Jumped (3 page)

For some reason, he remembered packing his architecture textbooks in a box as a thunderstorm raged outside and he'd wept. It was the only time he'd cried during the whole ordeal.
Why am I thinking of that now?

Just then, Grady appeared before him as if he'd been conjured to interrupt Finn's memory. “How's it goin'?” the famous actor asked.

Finn had to look up at him, but only slightly. Grady was about an inch taller than he was. The man hadn't said or done anything to pose a threat, but Finn's defenses went up automatically. It was a caveman response. “Not bad. You?”

Grady looked around. “Can't say I enjoy these. Can't wait to ditch this,” he indicated his tux. “I end up wearing them so often, it's like a uniform now.”

They made more I-hate-weddings small talk before Grady said, “I'm going to say something that's going to seem out of left field. I'm also going to say something that I mean very seriously. Beth is a friend of mine, and an even better friend of my wife's. I don't know anything about what went on with you two, and it's none of my business. But Beth, here and now, today,
is
my business. Don't hurt her. That's all I'm going to say about it. I mean it, though. Don't hurt her, or you'll have to answer to me.”

Was everyone at the wedding going to have a talk with him? When had he become the villain?
“I have no intention of hurting her.” And then, because he felt cornered, he added, using Grady's most famous character's name, “You don't have to worry, Braxton.”

Grady laughed, held his palms up toward Finn, and said, “Fair enough.”

Finn strolled to the bar and got another club soda. Kristen-the-geologist appeared next to him. He somehow doubted she wanted to talk about rock formations.

“Hi there,” she said. He took in her straight black hair and blunt bangs. She had brown eyes and wore burgundy lipstick. Hers was a severe beauty, and she was working it. From the way her “hi there” came out, she had also been working on a bottle of wine.
Great.

“Kristen,” he said. Just over Kristen's head, he saw Bethany and Harris cross the room and take up residence on the dance floor. He took in Bethany's hair, which was the color of semisweet chocolate morsels and hung down her back. This was new—he used to love running his fingers through her short blond bob, but the darker color suited her, as did the length. Finn was more interested in watching Bethany, but Kristen demanded his attention.

“Where'd you wander off to? I was looking for you.”

“Ah. Well. Talking to some old friends. Can I get you something?” he said, indicating the bar.

“Ooh. Sure. White wine.”

The bartender obliged. The three of them chatted about nothing in particular for two songs.

The bartender returned to tending bar, and Kristen-the-geologist asked Finn, “You staying at the hotel?”

He hated to tell her. “Yes.”

“Me, too! Do you have a good view from your room?”

“Nah,” he said, not knowing what the hell the view from his room looked like. He hadn't opened the curtains.

“Maybe you could show it to me anyway.” She said this quietly. He sensed she didn't do this often—come on to men—and he didn't want to hurt her. He also had zero interest in spending time with her in his room. Or anywhere.

And then, like a misguided angel sent to save him, Harris appeared. He was a little sweaty, but Finn knew how Bethany could be on the dance floor. He smiled at the memory of his relentless dancing-queen ex-wife.

Harris was breathing hard. “Dude,” he said. “She's a machine. Is she taking human growth hormones? Does she sleep in a hyperbaric chamber? We're at eight-thousand feet and she's not even winded.”

“Welcome to my world,” said Finn. He half-smiled. “Or . . . my former world.”

“I'll see you later, Finn,” Kristen said. She held his gaze and winked before sauntering off and, it seemed to him, exaggerating her hip sway. Probably for his benefit.
Sorry, sweetheart.
Don't waste your time.

He turned back to Harris. “Want a Gatorade?”

“Give it some vodka for company and I'm there.”

“What do you drink? I should've warned you about Bethany's dancing. ”

Finn raised a hand toward the bar. Harris got a whiskey and the two men stepped aside so other thirsty dancers could get to the libations.

“McNabb, that's your last name?” asked Harris.

“Yeah.”

“Well, McNabb,” Harris said, still somewhat out of breath. “I've grown rather fond of our little Bethany, as you call her. And I'm here to tell you here and now, in the Elke Sommer Ballroom of the Hotel Jerome—”

“That you'll break my legs if I hurt her,” Finn interrupted.

Harris tilted his head. “Yes. How'd you—”

“So far almost every guest has told me the same thing. You, Amanda, Grady. I'm waiting for the flower girl. Look, I'm not here to cause trouble. What'd she tell you about me that's got all of you rattling sabers?”

Harris sent him a look. “Honey, you'll know if I rattle my saber. But to answer your question, nothing. She's been quiet as a Prius. But it's a little like bringing a box of nitroglycerine and a match together. Or drinking orange juice after eating champagne truffles. Not a good idea. You might be as harmless as a declawed Persian, but we don't know you. We know Beth and we like her the way New Yorkers like Cronuts. All I'm saying is, don't cross our Cronut.”

“I have no intention of crossing anyone's Cronut. Whatever that is.”

“It's a cross between a croissant and a doughnut. I shun them—this girlish figure doesn't happen by accident—but they're a gourmet craze. The only thing missing is putting them on a stick and deep-frying them, and I'm sure some enterprising vendor with a funnel cake concession will take care of that.”

“Tell you what. I'll do what I can to avoid her. How's that? Will that keep you and Amanda and Grady and everyone else in the state of Colorado happy?”

Harris eyed him. “I don't see the need for any rules and regulations beyond don't cross the Cronut. You keep that one commandment and we'll all be the very happiest of campers.” He leaned in. “Don't think for a moment I mean that literally. This gay doesn't camp. Never has. Never will. Which is a feat in this state, since you can't swing a Birkin bag without hitting a camper. Although—thank God—Aspen's a veritable haven of civility and culture in an endless wasteland of rock climbers and cyclists. I can walk down the street and browse Chanel, and an attractive bartender will make me a mojito instead of handing me a Red Bull.”

“I take it you won't be fly fishing with us tomorrow?”

“Fishing's different. Fishing can result in food, and food I can do and do well. And when it's done, I can go back home immediately instead of sleeping on an air mattress, besieged by insects and being an Atkins snack for a mountain lion. Oh, look.”

Finn followed Harris's gaze to the dance floor, where Bethany was dancing with Grady. A small dart of jealousy stung him.
Didn't see that coming. Shake it off. He's married, and she's not yours anymore.

“He seems like a nice guy,” Finn said, still watching them. Still wishing they'd stop dancing together because married or no, Grady was a very handsome man and Finn could tell Bethany liked him. And that wasn't even counting the formidable movie star part.

“He is, for the most part,” Harris said.

Finn decided he ought to look at Harris and stop torturing himself. “For the most part?”

“Scratch that. He's the nicest guy in the free world. He makes Tom Hanks look like Rasputin. I have to talk trash about him or his head will get too big.”

Throughout these sentences, Finn thought Harris was looking at him too intently, as though he could read his mind. Could he tell Finn was jealous of Grady? Was his expression broadcasting this particular insecurity about his ex-wife?
I need to be more careful, just in case.

Finn asked, “Will Grady and Amanda be around for the weekend's activities?”

“I think so, or at least some of them. Since they live here in the summer, they might pass on a few things they can do whenever they want, but I believe they're planning on dining with the lot of you. In fact, one of the activities is a cocktail party at Aspen Creek—that's Grady's place. Well, Amanda's, too, now. You should come for that—if only to see the family manse.”

Gazing out of the corner of his eye, Finn was relieved—more than he wanted to admit—to see Bethany and Grady returning to the table. Bethany was laughing, throwing her head back, which meant she was having a great time. Which was great. Wasn't it?

Harris was saying something about Grady and Amanda's house, but Finn hardly heard him. He was watching Bethany, who said something to Amanda standing next to her. Without thinking, he said to Harris, “Excuse me, will you?” He ordered a gin and tonic and another club soda. Then set sail for his ex-wife.

Finn came up behind
Bethany and said, “You nearly killed Harris. He might press charges.”

She whipped her head around like a mustang spotting a wolf and flattened her palm over her heart. “Like how you just nearly killed me? Jesus, Finn, you're like a ninja.”

“Sorry. But a herd of elephants could have snuck up on you.” He smiled at Amanda. “Hey, Amanda.” He handed Beth the gin and tonic. “Thought you might be thirsty after your murder attempt.”

“Ha.”

He sat in the chair next to her. “Seriously. They're putting him in an iron lung right now.”

She laughed, hesitated, then said, “Thanks.”

Finn frowned. “Damn, I should've known—you just want water. You want my club soda?”

“No, it's fine.”

“No, I forgot—you hate sparkling water. Be right back.” He stood.

“Finn, it's fine.”

“Uh-uh.” He looked at her like a stern father staring down a toddler. “Stay put.” He strode toward the bar.

“Fine! Be that way!” she called after him, but he could hear the laugh effervescing in her voice.

He returned with water, which Bethany gratefully accepted. Finn sat next to her and attempted to chat with Amanda, Grady, and Bethany over the music. The whole time, he willed the celebrity couple to leave so he could be alone with his ex. Amanda and Grady were still newlyweds; Shouldn't they be off necking somewhere?

Bethany grabbed her hair and fanned her neck, sending the sweet floral scent of her shampoo Finn's way. Holy hell. The perfume must've jostled a memory loose, because he suddenly wanted to press his lips against that damp, soft skin on her neck and tangle his hands in that hair. Now he
really
wanted Amanda and Grady to go.

Bethany said to him, “Hey, I didn't see you on the dance floor. Afraid I'd embarrass you? Scared you wouldn't keep up?”

He barely recovered from his fantasy, but he managed to say, “You're heartless. You've already forgotten what you did to poor Harris.”

“Nobody was holding a gun to his head. He could've left whenever he wanted.”

“Dancing with you is like staring at a solar eclipse—by the time you realize you should stop, the damage is done.”

“You never had a problem keeping up.” She gave him her slyest smile. Which made him want to adjust his trousers.

“I never danced with you eight thousand feet above sea level, either.”

“Wanna give it a go?” Her gray eyes were alight. She was practically impish.

He smiled, lifting one side of his mouth. “Why not? Right now?”

She smiled a challenge back at him. “Hells yeah!”

He laughed. This was pure Bethany.

He got to his feet. He wanted to offer his hand, but instead he pulled out her chair for her. Less skin-on-skin contact was safer. And to think he was stone-cold sober.

The DJ was playing eighties songs, which was fine by Finn. When he caught up to Beth, who had eeled her way to the middle of the crowded floor, a Michael Jackson song was ending. “It's Raining Men” started, and every woman within a twenty-five-mile radius screamed and converged on the dance floor. It was a veritable rave. Finn was besieged by screeching females fueled by alcohol. Everyone was feeling the love, and unfortunately for Finn, it seemed they all unleashed it right at him. He was their darling. He was trying to be polite, but some of these gals were ruthless. One twerked at him, backing herself up until she made contact. He tried to back away, but someone else had pressed her vibrating butt to his. He was trapped.

He looked at Bethany, who had been shoved a few feet away. She was laughing so hard, she'd stopped dancing. She stood there, hand covering her mouth, shaking, tears rolling down her cheeks. He raised his hands in a gesture of defeat and shook his head.

“You're too sexy for this song!” she shouted.