Her pouty face lit up immediately. “He’s already moved in. I watched him carrying boxes all day and he has arm muscles that give new meaning to the word
sinewy
. Yum.”
I tossed her a chastising glance, then placed my glass into the dishwasher. “I’m sure whoever-he-is has a brain, you know.” And hopefully the decency to tread lightly so I wouldn’t have to hear his footsteps pounding across my ceiling at all hours.
She rolled her eyes, then trotted after me as I headed toward my bedroom. “All I’m saying is that if I didn’t already have a date tonight, I’d be running upstairs to borrow a cup of sugar—if you know what I mean.”
“I’m afraid I do.” I turned back to study my little sister, whose eyes danced with excitement. Mary Ann wore a midriff-baring sparkly pink tank top that complimented her petite figure and her honey-blonde hair. My heart tugged. She and I were like night and day. What I wouldn’t give to be the adorable, carefree sister instead of the tall, plain, responsible one. I lifted my chin. “Actually, I have a date, too.”
Her brows crimped, then she placed her hand on her hip. “With who?”
I shrugged, then headed into my en-suite bathroom. “Kaitlin’s fiancé has a friend, so they’re setting me up.”
She leaned against the doorjamb, eyeing me critically. “Hmm.”
Although I desperately needed to shower, her tone stopped me short. I crossed my arms, swiveled to face her, and frowned. “What?”
“Nothing.” Her brows came together, then she threw her hands up. “It’s just . . . you need to be more discriminating with men so you don’t get your heart broken again.”
My jaw dropped. “You mean like what happened to you with your last boyfriend?”
She looked insulted. “Grif was
never
my boyfriend. He was just my . . . flavor of the moment.”
I reached down and tugged off a sweaty sock. “Nice to describe your ex like an ice-cream cone.”
“You can’t make a man be something he’s not.” She shrugged. “If a guy doesn’t make me happy, he’s gone. I don’t let them walk all over me, unlike some people. Ahem, Victor.”
“I broke up with Victor eventually, didn’t I?” I yanked off the other smelly sock and tossed it in her direction.
She dodged the stink bomb, wrinkling her nose. “Ease up. I’m just trying to help.”
“I know.” I sighed, leaned back against the counter, then rubbed a palm across my forehead. “You’re right. I didn’t want to give up on him.”
Just like I didn’t want to give up on my dad. He’d promised to go to rehab thousands of times, but had never followed though. Lifting my eyes, I met my sister’s gaze, and we exchanged a knowing look I felt deep in my gut.
“You can’t make someone change if he doesn’t want to,” she said, her tone uncharacteristically sober. After a long pause, she finally pushed off the doorjamb with her hip. “Life’s short. You need to implement a one-strike-and-you’re-out dating policy. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Maybe Trenton won’t get a strike. Maybe he’ll be the perfect date.” I raised an eyebrow. “Ever think of that?”
“Isn’t Trenton the capital of New Jersey?” She laughed, then sashayed away in her tiny black skirt.
“Lock the front door when you leave!” I pushed the bathroom door closed, leaned back against it, then snickered. Mary Ann was such a goofball.
She did have a good point about men, though. I needed to accept that no guy would change unless he wanted to. Yes, exactly. So, I’d utilize her one-strike-and-you’re-out policy. Starting with Trenton this Friday night.
****
After my double date dinner on Friday night, I strode through the marble lobby of the Geoffries hotel, listening to Paul and Trenton debate the value of shorting stocks (yawn). I still had a hard time believing Kaitlin’s fiancé was Paul Geoffries, owner of the super ritzy Geoffries hotel chain. He’d donated their ballroom as a location for
Founding Friendships’s
charity auction tonight. How’s that for mega-generous? Crossing fingers that his friend turned out to be just as sweet.
When the four of us entered the grand ballroom, we were greeted with upbeat music jetting from the giant speakers that surrounded the DJ’s station, which was set up next to the wooden stage across the room. I eyed the rest of my surroundings. White and gold drapery, a brilliant crystal chandelier above us, and long sets of tables against the sidewall for the silent auction.
My stomach knotted as I adjusted the top of my emerald green, strapless dress. I laced my arm through Kaitlin’s. “What if nobody bids on my auction? I can’t believe I let Jill talk me into donating when I have zero credentials.”
She turned to me, her eyes widening as she flipped her silky red hair over her shoulder. “You’re an incredible decorator. I should know since you help me out all the time with my remodel.”
“But I don’t have any professional training and Jill’s starting the bidding at five hundred bucks.” I brushed by a familiar woman wearing a long purple gown, who I was pretty sure I’d seen on TV. An anchor woman maybe? The entire population of Sacramento seemed to have turned out for this event. Wow.
“You worry too much, Ginger.” She squeezed my arm, then leaned toward my ear as we trailed behind the guys who were heading toward our VIP table. “So, what do you think of Trenton? I was dying to ask you all through dinner.”
I glanced over at my date, who was chatting away with Paul. Trenton looked studiously handsome with rimless glasses that complimented his intelligent demeanor. He wore an obviously expensive suit, had impeccable manners, and hadn’t come close to a strike yet. “He’s . . . nice.”
“Nice? That’s the best you’ve got?” She made an incredulous sound. “Trenton was named one of Sacramento’s top ten most desirable bachelors in the latest issue of
Sacramento Living
magazine.”
I raised a brow. “Yeah, but what number was he?”
Kaitlin burst out laughing at my joke.
Paul stopped at our table, swiveled, then slipped his arm around her. “What did I miss?”
“Nothing,” I interjected, shaking my head. Here I was on a date with Mr. Top Ten Sacramento and all I could come up with to describe him was “nice.” What was wrong with me? “I’m going to excuse myself and get a drink.”
“I’ll join you.” Trenton stepped up beside me and together we strolled to the bar where he ordered us each a glass of wine. Then he surveyed the sea of people in the room. “Appears to be a successful fundraiser. Paul says you donated to the silent auction?”
“Oh, yes . . .” My cheeks heated. “Decorating services. I’m not certified or anything, though.”
“Some of the most successful people in the world don’t even have a college degree.” He adjusted the glasses on his nose. “Where is your bidding sheet? My office could use a facelift. At least, that’s what my ex kept telling me.”
An awkward silence followed, so I took a sip of wine. Had he seriously just brought up his ex on our first date? Should that count as a strike? Where was an umpire when I needed one?
Deciding it had to have been an innocent comment, I asked, “When did you two break up?”
He touched my bare shoulder. “Months ago. That’s old news. Trust me.”
His hand felt awkward against my skin and I found myself wishing I’d worn a dress with sleeves. Plus, he was peering at me in such a scrutinizing way that something compelled me to ask, “Why did you two break up?”
“We’d been together a couple years and she was ready to settle down and start a family.” He laid a hand over the silk tie on his chest. “Rochelle’s a sweet woman, but I’m only thirty-two. My business has just taken off. Now is not the time to be focusing on a family. Plus, Rochelle’s a supermodel and she just released her own perfume: Only Rochelle. Children would kill her career.”
What the . . .? His ex was
Rochelle Richards?
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” I said, trying not to freak that his ex was a supermodel. Seriously, if I’m in the photo, then my friends have to take five shots just to get one with my eyes open. Sad, but true.
“Old news,” Trenton repeated, then snaked his arm around me. “Let’s take a look at your auction sheet so I can place my bid. One thing I will say is that Rochelle had impeccable taste in interior design.”
I sucked in a breath, suddenly feeling bad for Rochelle. Shouldn’t he have made the kid thing clear before she’d invested two years into him? That’s why I’d cut things off with Greg right way. It’s not right to lead someone on. . . .
Argh! Now was
not
the time to be thinking about Greg Shaffer again. Hello? I was on a date with Mr. Top Ten Sacramento.
I waved a hand toward midway down the tables. “My donation is number one hundred eighty-three. Maybe around that area.”
His mouth stretched into a sexy grin. “Let’s check it out.”
“Okay.” My belly squeezed in terror. What if nobody bid on the auction? What if they hated the “before” and “after” photos of my living room? Well, they could bite me because I loved it. But I didn’t want to let down Jill and all of the people she was trying to help. Besides, art was mental therapy for me. What if rejection ruined my muse and—
“Three bids already.” Trenton ran his finger down the auction sheet, then stopped at the bottom where he scribbled his bid. “Make that four.”
“Oh, my . . .” I peeked down at the bid sheet to make sure he’d read correctly. “You bid a thousand dollars.”
He set the pen back down. “It’s for charity and it’s a write-off, right?”
“True,” I said, marveling at the fact that my services were going to bring
Founding Friendships
a grand. Awesome.
Suddenly the lyrics from One Republic’s “Good Life” belted out from the speakers. Lights shimmered across the wooden floor as Jill Parnell, head of
Founding Friendships
, stepped onto the stage holding a microphone.
This could really be a good life, good life.
Trenton and I hurried back to our table, which was located right by the stage, then clapping thundered across the room.
“Thank you for being here tonight. For all of your support . . .” Jill began, then gave a brief overview of
Founding Friendships
and an emotional account of the woman they were helping, Beth, who’d been alone on the streets two months ago after she’d left her abusive husband.
Tears filled my eyes and I placed a hand over my chest, so honored to be a part of this event. Near the stage, I spotted Jill’s boyfriend, Ryan Shaw, who watched Jill with a look of pride. Then my gaze drifted to the man standing next to Ryan. . . .
My breath caught in my throat and I gripped the table as I dropped into my seat. Sandy-brown hair. Broad chest. And almond-brown eyes that made me think of a warm, summer night. Greg Shaffer.
His gaze met mine and held. The corner of his mouth turned up and a hot rush of lightening shot through me. Gulp.
Chapter Two
“Can you believe Ellen is due in six weeks?” Kaitlin laced her arm through mine as we strolled past the silent auction tables so I could check on my donation sheet and she could put her final bids on the day spa packages she had her eye on. “You’re going to her baby shower, right? A week from Sunday?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” I glanced over at our friend and co-worker—yes, we worked at one of
those
offices where you knew and loved (almost) everyone—whose belly ballooned into her hubby as they slow-danced to the eighties hit, “Reunited” by Peaches and Herb. This happened to be the same song that Greg and I had danced to last month, because that’s just how my luck was going tonight.
“Ginger . . . is everything all right?”
“Not exactly.” It had been hard enough trying to get Greg off my mind when he was in San Diego. Now that I knew he was in the very same room as me it’s like he’d been tattooed on my brain. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Absolutely.” She traced an X across her heart with her index finger, then leaned closer. “Spill.”
I took a deep breath, needing to confide in my friend before I lost my mind. “There’s this guy . . .”
“Of course there is.” She made an “I knew it” face. “Not a problem with Trenton, I hope?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Good.” She paused to run her finger down a bid list, then moved on. “I totally see you two together. He’s smart and sexy. You’re exuberant and sweet. A perfect match.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s not over his old girlfriend,” I said, thinking that any decent ump would’ve called a strike on Trenton after the repeated ex-talk. But maybe I was being too critical.
“According to Paul, they’re way over.” Kaitlin stopped to check another spa package halfway down the auction tables, placed a higher bid, then turned her attention back to me. “Is this guy problem you’re having with Victor? You’re way too good for him, Ginger. He stood you up so many times. It physically pained me watching you give him chance after chance. You deserve way better.”
“Ugh. Why does everyone keep bringing up Victor?” I glanced back at the bid sheet, thinking I could really use a day at the spa to chill me out. But I’d used my credit card so much lately it should’ve melted. Sigh. Ooh, the spa package was number one hundred and eighty so my donation sheet must be coming up. “My problem’s not him, it’s—”
While still ogling the spa display, I sauntered forward and collided with a broad (muscular) chest. Warm hands wrapped around my elbows. “Are you all right?” a male asked.
Chills vibrated through me at the familiar voice. Biting my lip, I lifted my gaze. Almond-brown eyes confirmed I’d barreled into Greg, who peered down at me in a way that had my tummy doing successive flips. “H-Hi,” I stumbled.
Smooth, Ginger. Very smooth.
His mouth curved upward “Hi, yourself.”
“Ginger, I—” Kaitlin paused mid-sentence, her gaze flipping from me to Greg then back to me again. “I, um, am just going to check on my last bid. Yeah, that’s what I’m going to do . . .”
I gave her a look, begging her not to leave me, but clearly she’d failed eye-language class because she gave me a thumbs up sign before skittering off.
Um, hello? Totally inappropriate gesture when I was on a date with the friend
she
had set me up with. Sheesh. Taking a deep breath, I turned back to Greg and willed the butterflies in my belly to chill.