But he’d come home, and this family was ready to make sure he knew he’d been missed.
Simon grinned big, shaking hands and high-fiving with his crew, and then he spotted me out of the corner of his eye. “Caroline, c’mere—you gotta meet these guys.”
The penis sea parted, and I walked to the center, where he stood. “This is Caroline,” he started, and I heard at least one wolf whistle. Glad I wore the boots. “And this is Trevor Henderson.” Wall Street stuck his hand out and I shook it, looking up into his handsome face. Warm brown eyes twinkled down at me, not letting go when I was also introduced to Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.
I’m not kidding. The apostles were all around us. Was it blasphemous that they were all hot? No matter, Trevor was still holding my hand.
“Seriously, dude, she’s smoking,” he said.
Simon removed my hand from his, laughing. “Cut it out, dick.” This guy was harmless. And had good taste.
“Come on, they’re serving dinner soon. You can sit at our table. You remember Megan Littlefield?” Trevor asked as the group moved together into the dining room.
“Um, maybe. Littlefield sounds familiar,” Simon puzzled as we walked.
“It’s Henderson now; she’s my wife.”
“You’re married? Wow,” Simon exclaimed, shaking his head.
“Yep, this past summer,” he said proudly, waggling his ring finger in Simon’s face.
“Wow,” he repeated, and looked at me.
I just laughed and crooked my arm through his. “Come on, Homecoming King.”
We grabbed a drink at the bar, said hello to a few more people, and sat down with his friends. And I say that broadly, because everyone here seemed to have been friends with him at one time or another. As I sipped my cocktail, I watched some of the girls begin to circle. Simon had obviously been a big swinging dick around here, and I wondered how many of them had taken a turn on that swing . . .
I met Trevor’s wife before they started serving dinner, and as Simon left me to go say hello to an old teacher, I chatted with her. Megan had gone to school with them, two years younger.
“Didn’t matter, though; everyone knew Simon. He was the guy every girl wanted.” She sighed, a dreamy look on her face. Then she caught herself, and looked guiltily at me. “Sorry, is that weird?”
“Nope, I totally get it.” I smiled, maybe smirking a little bit. He was shaking hands with an older gentleman, the teacher, I assumed. “So you just got married, huh? Congratulations.”
“Thanks! It was great. We had it here, even though we live in New York now. It was just easier with the families being here.”
“New York? State or city?”
“City. So both, right?” She laughed.
“And what do you do there?” I asked.
“I’m not working anymore. I worked until we got engaged, for the Food Network? I was a food stylist. Anyway, once we started planning the wedding, it was just too hard, commuting here to organize everything, so I quit. We got married at—”
I was seeing stars.
“Sorry, I can’t even pretend to have heard anything you said after Food Network. You worked there! And you quit there! Why, woman—why in God’s name?” I cried, my jaw hanging open so wide it was a good thing we were sitting down. Otherwise I’d trip.
She laughed and raised her eyebrows. “Let me guess. Barefoot Contessa?”
“Yes!” I screamed. Everyone stopped to look at us, and I turned red. Simon looked over from the bar, and I gave him the all clear.
I regrouped. “I mean, yes, I am a fan,” I said coolly.
“Me too. She’s super nice.”
“You’ve met her?”
This time Simon excused himself from who he was talking to and started toward me, Trevor and the apostles in tow.
I know it’s not logical; I know it’s not even physically possible—but I swear on all that is holy, they walked in slow motion. Like in some kind of action movie. Simon took point, Trevor just off to his left, and the rest slightly behind, like geese in a V. Everyone stopped to watch. It was like the sexiest train wreck ever; no one could look away.
I’d say it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop, but music from the early 2000s was on heavy rotation, and 50 Cent’s “In Da Club” gave the boys their own soundtrack. All I saw were the sapphires, and they were laser locked and speaking volumes. I was familiar with this Simon.
Strong Simon. Authoritative Simon. Big Swinging Dick Simon. And on this, I could confirm.
Wallbanger Simon.
He reached our table, sat down next to me with an amused look on his face, and slid his arm around my shoulder.
Oh. My. God. Simon Parker put his arm around me! Like, in front of everyone!
Wait, this wasn’t high school. This wasn’t even my high school. But that didn’t stop girls from throwing eye daggers at me from all corners of the room. I smirked a little, preening with my shoulder candy.
“You want to tell me why you’re over here screaming?” he whispered into my ear, and I melted. But before I melted totally, I got control.
“Your girl Megan here has met Ina Garten, in person!” I announced, looking fondly at her. “You’re my new best friend!”
“I bet I could get you a signed cookbook,” she offered.
“Trevor, your wife is the coolest person ever,” I gushed. “I’m buying you a drink—what’re you drinking?”
“Just club soda,” she said, casting a shy smile at Trevor, who beamed.
I looked between them, then arched my eyebrow at Megan, who nodded. “Congratulations! Wow, that’s great! You must not be far along, you’re so tiny!” I gushed.
“Wait, what’d I miss?” Simon asked.
“She’s only about eight weeks—we just found out.” Trevor grinned, taking her hand across the table.
“Wait, what’d I miss?”
“That’s so great,” I said. “And so soon after the wedding. What a year for you— What, Simon?” He was tapping me on the shoulder.
“I don’t get it. What’s eight weeks?” he asked, looking bewildered.
“She’s pregnant,” I said, rolling my eyes at Megan, who responded in kind.
Simon looked at Trevor in shock. “Dude?”
Trevor nodded. “Dude.”
Simon digested, then grinned wide. “Dude!”
Take a lesson, girls: That’s how you communicate with someone you haven’t seen in ten years.
? ? ?
Dinner was fantastic, his friends were fantastic, the entire evening was fantastic. Once dinner had been served, everyone mingled again and people were truly happy to see Simon. From what I could glean from tidbits here and there, most of his classmates knew he was a photographer, and some even knew how successful he was in his field. But hearing him tell his story, telling people what he’d been up to over the last ten years, was really fantastic.
And you should have seen his face when the apostles started whipping out their wallets to show him pictures of their kids! All of them, married; all of them, kids; all of them, settled into the good life. The good life that was preordained for apostles from Moneyville, USA. I had to bite down on my lip to keep from laughing when Luke copped to having triplets. Simon looked like he was going to pass out. I just made circles on his back with my hand and sent him back into the fray when another wave of old friends made their way by the table.
No one said a word about his family, and I’d been paying attention, ready to swoop in with my no-panties alternative. They were just all glad he’d finally popped back up on the radar, and to know he was doing well, that he was happy.
After dinner we walked around the room and I saw more yearbook pictures on the wall, including Senior Superlatives: Class Clown, Cutest Couple, that sort of thing. After what I’d seen tonight, I knew he was on here somewhere; it was just a question of where. Best Hair? Best Smile? Best Looking? I could see all three, but it turned out to be the one on the end: Most Likely to Succeed.
“Well, look at you. Everyone knew you were going places way back then,” I joked, pulling him in front of the picture and comparing what ten years did. In the picture he was tall and handsome, eyes bright and hopeful, an easy grin on his face. A little leaner than he was now, of course; just the tiniest hint of a laugh line here or there.
He looked at the picture and smiled ruefully. “I can’t believe they put those pictures up. How embarrassing.”
“No, it’s nice. I like seeing you back then.”
“It’s funny, seeing this now. You know why I got this one?”
“As opposed to Most Fuckable? Because you have my vote for that one.”
“Because I was going into business with my dad,” he answered, his eyes darkening a bit.
“I’m sorry, Simon,” I breathed as he pulled me closer by the hand that’d been on my back all night.
He was silent for a moment, looking at the picture. He took a deep breath. I wondered whether I should tell him about what I wasn’t wearing under my dress; there was a dark corner not too far away—
“No, it’s okay,” he said. “It’s actually been nice to think about these things again. Makes it seem not so far away.”
“Far away, my ass. Far away is Istanbul,” a female voice said behind us. We turned and saw a petite girl with closely cropped jet-black hair, a nose ring, several eyebrow piercings, and the most piercing green eyes I’d ever seen. The tiny black dress, fishnet stockings, and Dr. Martens took your eyes to her body right away, and when you put it all together, the girl was a fucking knockout. With killer arm ink.
“Istanbul, where you left my ass,” she finished.
“Viv Franklin,” Simon breathed, his eyes lighting up.
Uh-oh.