His now lopsided grin is making my panties reevaluate their importance in my life.
I recall him telling me he'd been popping cold medication like candy. Maybe his memory is fuzzy. Sadly, I remember every second of that accidental kiss, and the unfortunate aftermath.
I gawk for a few extra seconds before I finally remember how to put words together. "Well, you have had your tongue in my mouth." Not really the best words, or the most appropriate ones, unfortunately.
"Do you know each other?" Amie's smile is tight and her voice is high.
I wave a hand in his direction. "That's Awesome Kisser."
"I'm sorry, what?" Now she looks concerned, and she may have a right to wear that expression, because I'm about to go off.
"This is the guy who kissed me and then coughed in my face."
There's one of those lulls in conversation at the tables near us, so a few people stop to stare for a second or two before resuming their fake conversations.
Awesome Kisser whose name I now know is Bancroft, looks horrified. As he should. I lost the part in the play because of him. Well, that's also assuming I would've given the best performance out of all 175 people who tried out for the lead and supporting roles. But, with my background I should've at least been offered some part, even if it wasn't a major one.
"What?" Armstrong looks from Bancroft to me and then to Amie, apparently not in the know.
"Oh shit." Bancroft's distress is real. At first, I think it's embarrassment, until he continues, sounding remorseful, "I really am so sorry about that. I probably shouldn't have attended the engagement party in the first place, but Armstrong's my cousin and I couldn't miss it. Too much scotch and cold medication makes for a terrible combination."
"Apparently. Your date certainly wasn't pleased."
"Does someone want to fill me in here?" Armstrong looks super confused. And annoyed. I can't decide if this is a good or a bad thing, because it means the incident isn't something Bancroft's shared-out of mortification or tact, I'm not sure yet, since I don't have much of a gauge on his personality. My knowledge of him is limited to the way his mouth feels and his tongue tastes.
I turn to Armstrong and smile. "Just a misunderstanding. It isn't a big deal."
The waitress comes by to take drink orders. Based on the turn in events, I consider a glass of Prosecco, but ultimately decide to go with sparkling water, hopeful the bubbles will settle my stomach, although maybe the alcohol would help kill whatever bugs are floating around in there.
Armstrong does a good job of dominating the conversation and Bancroft's references to his business trip are quickly turned into another jumping-off point for Armstrong to talk about himself and his family's media empire. Maybe he's a nervous talker. Or a pompous ass. Either is possible, the latter seems more likely.
Appetizers arrive. Apparently Armstrong took the liberty of ordering for us prior to our arrival. A selection of tapas is placed on the table, including smoked salmon and sautéed calamari. Usually I'm a fan of seafood, but my recent unintentional fasting makes anything with actual flavor seem rather unappealing. I go with the safest option: baked pita chips, skip the hummus, and I order pasta primavera; the plainer the better.
"You must be looking forward to getting your feet wet on this trip," Armstrong says to Bancroft before popping an oyster-he decided they were a necessity-much to my stomach and my gag reflex's dismay.
Bancroft lifts a shoulder. "It is what it is. Now that my rugby career is over, I don't have much of an option but to immerse myself in the family business."
I stop making patterns in the pool of olive oil on my plate with my pita triangle and check him out again. Now his size makes sense, as do the scars and the slightly imperfect nose. "You played professional rugby?"
He turns his attention to me, a half-smile pulling up the corner of his mouth. "I did. For seven years."
"And you quit to take over your family's business?"
"No. I blew out my knee."
"You can't recover from that?"
"I can, but if I have another accident like that there's a good chance I won't ever walk without assistance. I didn't think it was worth the risk, and the agreement was, when my rugby career ended, I'd work with my father." He doesn't seem particularly excited about that. I completely understand his lack of enthusiasm, it's the reason I'm still sitting here, trying to figure out how to get this man to let me move into his house despite how embarrassing this is.