Blame It on the Champagne (17 page)

The bluntness of that question quite literally caused her to stumble. Dylan's hand tightened against her back as she regained her balance, and she wondered if Dylan had tried to shock her on purpose. No, Dylan wasn't the type. Gina might try to bait and shock, but Dylan... She couldn't really picture it. “Like love, it shouldn't be the
only
reason to get married, but it's a damn important one.”

Dylan merely smiled at her response, and she could almost feel the metaphorical pat on the head. It had been a long time since anyone had patronized her like that, and she wondered what Reese might have said about her to make him think...

“Wait a second.” She stopped the sway. “If love isn't the right reason to get married, are you saying that you never loved Reese?” Reese might be happy in love
now
, but she'd sworn to only marry for love and finding out that Dylan
hadn't
loved her at all would still hurt.

“Of course I loved her.” What would normally be a passionate declaration in any decent romance novel sounded flat instead. Dylan could have been speaking about how much he loved pizza for all the emotion behind the statement.
Wow.
Reese had definitely dodged a bullet with this one.

“Well, Reese seems to be pretty good at avoiding mistakes these days.”

An eyebrow arched up at her statement, but the music finally came to a stop, keeping Dylan from responding to her snark. Instead, he stepped back, and with a mocking bow, said, “Thanks for the dance, Marnie.”

He walked over to Tuck and spoke quietly to his friend. A moment later, their whole party was tossing a shower of flower petals at Tuck and Cassie as they ran out the door and climbed into a black town car for their getaway.

She felt a hand on her elbow and turned to see Carter. Gina was hanging back a step behind him, seeming a little unsure. It brought back the weight of all that thinking she still had to do.
Damn.
If nothing else, she owed Dylan a debt of thanks for taking her mind off all that for even a few minutes.

“We're going to go, too,” Carter said. “I'm sure we'll see you while I'm in town.”

Marnie still wasn't quite used to the idea of that “we.” It was going to take time to wrap her head around the fact that Carter and Gina were a couple. In the last ten years, her relationship with her brother had gone from good to really bad and finally landed in “strained” territory, and she wasn't entirely sure if his new relationship with Gina was going to improve that situation or not. But she and Gina seemed to be on the brink of repairing their damage, and she realized she very much wanted
that
to happen. She'd deal with Carter somehow. She'd have to. “Yeah. We'll do lunch or something.”

Gina seemed uncharacteristically reticent to say anything, but Reese stepped in, purse over her shoulder, obviously ready to leave, as well. She wrapped her arms around their shoulders and pulled them in for a celebratory squeeze. “I think we did well today, ladies.”

Gina nodded. “We did.”

“And us?” Reese asked quietly, “Are we okay?”

While she'd asked the question generally, Marnie knew they were primarily waiting on her to answer. While she and Gina still had some baggage to unpack, Reese had to be feeling some weight, as well—after all, she'd known about Gina's pregnancy and miscarriage when it had happened and had kept that knowledge from Marnie all this time.

Yikes, something else to process.
But Marnie returned Reese's squeeze and placed a hand on Gina's arm. “We will be.”

Gina met her eyes directly and nodded, and that nod somehow helped clear through the noise. She felt her eyes burning. “I'll talk to y'all later.”

“You're not going all the way home tonight, are you?” Reese asked.

The long train ride out to Brooklyn didn't hold much attraction now—wine waiting in the fridge or no. Thankfully, she had another option, and there were many stores between here and SoHo where she could pick up another bottle. “No, I'll probably stay at Sven's.”

“We could drop you off on our way.”

Gina's eyes widened. “Wait, there's a Sven?” she asked.

“Sven is gay and lets me crash at his place when I need to,” she explained to Gina and then declined Reese's offer. The last thing she needed right now was more quality time with her friends. God only knew what
other
bombshells could drop. “I'm actually going to finish this wine and have a bit of a think. I'll grab a cab later.”

Reese looked a little concerned, but nodded. There were general good-nights all around and Marnie pulled Gina aside. “One more thing... Please don't mention to Carter that I got laid off. I really don't want to deal with that right now.”

“Gotcha.”

The lack of hesitation warmed her.
Yeah, they were going to be okay.

She waved off the other two couples and sank back into her chair with a sigh. Then she emptied the last of the Chardonnay into her glass.

“That's a waste of good wine.”

She'd forgotten about Dylan, who seemed to also be finishing off a drink—something dark in a glass on the rocks.

“It's excellent wine and it's not a waste. I fully appreciate each and every delicious, mind-numbing drop.” She backed up that statement by taking a large swallow.

“Tough day?”

Oh, so now they were going to do the small talk? “You could say that. I'm really happy for all of my friends, but...”

“Oh, God, you're not going to get all ‘always a bridesmaid, never a bride,' are you?”

She nearly snorted the wine. “I actually wish that was the problem. It would be a lot simpler. Unfortunately, not all sorrows needing drowning stem from a love life or lack thereof.”

Dylan's mouth
might
have quirked, but he didn't say anything. Was he waiting for an explanation? Was this actually a conversation now, making it rude for her not to provide one?

She didn't know what or how much Dylan knew about her past with Reese, Cassie and Gina, and she really didn't want to go into it. But she'd opened the door, and it would probably be polite to explain why she was pounding Chardonnay. Gee, was it good or bad that she had
another
,
equally valid, reason to give? “I lost my job this morning.”

“That does suck.”

She bit back her surprise at his word choice. “I knew it was coming—budget problems, you know—but I really liked that job.” Her glass and the bottle were now empty, and she debated having another before heading out.

“I think I should buy you a drink.”

She didn't need the charity. She could well afford to buy her own drinks, even without a job—at least as long as the Price Paper Consortium continued to turn a profit. And she didn't really need his company, either, as it made far more sense to get hammered in private. At the same time, though, there was something pathetic about drinking alone. Dylan Brookes wouldn't have been her first choice of drinking partners, but it did beat a total stranger, and he didn't seem in a hurry to leave. Plus, he hadn't been abstaining tonight, either, and had to be working on a pretty good buzz himself, making her wonder if maybe he had a few woes to drown, as well.

It would be the polite thing to do. “All right, then.”

“Another Chardonnay? Or perhaps something stronger?”

Either she was imagining things, or there was a challenge in his voice, and she was in the mood to call him on it. She waved over a server. “I'd like a shot of Patrón, two limes, with a Dos Equis back, please.” She turned to Dylan and shot him an innocent smile. “And for you?”

Dylan shot her a smile that said there was
some
sign of life in there. Maybe he had layers. “Same.”

As the server left, Marnie turned to Dylan. “I know—and now you know—why
I'm
drinking. What's
your
story? Woman troubles?”

“As you said, not all sorrows needing drowning necessarily stem from a love life or lack thereof.”

Oh, she was now dying to ask if it was the love life or lack of.

“You're not the only one who can have a bad day,” he continued. “Although since I didn't lose my job today, my day probably wasn't as bad as yours.”

The server returned with their drinks, and Dylan lifted his shot glass in a toast. “To crappy days and the booze that gets us through them.”

She lifted her own glass and nodded. Then Dylan licked the salt off the rim of the glass and she nearly fell off her chair in shock.

Things were looking up.

* * *

There was something very strange about watching perky blond cheerleader-looking Marnie Price throw back tequila shots like a barroom champ. Not that he could claim to know all that much about her, but Reese had always talked about her as some sweet little thing, and on the few occasions he'd been around her, Dylan hadn't seen anything to the contrary.

He'd been proven wrong tonight. Whatever she was drinking to forget, she was well on her way there. And honestly, he was happy to join her. It was a good way to end off a bitch of a week, and he was unexpectedly having a good time. He normally limited himself to no more than two drinks over the course of a public event, preferring to keep his mind clear and situations under control, but he'd found himself matching Marnie shot for shot and beer for beer all night.

Marnie might look like one of Botticelli's angels—all soft curves and rosy skin—but she had a wild streak under there. And while he couldn't say he knew her all that well, on the few occasions he had been in her company, Marnie had always been perfectly polite, but a bit distant and, in general, cool toward him. That had changed.

They'd covered everything from politics to Marnie's debutante ball, and she was both smart and funny as hell. While they had absolutely nothing in common beyond Reese, he was having a damn good time.

It was just what he needed, and he hadn't even known it.

When Reese had pulled him aside before she'd left and asked him to keep an eye on Marnie and make sure she got into a cab okay, he'd initially wanted to say no, not wanting to babysit for the evening. But he'd relented, and before he knew it, the bartenders were making the last call.

And while he'd consumed a ridiculous amount of alcohol, he didn't regret the choice, either.

And now Marnie was finishing up her monologue on the differences between Southern women and the rest of the world. “I'm just sayin', you do not want to tangle with Southern women. We can eat your heart from your chest and not even burp daintily afterward.” She cut those big blue eyes at him in the most perfect flirt he'd ever seen. “And we'll make you
love
it. In fact, you'll
thank
us for it.”

Marnie's accent had thickened throughout the evening, and the drawl was now so pronounced, her vowels were in the back of her throat and he could almost hear the Spanish moss hanging off her words. Maybe it was the booze, but that accent was almost hypnotic, honeyed and thick, sucking him in with each word and doing strange things to his insides. Seemed he had a hidden hot spot for Southern belles he'd never discovered until now.

“How on earth do you hide that accent every day, Miss Marnie?” he teased, mimicking her cadence.

“It's hard, but I've had lots of practice. Repression skills are taught right alongside the history of the War of Northern Aggression.”

War
had gained an extra syllable and, for laughs, he tried to repeat it back to her.

She frowned. “Don't mock me. I drink and drawl. It's a real problem.” She sighed. “And since I feel a case of full-on magnolia mouth comin', I think that's my cue to go home. I'm hammered.”

A little flash of disappointment cut through him. The flash sharply changed direction when Marnie licked her lips.

But that hadn't been a flirt, he realized, as Marnie laughed. “Yep. Lips are numb. I'm not even sure they're still attached.”

That reminded him of the real purpose he was here with her. “I assure you they still are.” He signaled for the bartender to close the tab. “Come on. I'll walk you out. We'll split a cab.”

She shook her head. “That's okay, I'll walk.”

“To Brooklyn? You
are
hammered.”

Marnie laughed again. “No. I have keys to a friend's place, and he's away for Labor Day. It's only about five blocks from here. And, anyway, it's not exactly on your way back to your Park Avenue penthouse. Wouldn't want you to be seen slumming it in SoHo.”

That was a slam, especially since he now knew she'd grown up a debutante. “I live on East Sixty-Fourth, thank you very much.”

Marnie grinned. “Close enough.”

There was no way he was letting Marnie walk anywhere alone—not this late and after that much tequila. “Then I'll walk you.”

“That's very kind of you, but really not necessary.”

“I just got an entire lecture on gentlemanly behavior from a Southern belle, so I'll err on the side of caution. I don't want my heart eaten from my chest.” He offered his arm, and Marnie hesitated for a moment, looking up at him through her lashes before finally taking it.

“Why, thank you, sir. That's ever so kind of you,” she drawled in a combination of Scarlett O'Hara and Blanche DuBois.

For someone who claimed to be hammered, Marnie was stable enough on her feet, and they walked the first block without incident. She took a deep breath of the night air and looked around. “I just love this area. I might have to look for a place here.”

That caught him by surprise. Marnie didn't seem like the right fit for this area. Brooklyn seemed better somehow. “You don't like Brooklyn?

“Oh, I like it there just fine, but I only moved to Park Slope because it was close to my job. Without that...” She shrugged. “I'm not attached to the area, and I've always wanted to live around here. Or maybe in the Village. Someplace really vibrant and in the middle of things.”