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.”
“Looking for excitement in life?”
She grinned at him. “Always.”
“No desire to go back to Savannah?”
He might have heard a tiny snort from Marnie. “None. I like being from Savannah, but I don’t want to be there. Does that make sense?”
“Sure.” He wasn’t entirely sure it did, but he agreed nonetheless.
They walked quietly for another moment, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Finally Marnie said, “Thanks for hanging out with me tonight. It was fun.”
“It was, and you’re welcome.”
“I’m kinda sorry I didn’t get a chance to know you better when you and Reese were...well, before. We could’ve been friends.”
There was such a sigh in her voice that he wanted to laugh. Except that she seemed serious. “And we can’t be now?”
“I think it might be awkward and uncomfortable—for everyone.” She looked at her feet for a moment, then back up at him. “But anyway—and regardless of what you said earlier—I am sorry you and Reese didn’t work out.”
And so was he. Theirs hadn’t been a great love match like Marnie sang praises of, but it had been stable. Secure. Solid. “Thanks. We made a great team. But Reese loves Mason.”
“But you said love isn’t a good reason to get married.” He couldn’t see it, but he knew she was rolling her eyes.
“I said it wasn’t the only reason to get married, but it’s especially a bad idea when one of the parties loves someone else. I think I knew all along that something wasn’t quite right, but getting married seemed like the thing to do at the time, and you get to a point of no return pretty quickly. I was almost glad when