Page 25 of The Best Man
I’m soaking wet, fucking cold, and Goddamn tired. And even though I bear a striking resemblance to a drowned rat, I can’t resist the urge to talk to her, to share a drink, to check in. I look like I escaped a shipwreck, but my girl looks pissed. And she’d be really pissed if she knew I was referring to her as my girl. So, I keep those words to myself and walk toward her, determined to figure out what has her in such a bad mood.
Water has pooled at my feet, and I mop it with a napkin, before striding over to Molly’s table.
I tip my chin and smile as she looks in my direction. “Fancy seeing you here,” I say, because I’ve lost all my smoothness and am now only allowed to speak in cliches, apparently.
At my approach, her face falls into a frown. Like I said, I’ve never had self-esteem issues, but, man, that hurts.
“Ouch.” It’s all I can think of, but it’s accurate.
“Oh, my gosh, no. I’m sorry, I—. I was expecting someone else.”
Her words do nothing to soften the blow.
She shakes her head as if to restart. “My crestfallen look was not personal, I promise. I’ve been stood up again by my half-sister, Ashley. She’s having a rough semester at college, so I keep trying to connect with her, but this is the third date we’ve made that she’s ditched.”
“That explains why you’re gripping your phone like a vise.” Again with the cliches? This woman is turning my brain to mush.
“Yea, I’m a little bit annoyed. But I’m better now that you’re here.” Her smile is genuine. “Will you join me for some tea? Or are you a coffee addict like Elaine?”
“No one is a coffee addict quite like my sister, but I’m definitely a fan.” I move toward the table and, dammit, my shoes squeak.
“Oh my word, you’re soaking. How did I miss that?”
“Yea, this is what happens when you let some smokeshow borrow your car,” I smile.
“Don’t blame this on me!” She laughs. “Have you heard of this thing called Uber?”
“It’s a long story about a guy who thought he could squeeze in a couple of hours sailing on the Bay, but got stuck in a downpour as he was leaving the marina,” I lament. “I’m gonna see if I can dry off a bit.” I head down the small hallway that has to be where the restrooms are.
A glance in the mirror confirms my suspicion: I’m a fucking mess. My hair is sopping wet and starting to curl, my white shirt is transparent, and I’m surely leaving a trail of water everywhere I go.
I peel my shirt off and dump it in the sink to wring it out. My pants aren’t too bad, except around the ankles. And my shoes are likely ruined. I dry my hair with a fistful of paper towels and then aim the hand dryer at my chest.
Before I can even turn it on, I hear the door handle rattle. Just my freaking luck. “It’s occupied,” I call.
“I know it’s occupied. Let me in.” Molly’s voice rings clear.
I crack the door open, and that’s all the encouragement she needs. She pushes my hand away and walks right in. To the restroom. While I’m wet and shirtless.
“Need something, Molly?” I question, not bothering to hide my annoyance, as I press the button for the hand dryer and it rumbles loudly.
She presses the button again, and the machine quiets. “No, I’m fine.” She smiles. “But you need a shirt. So I got you one.”
“You got me a shirt?” Okay, I wasn’t expecting that.
“Yea, they sell quirky shirts at the counter, and you need one, so…” There’s heat in her gaze as she looks at my bare chest. I’m thankful for my years of faithful gym habits right now.
Her lips part, and it’s clear she’s not immune to me.
“Do I really need a shirt?” I tease; I can’t resist.
Unfortunately, that snaps her out of her lusty haze.
“Of course you do. You’re dripping wet. And I missed you, which is both unexpected and inconvenient, but there you have it. And I figure you could stick around and grab a cup of tea with me if you were dry. Because friends do that. They drink hot beverages together. So…” She shakes out a giant purple sweatshirt.
Now, it’s not that I’m ungrateful, but I was expecting something more along the lines of a standard-issue employee t-shirt. Maybe in gray or black. This crewneck sweatshirt is the color of grape soda, but it’s soft and dry, so I’ll keep my mouth shut about the color.
“Thank you, really. That was—”
