A Really Bad Idea Page 16

  There has to be upwards of five hundred people here. Everyone is dressed to the nines, sipping champagne delivered by servers. I recognize none of the faces, as I’m not a hospital employee, but Christian shakes hands with quite a few as we enter.

  The band is playing, but no one is dancing, as it’s still early in the evening.

  “I’m going to see what table we’re seated at,” he says.

  A server passes, and I grab a glass of champagne. “I’ll wait here.” I raise my flute in salute to Christian as he walks off, and I enjoy the crisp taste of Dom Pérignon. The band strums the standard “Mack the Knife,” and I sway my shoulders to the melody.

  “The lady has moves,” a familiar voice says beside me.

  To my surprise, Aaron Vaducci, Bachelor Number Three from my mother’s house, is standing beside me.

  “Of all the faces to see tonight, I was not expecting you.” I embrace him with a hug. He looks good with his curls gelled and those round hazels that crinkle on the sides. “What are you doing here?”

  He releases me and grins that oh-so-kind smile of his. “I’m a guest of the head of pediatric oncology. I volunteer dental services to many of the patients.”

  “How noble.”

  “I do what I can to give back,” he states and then looks around the room. “Who are you here with?”

  “Christian Gallagher. He’s a cardiothoracic surgeon at St. Xavier.”

  Aaron nods. “He’s a great guy. I know him from the good old soccer days. Our high schools competed. I didn’t have time to talk to him at your mother’s house.”

  “He had to leave early. You two should catch up tonight,” I offer.

  “I’d also like to pick up where we left off. That was a great day,” he says with a twinkle in his eye.

  A gentleman at the bar holds up his arm to get Aaron’s attention. He nods toward him. “That’s my cue to go mingle with the masses. Save a spot on your dance card for me?”

  I nod with a laugh. “Absolutely.”

  He walks backward with a smile. “So great, seeing you here,” he says, looking at me like I’m a mirage before turning on his heel toward the bar.

  I’m still looking in Aaron’s direction when Christian comes up.

  “You found a friend.”

  “Aaron was just asking about you. I didn’t know you knew each other. I only know him through my parents.”

  “We were high school rivals.”

  I raise a brow, not believing him. Aaron wouldn’t call Christian a great guy for anything. With a tilt to my head, I wait to see if there’s more to the story.

  Christian lets out a huff. “Junior year, he was getting the snot kicked out of him outside the Movie Theatre. I jumped in, in his defense.”

  My jaw drops. “How did I not know about this?”

  He takes my glass from my hand. “My teammates were assholes. All the guys we went to high school with were assholes.”

  I nudge him with my shoulder. “Well, maybe not all.”

  He shrugs in agreement as he takes a sip of my champagne.

  “Well, Aaron’s looking forward to seeing you. He didn’t get to chat much with you last time.”

  He makes a deep humming sound. “Because he was too busy, talking to you,” he says before finishing the rest.

  “If I recall, you were the one who told me to go over to him.”

  “He’s fit, his parents are part of the same country club as yours, and he summers in Boca. A handsome dentist from the Upper East Side. Your mother would be beside herself.”

  “Wait until she finds out, I plan to get knocked up by a surgeon. She’ll faint.”

  Christian laughs as he places the now-empty glass on the tray of a passing server. “Come on, crazy. We have a party to attend.”

  We head toward our table that is set right on the dance floor. I take a seat in one of the gold Chiavari chairs and marvel at the fine china on the table. We’re seated with surgeons from Christian’s department. He introduces me to everyone, and we exchange pleasantries.

  Christian is by far the youngest doctor at the table, yet he’s as distinguished and, in some cases, more accomplished. The men and women of the cardiothoracic unit are quick to talk about cases they’re working on, and the husbands and wives easily flow into their own conversations away from medical jargon. I find myself enchanted by Christian, listening in as he discusses a new technique he’s training to perform that could revolutionize the future of heart valve transplantation. I’m a heart nerd, and he is a damn good professor.

  They serve our salads, and the opening ceremony starts, followed by speeches and a toast with a request for all of us to have a damn good time.

  My back is to the table with my attention still toward the podium when Christian leans in and asks, “Now that we’ve done our part and appeared like respectable adults, what do you say we start drinking heavily?”

  I giggle. “A man after my own heart. You get the drinks while I use the ladies’ room.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  We walk away from the table and part ways as he goes toward the bar and I walk to the women’s restroom where I use the facilities and add lip gloss before tipping the attendant. I’m walking back to the ballroom when I see Natasha, Christian’s date from my birthday dinner, walking toward me.

  “Natasha.” I smile with the greeting.

  Last time I saw her, she was not the happiest with my friends, as they said Christian and I should have a baby together. Now, we actually are trying, so it makes it all the more awkward.

  So, I say what any normal person would in this situation, “You are stunning.”

  It’s true. She looks more like a model than a nurse in the cardiac care unit. Her hair is smooth as it falls straight to her chin. She’s wearing a deep purple chiffon dress that fishtails at the bottom, and her stiletto heels make her look statuesque tonight.

  “Thank you. You look good, too.”

  Okay, good is not quite the same as stunning, but I’ll take it.

  “You’re here with Christian,” she states with that natural pout.

  I’m not an idiot. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see she’s not thrilled with the fact that I’m Christian’s date tonight—and moreover, that she’s not. Still, I’m not one to kick someone when they’re down.

  “We’re here as friends.”

  She laughs with a closed mouth. “A man doesn’t introduce a woman as his Meadow without laying claim to his feelings about her.”

  I don’t argue with her. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out between the two of you.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I just wanted to pass on advice that I should have listened to when I started seeing him.”

  “Advice?”

  “You two are friends, so you have so much more to lose.” Her tone isn’t snide. It’s actually coming off as … concerned.

  “It was nice to see you, but I don’t think—”

  “When you go back inside, he’ll have two glasses of champagne in hand. You’ll sip them, and he’ll tell you how beautiful your eyes are. With him, it’s always the eyes.”

  I drop my shoulders and listen because she wants to impart her wisdom on me.

  She continues, “He’ll ask you to dance, and then he’ll excuse himself to talk to the maestro for a special request. Then, the band will play ‘The Way You Look Tonight,’ and you’ll be putty in his hands as he tells you how you made him feel the first time he saw you. He’ll ask if you want to skip out early, and you’ll follow because it’s impossible to say no to a man who looks as good as he does in a tuxedo.”

  With a nod, I swallow and try to digest what she thinks is about to take place. “That is a very specific order of events you think is about to take place.”

  She gives a sarcastic grin, and I can see a sliver of lipstick on her top teeth. “It’s a pattern. There’s a lot of chatter around the hospital. There’s always something going on in this city … a gala, a benefit, an auction, a
reception. He takes you out for an iconic night in Manhattan and sweeps you off your feet with champagne and dancing.”

  “I’m not here to be romanced.”

  She lays a hand on her hip and tilts her head. “You seem like a nice girl. Trust me when I say, Dr. Christian Gallagher is the love-’em-and-leave-’em type.”

  I know Christian has dated over the years, but I’m not a fan of the Casanova persona she is painting him with.

  “Well, thank you for this very misplaced desire to be my protector, but I should also remind you, he is my friend. My oldest friend, and I don’t appreciate you discussing his personal business. My intentions with Christian are my prerogative, and if I did plan to be another notch on his belt, it wouldn’t be because he was using recycled moves and cheesy lines. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date to get back to.” I walk past Natasha and then stop to turn around because, even though I’m annoyed, I’m not a mean girl. “You have lipstick on your teeth,” I say. She raises a hand to her lips. “You’re welcome.”

  I puff out a large breath through my lips and have to give myself a little shimmy before squaring my shoulders back and walking into the grand ballroom. I march my way to Christian, who is standing with two rocks glasses in his hands. I let out a sigh of relief that it’s not champagne.

  He hands me a glass, and we clink. As I down mine, a touch unladylike, he questioningly looks at me.

  “Everything okay?” he asks.

  I lick the residue of Johnnie Walker off my lips. “Thirsty.”

  He takes a slow drink, his eyes settled on me the entire time. As he lowers the glass, he quirks a lip, and a dimple appears. “Remind me to make your next one a double.”

  I shake my head with a smile. “Wearing a gown like this, I should be drinking something more feminine. A martini perhaps.”

  “When I picked out this dress, I told the woman I was looking for something to bring out your eyes.”

  Eyes. He had to go and comment on my eyes.

  “My eyes are brown. Nothing brings out boring brown.”

  “That’s why I got you something in your favorite color,” he says and then adds, “And that’s not true, by the way. Your eyes aren’t boring. You have flecks of gold in them. They’re vibrant and luminous. You laugh with your eyes.”

  I look up at the ceiling at his comment.

  “And, for the record, your mouth is your best feature.”

  “Do you buy dresses for all of your dates?”

  “Never. You’re the first,” he answers easily as he walks toward a cocktail table and puts his glass down.

  “Why did you buy it then?”

  “Because I knew you’d feel obligated to come with me,” he says with a wink. “I was right. You are the worst gift receiver. Even if you hated it, you’d wear it.”

  I grimace. “That’s probably true.”

  The band’s tempo slows from a quick-footed dance tune to the open chords of a ballad.

  Christian hears the change and holds out his hand. “I made a special request while you were in the ladies’ room. Care to dance?”

  It’s in this moment I glance to the side and see Natasha watching us with a raised brow.

  “Meadow?” Christian brings my attention back to him.

  I stare at his hand and exhale. Placing my hand in his, I let him lead me out to the dance floor.

  We reach the center where many people are dancing, enjoying the perfect evening. He pulls me in, so familiar. My face looks toward his shoulder as we place our hands in the required spots and start a box step. We’re moving mechanically. No, I’m moving like a robot. He’s swaying to the melody, holding me with care, giving his heat and energy to me in every way as he leads me across the dance floor. The opening chords of the melody play repeatedly in succession before the lead singer starts in.

  “You are my fire.”

  My head pops up.

  “The one desire.”

  I look over to the band. The tune differs from the one I know because it’s a live band playing the song, using instruments that aren’t used in the radio version, but this is most definitely, “Backstreet Boys?”

  A deep rumble of a laugh echoes from his chest. “Surprised?”

  “You requested a boy band song at a gala reception at The Plaza?”

  “What else did you expect?”

  “‘The Way You Look Tonight.’”

  His mouth is pursed in question until realization dawns on his face. “I saw Natasha standing by the coat check. I guess you ran into her.”

  I nod. “I know I asked you to show me your woo, to see your moves, but honestly”—I pause, trying to figure out what I’m asking him exactly—“I don’t want to be another notch on your bedpost.”

  His eyes widen at my assumption. “There’s no playbook. I might not be original, but trust me when I tell you that there is no other woman in the world I’d request Backstreet Boys for.”

  I laugh in relief and fall into his chest as he pulls me in close, so close that I am enveloped in the musky scent of him.

  He lays his head on mine and squeezes my hand. “Oh, Meadow. I might not have a million moves. There are only so many ways I know to impress a woman, but you are not like anyone else. And, if I have to come up with an entirely new way to woo, then I will with you. You’re so much more.”

  More.

  I gaze up into his eyes, and my heart skips a beat. The deep green has turned black as midnight as he looks at me with such intensity, so much earnest, that I nearly melt into the smolder of his stare. There’s a charge, an electric current that flows from that focus down to his heart, and it’s beating out of his chest against my own. I feel it in his fingertips, so soft to touch yet rugged in their conviction to hold on to me.

  The music continues to play, but our feet slow down to almost a halt. It might be the lighting from the overhead crystals of the chandeliers and scotch that is making me fuzzy, but I swear, at this moment, there’s a conversation being spoken with our breaths.

  His being taken too deeply.

  Mine barely registering against my lips.

  I feel it, too.

  “May I cut in?” Aaron taps Christian on the shoulder, and it takes a moment too long for us to realize he’s asking to dance with me.

  The song—our song—ends, and a generic song plays. Whatever spell we were under has broken, and Christian cordially drops his hands from me and takes a step back. My body instantly feels the loss.

  “I heard you were here tonight,” Christian says to Aaron as if his approach interrupted nothing of importance. “Great seeing you again.”

  “Likewise. We must share a drink later. First, I’d like to get in my dance with Meadow before someone else sweeps her off her feet.” Aaron extends his hand in asking for me to take it.

  Christian gives me that eye motion, the one he made at the barbecue when he told me to go talk to Aaron. I squint my eyes at him because he’s incorrigible and so goddamn confusing that I think I’m going insane. He’s so good at plastering on the smile. It looks the same whether it’s real or fake, but there’s one thing he can’t hide from me. I can see it in the way his eyes tilt down on the sides.

  “I’d love to,” I say to Aaron. My words don’t match my feelings.

  Christian steps away as Aaron takes his place.

  We resume the proper dance form, and his hold on me is wrong. Where Christian’s body radiates heat, Aaron’s is cool to the touch. That zing in my heart is now a tempered beat, slow and steady … the excitement lost.

  “Enjoying the evening?” he asks.

  “So far, so good. You?”

  “Better now.” He smiles that perfect extra-white grin. “Did you get the chicken or the fish?”

  “I don’t know. Christian must have selected for me, so probably the chicken. You?”

  “Same.”

  We sway a bit, and I accidentally step on his toe. “Sorry.”

  He just smiles. “Did you know your mom called my mom an
d gave her your number to give me?”

  “So embarrassing. I’m sorry. She meddles and—”

  “I was going to ask her for it anyway. To ask you on a proper date.”

  “Oh.” I look away.

  “I’d like to. Not just call you. I mean, I plan on that, but I’d like to take you out. It’s no surprise I think you’re beautiful and smart, and you’re so easy to talk to. I had the feeling, at your mother’s house, that you and I connected.”

  Aaron Vaducci. With his kind eyes and easy smile, he is the perfect catch.

  “You’d better snatch him up before someone else does,” my mother said.

  She’s right. A woman at the ripe age of thirty-three, looking to fall in love with a good man and have his babies and live together with until we’re old and gray, well, that kind of girl would be crazy not to give him a chance.

  Only there’s one problem.

  Weeks ago, I made a promise with my best friend, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what could be.

  Days ago, I was kissed by a guy, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the way his lips felt against my own.

  Minutes ago, I was held by a man, and he left a branding on my skin that I can’t get rid of.

  I look over Aaron’s shoulder and see Christian standing on the side of the dance floor. His face is stoic, his attention fixed on us, yet he looks like he’s lost in thought. When he sees me looking in his direction, his face morphs into a wide grin as he lifts a glass of champagne, giving a salute.

  No, I mouth. Aaron’s not who I want.

  He drops his head. I know.

  I raise my shoulders. Then, why did you hand me off so easily?

  He doesn’t have a response.

  Aaron twirls me on the dance floor, and I go with the motion, winding back into his arms, only to be spun out again. I laugh because it caught me off guard.

  “So, what do you say? Go out with me next weekend,” Aaron says, and he puts his hand back around my waist.

  I look back to where Christian was standing. He’s not there anymore.

  The song is still playing as I step out of Aaron’s hold.