a dry snarl.
“Don’t be a buzzkill. This’ll be one of the most retweeted Naked Men posts ever.”
“Let’s make it a bet?” Josh stuck out his hand. “Fifty bucks on who gets his date first—you with your cappuccino girl, or if Hodges gets one from the blog?”
“I’m always up for a sucker bet.” Griff shook before Josh could realize the gigantic loophole. He’d have a date with Chloe in the bag before he even finished writing the damn post. Be in her bed before it went live next week. Yeah, that sounded like a slam dunk of a plan.
Chapter 4
Chloe looked down the elegant length of Peacock Alley at the Willard InterContinental and sighed. The historic hotel always gave her chills. It had hosted almost every president since Franklin Pierce. Martin Luther King Jr. finished his most famous speech in one of the rooms above her. Charles Dickens had visited, and FDR had held his inauguration right down the hall. Okay, they’d probably switched out the crimson carpet with its regal gold pattern since then, but Chloe still counted it as walking exactly where they’d all walked.
Fingers snapped an inch from her nose. “Hey.” Summer Sheridan waggled her fingers for good measure. “Fantasize about dead presidents on your own time.”
Chloe didn’t bother to deny it. She’d never been able to so much as fib to Summer. “How did you know that’s what I was doing?”
To her surprise, Summer didn’t respond right away. Instead, she pursed her frosted pink lips. Stirred a third sugar cube into her custom-blended cher
ry blossom tea. The spoon scraped against the cup long after the sugar must have dissolved. Chloe raised an eyebrow. Waited.
Summer followed the beat of her own private drummer. Danced to a tune the rest of the world simply could not hear. She talked a blue streak, but not until she was darn good and ready. So Chloe sipped her own tea, with its more reasonable single sugar cube, listened to the oddly tonal sideways harp played by a woman in a kimono, and waited.
“There are three ways I can answer. All are true. Two are kinda snarky. Which do you want?”
“We’re indulging in a special high tea to celebrate the Cherry Blossom Festival. Save the snark for another day.”
“In that case…” She clattered her spoon into the saucer. Chloe bit back a wince. That china was probably as old as the hotel. “I knew what you were thinking because I’ve been your best friend for almost ten years. If I couldn’t guess what you were thinking by looking at your face, I’d have to turn in my BFF sash.”
“Good point.” Of course Summer could practically read her mind. They’d roomed together for four years straight in college. Shared a mystical connection that allowed them to agree on takeout without even discussing it. Or maybe that was just because they both craved mu shu pork three hundred and fifty days a year.
“Did you remember to skip breakfast?”
This wasn’t Chloe’s first rodeo. Her green-leaf-patterned dress had a tan leather belt that could be let out a notch, if necessary, by the end of tea. “Of course. No scone left behind.”
“Good.”
Why was their conversation all stilted? They were never at a lack for conversation. If Chloe shared that she’d snagged her green sweater on a light switch and hung herself up for a ridiculous amount of seconds trying to undo it, Summer would laugh. Then go off on a rant about how certain items of clothing should come with warning labels. Like how you could shock yourself when wearing fuzzy socks. Or get a long skirt caught under a desk chair’s wheels.
Or that’s what they should be talking about. Instead of Summer playing with the sugar tongs. In silence. Aargh. This was ruining Chloe’s special tea day. She needed Summer to focus so she could tell her all about Griffin. Griffin, whom she hadn’t stopped thinking about for five straight days. Griffin, the reason her head snapped up to check every time the door opened at Busboys and Poets. The man who’d infected her thoughts with the swift takeover of a flu virus, and giving her similar symptoms of feeling flushed and slightly woozy.
Excited to share her hot man news, Chloe folded. “Fine. I can’t stand this. Hit me with the snarky answers.”
Sitting up straight, Summer smoothed her skirt over her knees. “Do you like my dress?”
Chloe had no clue of the connection between her imagining historic figures and a pale blue dress embroidered from hem to neckline with an elaborate branch of cherry blossoms. “Yes. It’s gorgeous. Absolutely perfect for today.”
“I know. I found it on a vintage site. It’s from the 1950s. And I found it because I literally had twelve months to shop for this dress.” Summer leaned forward. Drilled her index finger into the table. “Because we do this every single year.”
“That’s what makes it a tradition.” The Cherry Blossom Festival overtook D.C. once a year. What was Summer’s sudden issue with crustless egg salad sandwiches and mini eclairs?
“If this was the only thing in your life on repeat, I’d let it pass as a tradition. But this is all you do, Chloe. You sit in a coffee shop all day long. Afternoon tea with me once a quarter. Wine with your three book clubs every four to six weeks. Your entire life can be summed up in three beverages.” Cinching her dark brown ponytail low on her neck, Summer grinned. “Or should I say it can be boiled down to three beverages?”
Wait a minute. That all sounded just like…the last time Summer had tried to nudge Chloe out of her routine, about six weeks ago. And two months before that. “Bad puns won’t make me forget that you just ranted at me. Before our three-tiered tray of sweetness even arrived.”
A careless shrug. “Still funny.”
Maybe a little.
Chloe plucked at the sharp pleats of the starched tablecloth. “So…what…you want me to find a beverage-free activity? Is this an intervention?”
Summer waved her hand through the air. “That’s too mainstream a concept for me. But if labeling it’ll put a burr under your butt, then yes.”
She didn’t want a burr under her butt or anywhere else. What Summer couldn’t seem to comprehend was that Chloe was perfectly content. “In today’s complicated world, a steady routine is a simple way to lessen the risk of anything going wrong.”
“It lessens the risk of anything interesting happening, ever.”
“I thought you enjoyed high tea?”
“Of course I do. We’d have fun going anywhere together.” She reached across the table to squeeze Chloe’s hand. “We used to crack each other up in a Laundromat. Hanging out in a ritzy hotel eating cream puffs with you isn’t any more or less fun than that. It’s just a nicer venue.”
This was silly. Chloe shouldn’t have to defend her social activities to her best friend. Especially not the ones that involved wine and desserts. Still, she couldn’t help herself. “My book clubs are all different. There’s the serious one where we only read classics. There’s the slightly less serious one where we read award-winning literature. And, of course, my favorite—”
Summer cut her off by sliding down to rest her head on the back of the chair, throwing her arms out to the side and snoring. Loudly. Loudly enough that the long coffee table encircled by moms and pre-tweens in pink and pearls all whispered and squinted harshly at them.
“Okay, okay—I know that books aren’t your thing. But if you don’t open your eyes, you won’t see me sneaking both of the tarragon chicken salad sandwiches—”
A hand shot out to clamp around her wrist. “Don’t even think about it. There’s always utter equality in splitting everything.”
“Oh, you mean like we always do?” Chloe paused for a beat for Summer to catch her pointed meaning. “I thought you wanted me to break free of tradition. Scarfing down your share of the sandwiches seems like a great place to start.”
“Message received. I’ll drop it.” A quick glance from under lowered lids, shimmery with the same pale peacock shade as her dress. “For today.”
“Thank you.”
“I did have one more answer, though. About how I knew you were dreaming of dead presidents.”
“If it’s a dig at my choice to adhere to a routine, you’ll forfeit your green tea shortbread.”
“Deal.” Summer popped a wafer-thin slice of bread topped with lemon, dilled cream cheese, and salmon into her mouth. Her eyes fluttered shut. “So good. They’d be better if you could stack ten of them together to make a real sandwich, though.”
“You have no appreciation for delicacy.”
“Nope. I want a mouthful. That goes for men, too,” she said with a husky laugh. “Which is how I knew.”
Chloe bit her sandwich in half, to properly savor it. “Knew what?”
“You could only look that googly-eyed over something historic, something literary, or a man. And we both know you haven’t had any men sniffing around. Due to the aforementioned hanging out in coffee shops and with all-female book clubs…wait!” Summer winced as Chloe snatched both shortbreads off the tray and added them to her plate.
“I warned you the price you’d have to pay. Especially since you’re wrong. I did meet a man. He didn’t make me swoon, but I did check out his ass. It was”—Chloe lifted both hands in the air and squeezed—“high and tight and pretty darn fantastic.”
Summer flailed her arms, finally pushing on the armrests to get to an upright position. “And you waited this long to tell me? Is his face as good as his ass?”
Tricky. The problem with ranking was that she wanted to give every part of Griffin a blue ribbon. “If I say it’s better, let me be clear that should in no way diminish the qualities
of his ass.”
“Duly noted.”
“He’s…well…he’s just plain hot. Tall and muscled and carries himself with this air of authority. Swagger. Not cocky—I mean, not overly cocky, but full of an obvious confidence that makes you relax. Not completely relax, of course, because his overwhelming masculinity puts you on alert that this is a man who could do things to you. You just know that he knows his way around a woman’s body.”
“Actually I don’t know any of this.” A smug grin broke across Summer’s face. “But you sure seem pretty convinced. This guy sounds like the man to end the need for all other men. And you sound completely head over heels for him. Or that you’d like him to get you flat on your back, heels over—”
“Summer!” Chloe squeaked to cut her off with a dual hand wave. “Shush. Not at high tea.” She jerked her head toward the nearby table full of ears too young to hear such talk.
With a flounce and a frown, Summer quieted, letting the plunky notes of the koto fill the silence as she tossed back a triangle of arugula and goat cheese. “If you had dirt on a hot man to share, we should’ve met in a bar instead. A place where I can drop innuendo and make sexy, leering faces with abandon.”
“When I have more to share, I promise the French martinis are on me. Today, though, the little I have to tell is pretty G-rated. He was hot. Fun. We hit it off.” Chloe had been positive Griff would ask her out. Almost as positive that she’d have said yes. “But then my mom called, and by the time I got her calmed down, he was gone.”
All the laughter and light drained from Summer’s eyes. “Oh, Chloe—”
A brisk shake of her head cut off her friend. “Don’t say it. Whatever you’re going to say has already crossed my mind, believe me.” This wasn’t the first time she and Summer had not had this aborted conversation. And she couldn’t begin to count how many times they had talked it all through. Chloe refused to let their annual Cherry Blossom Tea be ruined.
“Can I just—”
This time she brandished her spoon in warning. “Nope. We’re going to enjoy our special day. We’re going to let everyone walking by notice how great we look—because we both cleaned up very well today—and we’re going to linger over a second pot of tea while I try to describe to you the exact shade of the hot stranger’s eyes.”
Risking It All Page 5
