“I’m not just anyone. I’m Ambrose.” He winked—winked!—at her. “Five minutes. I’ll be the one ready for some chips.”
She shifted her weight to the other leg. “Hope you’re hungry.”
I was struggling not to make a disgusted face when I realized that I wasn’t having trouble breathing anymore. For all the ridiculousness of these exchanges, the distraction had been helpful. “See you inside,” Ambrose said now, and after a beat, the girl turned and walked away, fluffing her hair as she went.
“Wow,” I said, as the door shut behind her.
“Agreed. I’m all for innuendo, but you can take it too far.”
“How do you even know those girls?” I asked. “Didn’t you just move to town?”
“They picked me up when I was walking here.”
“You walked here?” The A-frame wasn’t in the country, but neither was it in the town center. “Why?”
“I walk everywhere.” He lifted one foot, then the other. “Just me, Pete, and Repeat.”
“By choice?”
“By order of the state of California,” he replied. “I’m currently between licenses.”
I was pretty sure that wasn’t even a thing. “Is this about wrecking your mom’s car?”
“Partially. So are you not social by choice, or due to your personality?”
Again, I was struck by how he could turn the subject from himself to me as easily as flicking a wrist. “What do you mean, my personality?”
He shrugged. “You are a bit prickly.”
“I am not prickly,” I said, sounding exactly that way. I took a breath, resetting. “I just . . . it’s been a hard year. Dating hasn’t exactly been a priority.”
He shuddered. “God, who wants to date?”
“Not you, apparently.”
“I like the process, not the endgame. Courtship is my thing.”
I just looked at him. “Did you really just say courtship was your thing?”
“Prickly and hard of hearing, are we?” I made a face, which he returned, before saying, “There’s a reason they call it the thrill of the chase.”
“So you don’t do commitment.”
“Why would I? That’s what they do with crazy people,” he said. I sighed. “Look, it’s not like I’m tricking anyone. I am clear in the fact that my intention is to have, well, no intentions.”
“Did you not just promise a dance, a shot, and a bag of chips?”
“That’s not a relationship, it’s a list. There’s a difference.”
The door slid open again. I was expecting yet another girl in a boa, but it was Jilly who stuck her head out, scanning the deck one way, then the other. When she saw me, she exhaled and hurried over.
“I have been so worried!” She’d taken off her shoes, which were actually a pair of mine, at some point. “What happened to you? One minute we were having fun dancing and then you were gone.”
“I got light-headed,” I said.
“And groped,” Ambrose added. “Jughead and his big ears were all over her. You finally get a chance to make her social and that’s the route you choose?”
It said something about how concerned Jilly was that up to this point, she hadn’t paid much attention to Ambrose. Usually, she didn’t miss anything, especially a male anything. Now she’d spotted him, and she was pissed. “Who the hell are you?”
“Ambrose Little,” he said, sticking out his hand. “I work with Louna.”
“No, you don’t.”
“How do you figure?”
“Because she’s my best friend and I know everything about her, including whom she works with. I’ve never seen you in my life.”
“Well. Don’t you think a lot of yourself. You don’t know someone, so they don’t exist?”
She just looked at him, not used to being off her game in this way. Then, prioritizing, she waved him off, turning back to me. “I had no idea Eric was getting handsy. I’m sorry. It was crazy out there.”
Man, I’d been way off on the name. Not that I felt bad about it, at this point. “It’s okay. It’s just been a long day, and . . .”
“I know.” She looked at Ambrose. “Who is this guy?”
“Ambrose Little. I work with Louna.”
“No,” she said firmly. “You don’t.”
“Actually . . .” I began. Now she looked confused. “Since this afternoon, he kind of does. His sister is a client. He was dancing nearby when Eric was getting grabby and he . . .”
“Performed a conga extraction,” Ambrose finished for me. “Just one of my many specialties.”
Jilly gave him a level gaze, contemplating his face. Finally she said, “I don’t think I like you.”
“A common reaction,” he replied. “I’ll win you over. Eventually.”
She looked at me, flabbergasted. All I could say was, “I know.”
The door slid open again. This time, all I could see was an arm, a boa wrapped around it. Was it Grace? Bag of chips? Another girl? I hated that I was actually curious. “Am-brose! Where are you?”
“I guess that’s my cue.” He sat up, brushing his hands off. Then to me, he said, “You okay? All better now?”
If only, I thought. Was there even such a thing? I could feel Jilly watching me, aware of this moment, or whatever it was, between his question and my answer. “I’m fine,” I said. “Thanks again.”
“No problem.” He stood up, running a hand through his hair, then did a little bow to Jilly. “Lovely making your acquaintance.”
“You, too,” she replied, obviously guarded.
“See? You’re coming around.” He grinned, then turned on one foot, slid his hands in his pockets, and started to the door, where all the boas were now gathered, a wall of girl, waiting for him. He raised his arms, giving a fanfare as they all hooted, then reached to pull him in.
Jilly looked pensive as she took a seat on my other side. “Is it weird that I am strangely attracted to him, even as I dislike him totally?”
“Yes,” I said flatly.
“I figured. He’s not really my type anyway,” she decided. “Too good-looking, and he knows it. Not to mention he just screams of asshole.”
“You think?” I asked.
“Don’t you?”
If she’d posed this question earlier that day, or even at the wedding where we’d first met, my answer certainly would have been yes. Ambrose was cocky, entirely too confident in his own charm. He had little or no regard for other people’s time or feelings and was about as shallow in his “intentions” as anyone I’d ever met. And now he was most likely working each one of those boa girls against the others, adding to his list.