Her blue eyes blaze in anger, but she finally caves and lets me drag her outside.
The salty spring air blowing off the ocean is cool and refreshing, but it won’t be long before it’s hot and suffocating, the beaches overcrowded with sweating, partying, seas of humanity.
“So? Who are you?” Charlotte asks when I go over and rest my back against the rail and cross my arms over my chest.
“Roman McNamara,” I answer.
“And? Why did you come over late last night?”
Finally, I admit the truth to her. “I own the beach house you’re staying in. Well, the MC owns it, and I’m sort of responsible for any afterhours shit. A guy named Ernie lives next door and wanted me to ask you all to keep it down.”
“Oh,” she replies. “So does that mean, did you, um, know my husband by chance? He’s the one who made the annual reservations about five years ago, before he…”
“Yeah, I knew Adam for a long time,” I answer.
“How? Did you serve in the Marines too? Were you friends?”
“Yep.” I lift my t-shirt sleeve to show her the tattoo on my upper arm. “Second Battalion, Second Marines. The Warlords,” I confirm.
“Wow,” she mutters, before doing the last thing I expected. She actually reaches up and rubs her fingertips over my ink, touching me for the first time without my prodding as she outlines the sword on my insignia.
“He talked about you,” I tell her. “But he definitely underplayed how beautiful you are.”
“Is that right?” she asks, lowering her hand with a grin that says she thinks I’m putting on the moves. I suppose I am. She’s an amazing woman who deserves to be loved and adored. I hate that she’s sad and lonely even after all these years. If only she knew…
“That’s right,” I reply. Spotting a waitress nearby with a tray of shot glasses and a bottle of tequila in her off hand, I motion her to come over. “Let me get two shots,” I tell her.
“Five dollars,” she says automatically before her eyes shift from Charlotte to me and she catches her breath sharply. “Oh, sorry, Mr. McNamara, sir, I didn’t mean…”
“Easy, easy,” I interrupt her. “I’m out here on the back porch in the shadows, there’s no way you could tell it was me.” I drop a twenty on her tray and grab two of the shot glasses. “Leave the bottle with me and go get another at the bar. The twenty is for you, tell Verek or the bartender that I took your bottle.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” The waitress practically bows, bringing her tray down low before her as she backs away.
“What the hell was that?” Charlotte asks as I use the railing as a bar to pour two shots for us. “That poor girl acted terrified.”
“She doesn’t know me,” I scoff. “Almost none of the waitresses do. They just hear things and gossip, until they get this insane image of me as some shadowy boss figure lurking up in the VIP lounge, giving out orders and taking favors like an old school godfather. When they actually run into me down here in the wild, they act like they’ve tripped over a sleeping tiger.”
“Are you some sort of shadowy godfather figure, Roman?” Charlotte asks with a coy grin. “I don’t remember Marlon Brando having the moves you were putting out last night at the house.”
“Then you’ve seen yourself that you have nothing to be afraid of at all. Don’t mind the waitress. The MC owns this club; and as the president, I’m her ultimate boss. That shit just makes some people nervous. Now, let’s have a toast,” I propose as I raise my shot.
Charlotte raises her glass and touches it to mine. “Go ahead,” she prompts me.
“To old friendships never forgotten and new friendships we’ve forged on the way.” I tell her before downing my shot.
Charlotte swallows hers as well, and then slams her glass down on the railing. “I think that sentiment deserves one more, don’t you?” she asks me.
“For new friendships? You’re damned right,” I grin at her as I pour another round. We pound them down. Then, as I place my glass down, Charlotte stands up, craning her neck to look back inside and see across the dance floor.
“That’s not good,” Charlotte mutters. I turn to try to follow her line of sight across the club.
“What’s not good?” I ask, leaning in close to her ear to speak. Not just because of the music being so loud, but because her scent is…
“That!” Her finger points to the dance floor where Verek is grinding hard on a redhead. A woman I quickly recognize as Charlotte’s friend, the bride-to-be.
“She’s a grown woman. I’m sure she’s just having a little fun before the big day,” I assure the uptight widow. “Did you have cold feet before your wedding?”
“No, of course not,” she says. I’m pretty sure I hear an indignant scoff in her reply.
“Right. Because Adam was perfect, and you never had any doubts about how much you loved him or he loved you,” I mutter.
“What?” Charlotte asks, turning her face to me with her brow furrowed.
“Nothing. You want to dance?”
“No.” Her refusal comes before the question has barely left my mouth.
“All right. We’ll just sit out here and watch all of your friends have a good time.”
After a few moments of neither of us speaking, I can’t help but ask, “You haven’t been with anyone since Adam, have you?”
Squaring her shoulders, she says, “That’s none of your business.”
“I could make it my business,” I offer, to which she simply rolls her eyes.
A few seconds later, Charlotte faces me directly with her eyes blazing. “What Adam and I had was five years of marriage. He was my best friend, my soulmate, my…everything! And while he may be gone, that doesn’t mean that I’m ready to just forget him and move on with some one-night stand that would probably just
