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Regret?
“Want to see if our drinks are still there?”
I really, really should tell him my name before this goes any further. But if I do, he’ll very likely walk right back to the bar at the other end of the room. Actually, that’s what I should do. But since there’s zero chance of that happening, courtesy of my inability to delay gratification, a trait my dad always said would get me in trouble, I don’t say a word. Instead, I follow him back to where we first “met.”
“I see them there,” I say as we wind our way through the tables, “but I don’t know if it’s safe to drink them.”
He stops and turns toward me. “I hate that you have to worry about that.”
His response surprises me. “You do?”
Tristano frowns. “Anyone with a mother, or sister, or who gives a shit about women should hate it too. Sorry.” He nods toward the bar. “Didn’t mean to curse.”
I can’t help myself. “Would you apologize to a man for saying ‘shit’?”
He stops again.
“I wouldn’t bring it up, but you made a good point with the drink. One I appreciate. So I just wondered . . .”
He sincerely thinks about it before answering. “You know, I probably wouldn’t. Then again, if I was talking to a priest, then yeah, I might.”
“Interesting.”
He begins walking again. “I don’t have all the answers,” he admits. “I’m a work in progress. But I’m not afraid to admit it. I think the problem is that some people see criticism instead of an opportunity to learn.”
We reach the bar. And I honestly have no words. Is this guy for real? There’s got to be something seriously wrong with him, but I can’t imagine what.
Sexy as hell. A great dancer. Loves his family. Considerate.
Oh yeah, and the owner of the restaurant responsible for reducing Dad’s profits by twenty percent his first three months after opening.
“What were you drinking?” he asks, despite the fact that our drinks are exactly where we left them.
“Angel Red,” I say.
As he interacts with the bartender, I look for Chari but don’t see her. And it’s not hard to spot a bride. No Zara either.
“You don’t drink your brother’s beer?” I ask when he brings me a wine, clutching a Yuengling in his other hand.
“Usually I do, but we have a limo tonight.” He doesn’t finish.
But I know enough, from Chari, to know why.
“So you don’t need to take the Angel pill to sober up tonight. A good time to tease your brother.” I forge ahead, ignoring his mock outrage at having been called out. “Who, by the way, is the groom. You’d think you’d give the guy a break on his wedding day.”
His mischievous smile says it all.
“You seem to know a lot about me. Courtesy of Chari, I’m guessing. But I don’t know anything about you.”
A laugh behind him causes us both to stare.
Gian. The baby brother and most roguish of them all.
“Something funny, Gian?” Tristano asks.
“Yes.” He looks directly at me. “Just the fact that you have no idea who you’re talking to.”
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