That Kind of Girl (Fillmore & Greenwich Book 2) (11 page)

"Ow." Frowning, he rubbed the spot. "What was that for?"

"You're lucky I didn't do what Poppy taught me to do to boys who tried to make passes." She headed toward her door. Only a very,
very
small part of her wanted him to follow her.

"Georgina," he called softly after her.

She looked over her shoulder.

"Next time
you
make the pass, and I'll show you what
I
do to girls who make them."

She shivered again, and then she went inside quickly before she was tempted to find out.

Remy sat on the couch in his barren, rented apartment, the words he'd just said running through his head.
Next time you make the pass, and I'll show you what I do to girls who make them.

He'd said that.

You used to talk like that all the time
.

But your death stopped that
, Remy replied silently.

It makes me feel bad . . .

"Not as bad as you dying made me feel, babe," he murmured, leaning back.

The lack of response made the silence of the apartment more profound. Remy sat in the dark loft he'd rented for the month while he checked out Georgina. A month had seemed much longer than he'd need, but the way things were going he'd probably have to extend his stay.

He could find another dance partner. Finding a dance partner wasn't easy—you had to have a connection that went deeper than just being able to move together. It was a feeling. Sometimes a person you connected with in conversation didn't connect with you in the dance.

Except he knew that Georgina could dance—he could see it in how she moved. He'd felt it in the brief moment he'd held her in his arms. Whether they'd connect wasn't in question; he knew without a doubt that, when they did dance, it'd be everything he imagined it could be.

His phone rang, and he lurched to get it before he realized Georgina didn't have his number yet.

It was Max. "I'm out with some guys from work. Come meet us."

It'd be so easy to stay in. It was quiet and dark, and he could plan how he'd assault Georgina the next day.

Max must have sensed him digging in. "Dude, I'm not asking for a lifetime commitment. Come out for a drink."

Remy's lips quirked. "I thought we already had a lifetime commitment."

"We do, I just didn't want to scare you. So you coming out, or do I have to fetch you?"

He looked around the dark apartment, a restless feeling coming over him. "I'll come meet you," he said impulsively, getting up.

"I'll text you the address." Max hung up and, three seconds later, sent a pin of his location. Grabbing his jacket, Remy went out to his motorcycle and rode over.

He saw Max the moment he walked in, leaning on an elbow at the bar, talking to a woman. A blonde, of course. Remy would have given anyone else space to close the deal, but this was Max. He went over and put his arm around his buddy. "There you are, sweetheart," Remy purred. "I wondered where you went off to."

The blonde looked between the two of them, her face flushing with embarrassed understanding. "Oh. Hi."

Max pushed Remy aside. "Don't pay any attention to him. He's just messing with me."

"I'd like to mess with you later." Remy ruffled his friend's hair. "Sexy Max."

The girl hopped off her stool and snatched her drink. "I've got to, uh, go. My friends are waiting."

They watched her scurry to the back of the bar.

Max sighed in disappointment and then turned to whack him across the chest. "What the hell, dude? Sexy Max was in action."

"Yeah, I saw that. I thought you were here with friends."

"They had to bail."

Remy motioned to the bartender. "Then can I buy Sexy Max a drink?"

"Fine." He asked the bartender for a beer.

Remy ordered a club soda as he took out a bill and set it on the counter. The bartender took it in exchange for a tall plastic cup and a beer bottle.

"Club soda?" Max made a face as he took the beer. "Did you become a teetotaler when I wasn't looking?"

"You need to stop talking like that," he said, sipping. Giselle had loved sparkling water. "Most people don't understand you."

"Yeah, but you do." Max nodded his thanks to the bartender and saluted Remy. "To miracles happening."

"What miracles?"

"You coming out. It's only a matter of time before you order a proper beverage." His friend clinked his glass to his and then took a healthy swig. "So why
did
you come out? I thought I'd have to work harder for it. It's like you've been in hibernation."

"Even bears come out eventually," he said, swirling the ice in the cup.

"Seriously, though,"
—
Max leaned in—"is it because you have a drinking problem?"

He'd stopped drinking after Giselle had died. They'd always shared a glass of cognac at night in bed. It'd lost its enjoyment; there hadn't been any point in continuing to drink. "I lost my taste for it."

Max stared at him, then pointed to Remy's chest. "How's your hair shirt feeling these days?"

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing." Max turned away.

He had the distinct feeling he'd let his friend down, but he had no idea how or why Max felt that way.
He
was the one who'd lost his wife.

Uncomfortable, he stood up. "I should get going."

Max looked at him like he was disappointed. "You just got here."

"I'll talk to you later." He told himself that Max didn't understand—he didn't
want
Max to understand. Let him go through life being a happy, sexy Max. He clapped his hand on Max's shoulder as he zipped up his jacket.

As he left, he looked back to see Max alone. Feeling guilty for cockblocking and running, he stopped by a table where two blondes sat having beer.

"Excuse me." He smiled mildly at them, stopping far enough away from the table to show he was harmless and establish that he wasn't interested in either of them. "My friend over there"—he pointed at Max—"hasn't been able to stop talking about how beautiful you two are."

They looked back at Max with increasing interest.

Remy leaned in. "I hate leaving him, because he's really sad."

"Oh no," one of the blondes exclaimed. "Why? Did he just break up with his girlfriend?"

"No, his dog died." Remy nodded sadly. "Atlas was his best friend, next to me. It happened suddenly."

"Oh no!" they cried together, staring at Max with sympathy.

"I thought you looked like animal lovers," he said. "I bet Max would really appreciate the company."

They were already picking up their purses. "We got this," one of them said.

"Thanks." He smiled, stopped by the bar to buy the trio a round of drinks, and left with a clearer conscience.

He rode around for a while, aimless, not wanting to go to his empty loft but not sure where else to go. Finally, he headed back.

Siobhan's text came in right as he got off his Triumph.
Come to the
milonga
tonight at El V.

He stared at it, trying to think of a reason not to go, but he couldn't come up with one, so he grabbed his tango shoes and went back out. He hadn't been to any
milonga
since he'd arrived in San Francisco. He'd hoped to go to his first one with Georgina. Her parents would have to do.

The tango music streamed out the doorway of El Valenciano. It washed over him, settling him as he hung his helmet on the bike's handle. He strode inside, paid to enter, and stood in the shadows to watch.

The dance floor was crowded with couples, a counterclockwise tide of dancers. They all melded into one, except for Christopher and Siobhan, who danced in the middle.

Christopher wore a purple blazer and a scarf, looking cool even though it had to be stifling on the dance floor. Siobhan was sexy, her hair piled on top of her head to show off her bare back in her dress.

The couple looked like they had a spotlight on them, and all the other couples gave them space, as was their due. They'd been dancing together for a long time, and it was evident in the way they moved and their openness. Christopher confidently gave Siobhan the space to do what she needed, knowing she'd come back to him.

It was enviable.

He'd thought that Siobhan and Georgina looked so similar, but now he could see how they weren't very similar at all. Georgina was taller and thinner where Siobhan had curves. Even their hair color was different. Georgina's was richer and deeper.

He bet it'd feel soft to touch.

The
tanda
ended, and some of the couples wandered off the floor. Siobhan saw him and waved, dragging her husband behind her.

He greeted Christopher first. "Good to see you."

Christopher shook his hand, clapping him on the arm. "Just like in Buenos Aires, isn't it?"

Siobhan kissed him on both cheeks. Then she held his shoulders and pouted at him. "You didn't bring Georgina."

"Not yet," he said.

Siobhan sighed, patting his chest, and then gave her husband an undecipherable look.

Christopher apparently knew exactly what it meant, though, based on his shrug. But before Remy could figure it out, Siobhan faced him and tipped her head. "The next
tanda
is about to start . . ."

"And I'd be honored if you danced with me." He held his hand out.

She accepted it gracefully and let him draw her into the crowd.

The music started, and he waited a moment before he opened his arms and let her enter his embrace. He shifted slowly to the side, feeling her balance and the music before he led her into the dance.

He'd danced with Siobhan in Buenos Aires, and she was a delightful partner. But as great as it was to dance with Siobhan, Remy knew Georgina would be infinitely better.

They danced the
tanda
in silence. He had the sneaking suspicion that Siobhan knew he was thinking of her daughter and she didn't want to distract him from those thoughts. When the set finished, she thanked him and let him escort her back to her husband.

Christopher took her hand, kissed it, and moved her back to the dance floor without a word. Remy watched as the man swept his wife into his arms. They moved together as though they were one—no confusion or debate, just a common understanding of where they were going.

Remy liked that. He used to have that.

He'd never have that again with anyone.

You're so wrong, my love.

He shook his head, smiling a little at Giselle's sweet, but exasperated, tone. He could almost see her hands on her hips and the adorable little line that formed between her brows. "No one could ever take your place," he muttered.

Maybe not, but there's plenty more room in your heart.

Right. He shook his head and changed his shoes to leave.

He rode home and went up to his loft, Georgina and Siobhan still on his mind. They weren't close in some ways, but they loved each other. He wondered what Georgina had against her mother.