that reminded Ava a bit of a lima bean, but a pretty one—at a clip just short of Olympic sprinting speed, her whisper-hiss already attracting attention from the guests there for the Reading and Wine night the gallery offered once a month. “My wedding is in two weeks and you promised you’d be there for me through every step of the way. You can’t take off for another six weeks that suddenly becomes twelve, and especially when I need you. Ava, you can’t go. You can’t!”
Ava patted the air around her in that way that was supposed to settle people on the brink of being beyond settleable. Then, leading her friend toward one of the chocolaty velvet couches far from the reading, she sat, pulling Maggie down with her. “Relax. I told them no.”
More than a few times. Particularly because they weren’t actually asking for six weeks. And hadn’t the last several times this discussion had come up.
They wanted six months to a year. Or forever.
Not a clarification Maggie needed right then with her emotions starting to spike about the wedding. An event she’d been remarkably chill about until a few days ago, when suddenly she’d gotten
twitchy.
And considering what happened with Maggie’s first go at the wedding thing, Ava was impressed she’d made it this long without freaking.
“Mm-hmm, but you’d already told them no. So what are they still asking for?”
“It’s Drew Mitchel.” He was the driving force behind the San Diego office and when Ava had been out last year helping to get the place up and running, they’d spent about three months working closely together. She couldn’t deny they’d made a good team. She liked IP law, but it was San Diego and her life was here. “He’s one of those ‘knows what he wants’ types who isn’t really into taking no for an answer. At least professionally speaking.” Personally, she’d shut down the single pass he’d made at her and they’d worked seamlessly as colleagues for months after.
Maggie’s arms were crossed, a deep furrow pulling between her eyes. “What is it with you and these stalkers?”
“It’s not like that with him. He’s just determined and driven. He thinks if he keeps asking, sprucing up the offer, eventually he’ll hit the magic formula and I’ll give.”
It was one of the things that appealed to her about Drew from the start. The guy knew what he wanted and went after it. And it showed; the San Diego office hit the ground running and hadn’t slowed down yet.
“He thinks you’ll give, but you won’t.”
There were questions in Maggie’s eyes her friend really didn’t need right then, so Ava did the only thing she could think of to reassure her. She pulled her in for a too-tight hug and didn’t let go.
“I won’t.” At least not until after the wedding, and not for more than a couple of weeks.
—
Sam had left the room for thirty seconds to grab a bag of corn chips from Ford’s kitchen and this was what he came back to:
“Dude, we gotta do The Admiral.” Tony’s fist bump was locked and loaded, just waiting for a taker, but a “gentlemen’s club”?
Man,
Sam hoped like hell Tyler’s brother Mitch was planning to go a different direction for the bachelor party.
It wasn’t as though Sam had some philosophical objection to strippers or dancers or whatever; those places just weren’t his thing. When a woman got naked for him, or even partially so, what got him off was knowing
she wanted to.
Not that someone was paying her to do it. But that was just him, and he’d had the bulk of his adult life to get used to the idea that a lot of guys didn’t share his way of thinking.
Tony, for instance, lived for his next trip to the “gentlemen’s club,” the lap dances he’d lock himself in place for, and the weird-as-shit ritual of watching while his friends got them too.
Not him. No thanks.
Still, Sam wasn’t about to be the wet blanket on Tyler’s bachelor party, so if
girls, girls, girls
was the way of
Ava patted the air around her in that way that was supposed to settle people on the brink of being beyond settleable. Then, leading her friend toward one of the chocolaty velvet couches far from the reading, she sat, pulling Maggie down with her. “Relax. I told them no.”
More than a few times. Particularly because they weren’t actually asking for six weeks. And hadn’t the last several times this discussion had come up.
They wanted six months to a year. Or forever.
Not a clarification Maggie needed right then with her emotions starting to spike about the wedding. An event she’d been remarkably chill about until a few days ago, when suddenly she’d gotten
twitchy.
And considering what happened with Maggie’s first go at the wedding thing, Ava was impressed she’d made it this long without freaking.
“Mm-hmm, but you’d already told them no. So what are they still asking for?”
“It’s Drew Mitchel.” He was the driving force behind the San Diego office and when Ava had been out last year helping to get the place up and running, they’d spent about three months working closely together. She couldn’t deny they’d made a good team. She liked IP law, but it was San Diego and her life was here. “He’s one of those ‘knows what he wants’ types who isn’t really into taking no for an answer. At least professionally speaking.” Personally, she’d shut down the single pass he’d made at her and they’d worked seamlessly as colleagues for months after.
Maggie’s arms were crossed, a deep furrow pulling between her eyes. “What is it with you and these stalkers?”
“It’s not like that with him. He’s just determined and driven. He thinks if he keeps asking, sprucing up the offer, eventually he’ll hit the magic formula and I’ll give.”
It was one of the things that appealed to her about Drew from the start. The guy knew what he wanted and went after it. And it showed; the San Diego office hit the ground running and hadn’t slowed down yet.
“He thinks you’ll give, but you won’t.”
There were questions in Maggie’s eyes her friend really didn’t need right then, so Ava did the only thing she could think of to reassure her. She pulled her in for a too-tight hug and didn’t let go.
“I won’t.” At least not until after the wedding, and not for more than a couple of weeks.
—
Sam had left the room for thirty seconds to grab a bag of corn chips from Ford’s kitchen and this was what he came back to:
“Dude, we gotta do The Admiral.” Tony’s fist bump was locked and loaded, just waiting for a taker, but a “gentlemen’s club”?
Man,
Sam hoped like hell Tyler’s brother Mitch was planning to go a different direction for the bachelor party.
It wasn’t as though Sam had some philosophical objection to strippers or dancers or whatever; those places just weren’t his thing. When a woman got naked for him, or even partially so, what got him off was knowing
she wanted to.
Not that someone was paying her to do it. But that was just him, and he’d had the bulk of his adult life to get used to the idea that a lot of guys didn’t share his way of thinking.
Tony, for instance, lived for his next trip to the “gentlemen’s club,” the lap dances he’d lock himself in place for, and the weird-as-shit ritual of watching while his friends got them too.
Not him. No thanks.
Still, Sam wasn’t about to be the wet blanket on Tyler’s bachelor party, so if
girls, girls, girls
was the way of
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