The Groom (9 page)

Katrina weaved through the crowd,
singing a few words before extending her microphone to the person closest to
her, cheering them on as they belted the lyrics to the Elton John classic. Lyle
shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he was nudged and bumped by enthusiastic,
singing, drinking, and dancing patrons, all who seemed not to care about things
like personal space or introductions. Here, at Parson’s on Friday night,
everyone knew everyone and everyone sang. Not a person he knew was known to
behave in such a way.

Katrina’s smile got wider as she
came closer to the bar, holding her microphone out to a girl on the end with
streaks of pink and purple running through her blonde hair.

She's got electric boots a
mohair suit

Lyle’s heart pounded as she slid
down the bar, coming to the man next to him and holding her microphone out
again. His mouth went dry.

You know I read it in a
magazine, oh-oh

“My man Lyle!” she cried with a
flourish, thrusting the mic forward encouragingly. His skin prickled as every
eye in Parson’s turned toward him, their nods of encouragement making them look
like rows and rows of bobble head dolls on a dashboard.

Katrina pulled the microphone
back and frowned. She held her hand up. “Okay, stop the music, stop the music.”

Lyle’s eyes widened as he gawked
at Katrina through his glasses. His “oh shit” meter was definitely in the red.

“Everybody,” Katrina said once
the sounds of Tequila Sunrise had faded away to cast the room into silence, “I
want you to meet my friend Dr. Lyle. He’s a Parson’s newbie and a karaoke
virgin, it seems.” Lyle felt his face going hot and knew he was blushing as
choruses of “awwwww” filled the room.

“Come on, look at him. He’s not
the bar singing, table dancing type. But we can convert him, don’t you think?
We’re awful good at being bad influences.”

Laughter met his ears and made
them burn. “I don’t sing,” he hissed, leaning close so Katrina could hear him.

“Aw, c’mon Lyle,” she coaxed,
poking her bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “Just one line? For me?”

He shook his head rapidly,
praying that she would find some other unsuspecting victim and swivel that blue
spotlight to someone else. She shrugged after a few seconds and brushed past
him, climbing up onto the stool next to him before alighting on the gleaming
bartop, kicking aside an empty plastic peanut bowl.

“Oh well, maybe next week. We’ll
make a singer out of you yet. Tequila Sunrise, bring the music back. Someone
get my man Lyle a pint, on me!”

Lyle shrank back in his stool,
lowering his eyes to the frothy, amber colored brew thrust under his nose as
Katrina trotted back and forth on the bar, the black and silver pattern on her
boots gleaming as the band picked up where they left off and she sang.

B-b-b-Bennie and the Jets!

_____

Katrina poked her head out the
front door of Parson’s cautiously, her eyes swiftly surveying the street before
she stepped out into it. She couldn’t linger too long without worrying Angie
and Jake, but she wanted to be sure it was safe to step out and hail one of the
many passing cabs. She’d already bypassed her usual exit through the back and
decided it was safe enough. The Pirellis were unlikely to try the same trick
twice.

As she toted her guitar case to
the street, she faintly registered a flash of dark hair and a leather jacket on
a stocky build and smiled. Alessandro was holding true to his word. Despite the
creepiness of having a stalker, she had to admit that having him close by made
her feel safer. If anything, Katrina knew she could count on him to jump into
action if things got dicey. She had a feeling the other swarthy-skinned,
dark-haired guys standing in two separate groups on either side of the street
were his soldiers. So, he’d brought reinforcements.

“That was quite a performance.”

Katrina’s heart jumped into her
throat as an extra surge of adrenaline sped through her veins. She turned to
find Lyle leaning against the side of the building, his tone neutral as he
stared at her through his glasses. He looked as if he’d come straight from work
in a pair of charcoal gray slacks and a sky blue dress shirt; a striped tie
sporting both colors completed the ensemble. Something about the fit of his
clothes intrigued her, showcasing a body humming with quiet strength. As if, she
mused, there was more to him than met the eye. Katrina certainly wouldn’t have
minded peeling back his layers; literally and figuratively.

“Jesus, you scared me,” she said
with a nervous laugh as she waited for the rapid pace of her heart to slow. She
smiled and approached him. “And thanks, it was nice of you to come.”

“I had to check up on my patient,
remember?” he said with a wry half-smile. “So, Friday nights at Parson’s are
interesting.”

“That’s nothing,” Katrina
answered, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. “You should come back tomorrow:
Wet T-shirt Saturday.” At Lyle’s shocked expression, she giggled. “I’m kidding.
Friday is awesome. Folks want to let their hair down and keep it there ‘til
Monday. It’s fun.”

“Definitely different from the
last couple of sets I saw you perform. I took you for an R&B and Soul kind
of girl.”

“My parents taught me an
appreciation for all kinds of music,” she said, setting her guitar case on the
ground beside her and coming up against the wall next to Lyle. “My mom is black
and my dad is Italian so my music experiences as a kid were quite interesting.
Everything from Otis Redding and The Temptations, to Frank Sinatra and Tony
Bennett. My brother turned me on to Pac and Biggie, so I love rap too. I love
it all. It moves me.”

Lyle’s expression softened. “That
is plain to see. You seem to have the ability to use it to move the people
around you too.”

“Everyone but you,” she chided,
nudging him with her elbow. “What happened, man? You choked on me in there.”

“I don’t sing,” he said sternly,
reminding her of a schoolteacher scolding an errant pupil. Katrina giggled
again, tossing her hair flippantly.

“Yeah, that’s what you said in
there. It’s cool, really, and I’m sorry for embarrassing you.”

He shifted uncomfortably next to
her. “I was
not
embarrassed. I’m just not a singing in public kind of
guy.”

Katrina turned to face him,
cocking her head to the side and studying his profile. “Yeah, I can see that.”

He narrowed his eyes at her
accusingly as he turned to face her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

At his hurt-little-boy look, she
couldn’t help another round of laughter. “It means you’re uptight.”

He drew himself up to his full
impressive height. “I am not,” he argued in mock horror.

“Of course you are! Look at you,
hanging out at Parson’s in a suit and tie.”

“I’m not wearing a suit.”

“You’re only missing a blazer,
and I bet you left it at work.”

“I’m the Cardiothoracic surgery
department head. When I’m not in scrubs in the OR, I have to look presentable,”
he reasoned, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Knee high boots with
sparkles are against the rules.”

Katrina kicked out one of her
legs, turning it left to right as the silver embellishments of her boot gleamed
in the streetlights overhead. “Aren’t these amazing? They cost more than any
pair of shoes ought to, but I had to have them.”

“This coming from a woman who
claims not to have health insurance.”

Katrina knew she should have been
insulted, but she was having too much fun. “Who cares about health and
insurance when there are fabulous boots in the world? And music, and stars, and
tequila, and ... Oh, what am I saying, you don’t get it. You’re uptight.”

“I am
not . . .
” he paused
and sighed. “All right, what does a guy have to do to prove he’s not uptight?”

Katrina stared up at him. “Well,
it’s two a.m., Dr. Lyle. An uptight guy would be worried that he has to go home
and get some sleep after a long day’s work. A non-uptight guy would come get a
bite to eat with me.”

“You got it,” he said, bending
down to pick up her guitar case. “I’ll even let you pick the restaurant.”

“Whoa!” Katrina joked. “Now
you’re living dangerously. Shall we get a cab?”

“No need, I drove. I’m parked in
a garage a few blocks over.” He swept his arm out in front of him. “After you,
wildcat.”

“Wild Kat,” Katrina giggled. “I
like it.”

Lyle chuckled as they walked, his
long legs eating up the pavement. Katrina’s boots clicked in harmony with his
leather shoes.

_________

“WAIT,”
KATRINA URGED, as they entered the dimly lit parking garage. “Let’s see if I
can guess what kind of car you drive.”

Her hand wrapped around his wrist
and brought him up short as she scanned the third floor of the parking
structure. Lyle smiled at the way her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth
as she thought, her eyes sharp as she inspected rows and rows of cars.

“Hmm, that one,” she said after
awhile, with a satisfied grin. “That one screams class and practicality. The
color is you too.”

Lyle smirked as she leaned
against the passenger door of a beige seven-series BMW. Its dark tinted windows
reflected his amused expression back at him. It felt so delicious to be able to
get back at her for embarrassing him at Parson’s.

“What about this car makes you
think it’s mine?” he asked, arms crossed over his chest.

“Beige paint, sturdy, German
craftsmanship, expensive yet tasteful.” One brown eyebrow arched sarcastically.
“It screams stuffy, starched doctor.”

With a knowing smirk, Lyle held
up the keys to his Porsche. He pressed a button on the little keypad at his fingertips
and it automatically started the car’s engine. His smirk became a smile as the
engine roared to life, a few spaces down from the austere BMW, its headlights
flooding the parking garage with white light.

The look on her face when her
eyes fell on the sleek, black Porsche was priceless. “Hey, Wild Kat,” he teased
as he loped toward the car, leaving her speechless behind him, “close your
mouth, you’re attracting flies.”

Her mouth snapped closed, and for
the first time since he’d met her, she seemed at a loss for words. “Holy shit,
it’s a Cayman,” she breathed, running her fingers reverently over the car’s
slanted hood. “Very unexpected, Dr. Lyle.”

“Maybe not so uptight?”

Katrina eyed him over the top of
the car as he swung open the driver’s side door, her body half in the car, one
foot raised to climb in. She shrugged grudgingly. “Sure, fine, you like fast,
expensive cars. It’s all very James Bond.”

“Just a drink, a dry martini,
shaken not stirred,” Lyle drawled in his perfect imitation of Sean Connery as
Bond. Katrina collapsed into the car with a fit of giggles as he slid in beside
her, throwing the car into reverse after buckling his seatbelt. “Where to, Wild
Kat?” he asked as he left the parking garage, pausing before signaling left or
right, waiting for her direction.

“Fifth Avenue Diner in Brooklyn,”
she said with mischievous grin. “Ever been?”

Lyle shook his head as he quickly
pulled up the diner’s address with the in-dash GPS. “Can’t say I have. Don’t
spend much time in Brooklyn.”

“Way to state the obvious,” she
snorted. “Don’t worry, it’s a real classy joint.”

“Yeah, most places with the word
‘diner’ on the sign usually are.”

“This proving you’re not uptight
thing is an uphill battle with you. Don’t worry, I’m going to loosen you up if
it’s the last thing I do. You’ve got plenty of potential.”

Lyle arched an eyebrow and
laughed as he followed the GPS system’s instructions, the blurred lights of the
city whizzing by on either side. “Potential?”

“Not all uptight people are
hopeless cases. You’re completely moldable. The car proves that. Or at least it
would if you weren’t driving like my grandmother.”

Lyle’s fingers flexed on the
wheel, his hands perfectly positioned at ten and two. “My, aren’t we charming
this evening?”

Katrina shrugged flippantly,
slouching in the coupe’s seat and propping one of her leather boots up on the
dash. Lyle cringed and she laughed.

“Sorry, but the truth hurts.
You’re riding that brake like you’re in a rodeo.”

“I bet you’ve never even been to
a rodeo.”

“Sure haven’t, but I’ve seen them
on T.V. This is a Cayman. It’s capable of hitting one hundred and sixty-five
miles per hour and can hit sixty in five seconds easily. I bet you’ve never
gone faster than fifty-five in this thing.”

Lyle rolled to a stop at a red
light and turned to face her. “Actually, it’s a Cayman S, and its top speed is
one hundred and seventy-six. Oh, and it hits sixty in just under five seconds,
thank you very much.”

“You tested that theory, or did
the guy at the dealership give you a pamphlet?”

Lyle flushed as he realized he’d
never put Porsche’s claims to the test. Katrina snorted.

“Come on, you can’t tell me
you’ve never thought about it.”

He shrugged like it was no big
deal, but inwardly he felt a twinge of something that told him he was missing
out. “Who can test that theory living in the city? The traffic is bumper to
bumper.”

“You need to get this baby on the
open road,” she said as they rode, her hands running over the leather humming
beneath her thighs. “All of this power and beauty is just begging to be set
free.”

Lyle fought to tear his eyes away
from her and focus on the road, hoping to soon forget the impact of her words
at the same time her whiskey-colored eyes snapped up to lock with his. Her
hands caressing the leather reminded him of other things, things that were
inappropriate given their newly made acquaintance. He rolled his shoulders as
he remembered that he was supposed to be proving a point. She’d called him
uptight.

He wasn’t, and he intended to
prove it. After a while he cleared his throat and relaxed against the buttery
leather, his tension slowly easing away. “So, you sure know a lot about this
car. Unusual to meet women who are into cars.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he
caught a flash of a smile. It was sad and drawn. “I’m not so much into cars. I
just know a lot about this one. It was my brother’s dream car.”

“You said it was his dream car,
as in past tense, so I’m assuming he got his wish?”

She nodded, her curls cascading
over her shoulder to hide her eyes. Only the profile of her nose and lips were
visible as she responded. “Yeah, he did. I’ve never seen him happier than the
day he pulled up in front of my condo in that thing. He stepped out on the curb
looking like something out of
GQ Magazine
, hair combed within an inch of
its life, skinny tie tied perfectly, Oakley frames matched to his suit. He
smiled like it was Christmas morning and asked me if I wanted to ride, and we
did. For hours, until the city was behind us. I don’t think he ever let up on
the gas.”

Lyle laughed at the picture she
painted, a bit jealous of the young man who had time to go for joyrides. He had
very little time for such things and never really had. From the time he’d
graduated college and entered med school, the carefree part of his life was
over. The Porsche had been an impulse buy, one that he’d indulged mainly
because he seldom did. As he stole another glance at Katrina, he knew without a
doubt that this woman never held back from indulging in anything. He wondered
what it could be like to live that sort of life.

“Did he ever get over the novelty
of owning his dream car, or is he still zipping through the streets dressed to
kill?”

A pause. “He never got over it.
He loved that car ’til the day he died.”

Lyle’s gut clenched and he fought
not to flinch outwardly. No wonder she’d spoken of him in the past tense. Her
fingers traced the crimson heart on the back of her hand.
Carmine
. The
mysterious tattoo did not pay homage to a lover, but a brother. Lyle felt
relief and remorse in a rush too confusing to sort.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, in
that way people do when there’s nothing else to say. He cruised to a stop in
front of the Fifth Avenue Diner, an establishment that was surprisingly busy
despite the late hour.

She brightened suddenly, her
megawatt smile banishing the last vestiges of grief. “No need to be sorry. My
brother’s cruisin’ on clouds in heaven. Couldn’t ask for better. Let’s go get
some grub, I’m starving!”

Her sudden change in mood
surprised him, but it also relieved him. Dealing with emotional matters was not
one of his strong suits. As she jumped from the car and trotted toward the
diner as if she were heading toward an amusement park, Lyle wondered about the
many layers of Katrina. He had a feeling that when it came to the sultry
singer, he’d yet to scratch the surface.

_____

Katrina choked back a giggle and
stuffed a French fry into her mouth. She didn’t want to embarrass Lyle, but the
way he was staring at the big, sloppy cheeseburger on his plate had her on the
edge of a laughing fit.

“It’s not going to bite you,” she
murmured before taking a long drag through the straw resting in her chocolate
milkshake. “In fact,
you
are supposed to bite
it
.”

Lyle scowled. “Who eats like this
at three o’clock in the morning?” he asked, his expression dubious as he lifted
his burger, turning it at different angles—likely trying to decide where
to start with such a monstrosity.

She smirked at him but didn’t
respond. Her expression said it all and Lyle exhaled sheepishly.

“I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

“Yep.”

He shrugged and sat the burger
back on his plate, unbuttoning the cuffs on his dress shirt and rolling his
sleeves up to his elbows. As he reached for the burger again, Katrina leaned
forward. “This is hard for you, isn’t it? Loosening up.”

He paused, the burger halfway to
his mouth, its fixings dripping from the other end. “Am I that much of an open
book?”

Katrina shrugged and sat back in
her chair, fiddling idly with the saltshaker. “Actually, no. You would be hard
to figure out if I hadn’t been around your type before. Country club member,
ivy league graduate, high-paying corporate job . . .”

“A hospital is not a
corporation.”

“Tell that to the people who
can’t afford to go there,” she said pointedly before stabbing a handful of
French fries through the mountain of ketchup on her plate.

“You’re right though,” he said,
choosing to ignore her comment about hospitals. “I guess I do have a hard time
loosening up. You know the story. Rich parents, raised by nannies, private
schools, best of everything. My dad had very high expectations for me.”

“He should be proud then,” she
remarked. “It doesn’t get much better than being a surgeon.”

“Sure it does,” he answered
sarcastically. “I could be the Chief of Surgery if I wanted.”

Katrina’s eyebrows shot up.
“Impressive. Why don’t you?”

“I love surgery. Being the chief
means a lot less time saving lives and a lot more time managing the people that
do.”

“So, you choose to do what you
love rather than what your father wants for you.”

Lyle nodded but shrugged as if it
were no big deal. “He wanted me to be a lawyer.”

She laughed. “Wow, you really
went rogue. I can understand where you’re coming from. My father wanted me to
be part of the family business. It’s not singing in bars, in case you were
wondering.”

“What does your family do?”

Katrina paused for a moment and
thought about Alessandro and his soldiers and Carmine’s dead body stretched out
on a mortician’s table full of bullet holes. She thought of Italian men in
suits who made deals behind closed doors and sent their foot soldiers out to
the do the dirty work.

“My father dabbles in several
forms of business,” she hedged.
Yeah
, she thought inwardly,
drugs,
weapons, people.
“He’s a jack of all trades really.”

Lyle didn’t seem to mind her
cryptic answer, and Katrina relaxed as he finally took a bite of his burger.
She grinned as he chewed, a smudge of ketchup staining the corner of his mouth.

“See?” she teased. “It’s not so
bad.”

“I can practically feel my
arteries clogging,” he grumbled but took another bite. “You know what they say;
a moment on the lips, forever on the hips.”

Katrina paused, three ketchup
soaked French fries inches from her mouth. “You got a problem with my hips?”

He smirked as he raised his
napkin up to his mouth. “No, actually,” he stammered, his neck and ears going
red with embarrassment. With his hair falling over his forehead, he was
boyishly cute, and Katrina almost felt sorry for making him uncomfortable. “You
have a very . . . healthy . . . I mean, you’re very . . .”

She laughed again, causing him to
flush even more. “Curvy. You can say it, Lyle, I won’t be offended. Voluptuous
works for me too.”

“You’ve got to be one of the most
confident women I’ve ever met. I mean, you were definitely not shy about
scarfing down that cheeseburger in front of me. It was something to see.”

“Remember when I mentioned my
family’s business?”

He nodded, abandoning his
cheeseburger in favor of the fries.

“I tried it for a while, and I
didn’t like how it changed me. It made me someone I didn’t recognize. I got
buried under what came with being my father’s daughter, and it almost destroyed
me. Sure, I was about ten pounds lighter, lived in a condo almost as nice as
your penthouse and had my pick of luxury cars, clothes, and jewelry. But I was
miserable. Now, I’ve got about fifty bucks to my name to last me until Monday,
a tiny, one bedroom apartment below a couple that fights loud and makes love
even louder, and I live on a diet of doughnuts, frozen pizza, and hot dogs. But
you know what? I’ve never been freer or happier than I am right now, sitting
here watching you pretend to like that cheeseburger.”