"Yeah," Nikos agreed, sitting in the chair opposite Simon with a wave good-bye to Win. "They suck. So what happened to make the great Simonides strike out? Not that I'm not glad you shot it all to h.e.l.l, because I am. I like Jasmine, and I'd have totally blown your cover in the interest of keeping her from getting hurt. But I'd love to hear how it happened anyway. I mean, are you slacking these days or what? Didn't you give her your bank statement with your opening line?" he joked.

Simon sighed. "I would have if she'd given me the frickin' chance. She blew me off too fast. I even played the blind card, and still, she shut me down."

Nikos laughed, smiling at the waitress who'd brought a bottle of red wine and popped it open, pouring it into their gla.s.ses. "You really need to knock off the 'I'm disabled' line, pal, especially with smart women like Jasmine. So explain to me why Jasmine blowing you off is such a big deal."

"Have you seen her, Nik?"

"Uh, question is, have you?" he snickered, knowing Simon wouldn't take offence.

"Yeah. Yeah, I have. Before the accident. You know I have."

"But that was five years ago," Nikos reminded him. It worried him that his friend still held a grudge over a betrayal he hadn't known existed until much later in his life.

Simon grunted. "I bet she hasn't changed much."

Nikos had to agree. "Nope. She's still as hot as she ever was. She's also still a woman who doesn't deserve your scorn-even if it's only by proxy."

Simon ran his fingers over the table with a light touch until he located his silverware. "It's not about that anymore. I don't want payback."

Nikos searched his friend's blank eyes. "Then what do you want?"

"Her."

"Don't you say that about all the women you manage to woo into your den of iniquity?" Since his accident, and his subsequent divorce, Simon was all about the prey. Women were his favored sport.

"It's different this time," he offered, his tone quiet.

"How's that?"

"Can't explain it. It just sort of clicked for me."

Nikos shook out his napkin, placing it on his lap. "That I get."

"Ahhhh. What's this I'm hearing?"

Even blind, Simon could still read his best friend of over ten years like a book. "Nothing."

"Bulls.h.i.t," Simon accused.

"Okay, maybe it's bulls.h.i.t."

"So spill it. What's her name?"

"Frankie."

"The new girl at the diner Mama Voula was talking about? The one who was married to the famous chef? The new not so Greek girl?"

Nikos rolled his tongue in his cheek, fighting the twist of his gut when Frankie's name was mentioned. "Yeah. That's her."

"s.h.i.t, man. Your mother's going to have a heart attack when she finds out."

There was that. "There's nothing to find out, Simon."

"Hah! Don't bulls.h.i.t the bulls.h.i.tter. I can hear it in your voice. You like her, and you know d.a.m.ned well your parents aren't going to approve because she's not Greek. Because she's not Chloe. You know, the woman they handpicked for you to find marital bliss with?"

"That's sort of the point. Frankie isn't Chloe. It isn't like I haven't told the family and Chloe my feelings on that particular subject."

Simon slapped his hand on the table with a bark of cynical laughter. "Like that's stopped Voula from hoping Chloe will grow on you? Be real, Nik."

"What Mama wants doesn't change how I feel about Chloe. She's a good waitress, and that's about all the admiration I can summon up for her. Period. Though, she could make things sticky for Frankie at the diner, no doubt. Not to mention Pop's all in an uproar because she's doing what he's always considered his job, while he's forced to watch TV and mope himself into retirement."

"So what are you gonna do?"

What was he going to do about his growing attraction to Francis Bennett? "If I'm realistic, there's really nothing to do. Not now anyway. Frankie's pretty shot down after her divorce and touchy as h.e.l.l."

Simon wrapped a hand around his winegla.s.s and saluted Nikos. "Right up your alley, buddy. Opa!" he muttered the Greek sentiment for happiness, though the real intonation behind it was "good job on finding yet another wounded soul, knucklehead."

Nikos frowned, tamping down his irritation at Simon's cynicism, grabbing a slice of bread to stuff in his mouth. "You sound a lot like Cosmos."

"That's because Cosmos was right there with me after Anita. Or don't you remember how much puke we cleaned up as a tag team after one of your all-nighters?"

Nikos flinched. "I say we can all discussion of women and focus on grub. I'm starving."

Simon didn't respond. Instead, he c.o.c.ked his blond head to the left, putting a finger to his mouth to quiet his friend.

Nikos gave a glance around the restaurant. "What?"

A smile spread over Simon's face-wide and genuine. A rarity, indeed. "Did'ja hear that?"

"More fan girls who want to help you on your journey to self-fulfillment?" he cracked with a laugh. It was uncanny the ability Simon had to hear a gushing fan long before Nikos was even aware they were in the same room. Though by now, he was used to the kind of attention Simon drew whenever they were in public together.

"Naw, man. It's Jasmine."

"You're delusional. Wishful thinking because you c.r.a.pped out with her. Now you're hearing her everywhere. It's your ego's imagination."

"Nuh-uh. She's sitting to the right and toward the back of the restaurant." Rising, Simon grabbed his cane and his wine.

Nikos was up, winegla.s.s in hand, too, and hot on his heels, hissing, "Where are you going?"

"To eat with Jasmine, dips.h.i.t." He grinned, clearly pleased with his choice.

"If she wanted to eat with you, she would have said yes when you asked her out the first time, Simon," Nikos growled in his friend's ear.

But Simon wasn't listening; he was barreling ahead much like the quarterback he'd once been, rounding the big white columns at a speed Nikos marveled at.

Simon stopped short in the corner of Little Anthony's, throwing his arm with unbelievable accuracy and placement around his friend's shoulder just as Jasmine laughed. "Did I tell you, or did I tell you Jasmine was here? I didn't just hear her either. I smelled her perfume. Very distinct. Magically delicious."

Hoping to thwart Simon's intent to crash dinner, due to the pair of big, amber eyes looking at him with accusation like he'd just interrupted a discussion about feminine products, Nikos nodded with a cluck of his tongue. "You did. What you failed to hear with those big ears of yours was Jasmine's date. She's not alone." There. Mission aborted due to unfriendly fire.

"Oh, Nik. You have c.r.a.ppy game. You couldn't lie if someone gave you cold hard cash to do it. Jasmine's date is a woman. I can smell her perfume. So either join me, or turn tail and roll. I'm goin' in."

Nikos sighed; there was no stopping Simon when he got it in his head he wanted something.

Yes, Simon's b.a.l.l.s were a thing of beauty due some primitive, cavemanlike admiration. Big and clanging, they fueled him toward the Jasmine goalpost, dragging a reluctant Nikos in with him.

And given that Frankie was scowling at him as though he were Hannibal Lecter rudely interrupting her dinner and demanding she hand over her thigh for him to snack on, this would be the time to display his very own set of b.a.l.l.s.

In resignation, he acknowledged there was nothing to do but play along. So mission reevaluated. Proceed with caution due to unfriendly female.

Nikos smiled from behind Simon and cooed, injecting as much charm as he could into his greeting, "Heeeeey, ladies. Lonely?"

"Dude," Simon whispered over his shoulder. "Very lounge-lizard leisure-pants-ish, maybe even a little stalker creepy. Cool it."

"This from a man who smells his woman out?"

Using his cane to find his way to the edge of the ladies' table, Simon murmured, "Follow my lead, brother. We're goin' in."

Gun loaded, locked, and ready.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

From the "no longer so much reluctant as just plain old, had it up to her eyeb.a.l.l.s" journal of ex-trophy wife Frankie Bennett: I'm never going out of my aunt's house again. I don't care if the apocalypse is slated to hit only Jersey and safety awaits me in like, Fiji. I'd rather skip the sunburn and end it all in a fiery ball of Garden State Parkway and tsunami-like waves from the Jersey Sh.o.r.e. I want to go back to my cave. Call me melodramatic, but I personally believe I excelled at cave dwelling and was best left alone to do just that. Dwell. Oh, and I thought I was warming to Maxine Barker and her hokey-schmokey, helpful, ex-trophy-wife tips. My a.s.shattery. Let me show you.

Jasmine gazed in total silence at Nikos and his friend, her haughty glare a sight different than the warmth of the laughter in her eyes just moments ago.

The blond, very large man with Nikos leaned down, with great precision for someone who was blind, directly in front of Jasmine. "Miss me, pretty lady?"

"Like I'd miss a public flogging."

He chuckled, low and with delighted relish. "Kinky." His vacant but warm eyes strayed in Frankie's general direction, a hand potentially capable of wrapping itself around her neck extended toward her. "I'm Simon. Nice to meet you, and you smell great."

Frankie took his hand and almost giggled until Jasmine gave her the girlfriend frown. The one that meant she was to find this man neither amusing, good-looking, nor, G.o.d forbid, charming. Like it or not. Frankie cleared her throat and put on her most stern frown in defense of the woman she liked more and more and hoped to appease in order to cultivate their budding friendship.

"Frankie Bennett, and thank-" Jasmine gave her another girlfriend glare of fire and brimstone, thwarting further planned courtesies. She clamped her mouth shut with a wince of apology in Jasmine's direction.

His jovial smile widened. "Really? The Frankie Bennett? I'm so jazzed to meet you."

Frankie's face fell in an instant. She shot a frost-filled dagger of a glance at Nikos, who feigned ignorance, before responding with intentional ice in her tone, "Yes. I'm the Frankie Bennett. The crazy, ex-media-proclaimed-trophy wife of celebrity chef Mitch in the Kitchen. And double yes to your next question. I'm also the woman that fully intended a.s.sault with a deadly wooden spoon upon Mitch Bennett's lying, cheating person, during a live broadcast of his show." She gave Nikos another narrow-eyed gaze, slamming her fork down on her plate of half-eaten spaghetti so he'd be really clear about her displeasure at turning her into a sideshow freak.

Simon guffawed, clearly thoroughly amused by her blunt statement. "You sound like my kind of girl, but that's not what I meant. In case you missed my clumsy approach, I'm blind. I didn't see the show, but it d.a.m.ned well makes me wish I could still use the old eyeb.a.l.l.s. Must have been awesome retribution. I'm sure whatever happened, the punk deserved it."

"Always with the blind card," Jasmine huffed, slinking downward in her chair when Frankie gave her a look of admonishment. No matter the reason Jasmine didn't like Simon-and she'd held nothing back in showing her displeasure-he'd taken Frankie's side.

You had to like that in a guy.

Simon chose to ignore Jasmine's jab; the dazzling smile he wore never left his face. "I meant you're the Frankie Bennett Nikos is always talking about. Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk. That's all he does. Frankie this and Frankie that."

Oh. Well. That was a whole different ball of Frankie wax, now wasn't it? The warmth Jasmine was so determined to stomp out in Frankie returned-tenfold. So Jasmine and her wadded knickers be d.a.m.ned. And Nikos with the murderous glance at his friend Simon be d.a.m.ned, too. d.a.m.n everything but the music of Simon's words to Frankie's crush-starved ears.

"What Simon means is," Nikos interrupted, all smooth and unruffled, "I told him about how lucky we are to have found someone as good at peeling onions as you are."

Frankie rolled her eyes at Nikos, then addressed Simon. "My apologies. I'm a little touchy about the subject. I tend to overreact, and please, forgive my insensitivity to you." She made sure her tone of voice was extra shamefaced.

Simon gave her hand a quick squeeze before letting it go. "Totally understandable, Frankie. So why are you two pretty ladies having dinner alone when there are two perfectly willing men to eat it with you?"

"So I won't choke on my meatb.a.l.l.s?" was Jasmine's catty response. Her harsh words were doing the same thing she'd accused Frankie of earlier-saying no, but her eyes on Simon, well, that was a different story. They virtually gleamed with the opportunity for a shot at some verbal sparring, and there was no hiding that.

"Well," Simon purred. "We couldn't have that, could we? But all's well. I know the Heimlich. So move over and we'll join you, just in case there's a medical incident." Simon somehow managed to locate the empty chair at the table next to them in the close quarters of the restaurant. He dragged it next to Jasmine's, sitting in it with the scarred wooden back facing the table.

Frankie began to giggle, but it turned into a m.u.f.fled snort when Jasmine flicked her forearm hard, and Nikos's sigh of exasperation filled her ears.

Simon's hand trailed with deft fingertips over the table until his hand found Jasmine's. "So how's Foofy's?" he cooed.

"It's Fluffy's and it's still running rampant with naked women in thongs you can't see." She shot a catty smile at Frankie and Nikos while batting at Simon's hand.

Hoo boy.

Frankie's eyes slid back to the table, avoiding Nikos's altogether while she picked at her now cold noodles. "Your friend?" she muttered under her breath while Simon engaged Jasmine in rapid-fire conversation.

Nikos's shoulder brushed against hers, making her fight a shiver. "If I said no, he's just some guy I found outside who looked like he needed a meal, would you believe me?"

She chuckled. "I might, seeing as you feed the homeless guy who sleeps under the bench near the diner's parking lot almost every day. However, Simon's dressed too well. He's also pretty intent on getting Jasmine's attention, but then, who wouldn't be?"

He caught her eyes with his, captivating her without even trying. "You have beautiful hair. I like it down."

Preen, preen, preen. She tugged self-consciously at a strand to avoid a messy coo of pleasure. "It needs a dye job and a trim. My ends are split." Very flirtatious, Frankie. It's a good thing you want to shrivel up and turn into a recycled virgin.

When she'd been married to Mitch, she'd hit the salon religiously every six weeks. She was almost ashamed that she hadn't given her hair more scrutiny tonight before she'd left. Yet, that was all part of living life for herself and no one else. She didn't have to have her roots done. Such a rebel.

"I didn't know you and Jasmine were friends," he said, low and husky.

"We met at Maxine's support group meeting a couple of weeks ago. This is our first date."

"Ah, the ex-trophy wife club, right?" Nikos sipped his wine, his luscious lips wrapping around the rim of the gla.s.s, making her stomach jolt with a rush of heart-shattering desire.

The feeling was new and something totally foreign to her. So foreign, she had to grip her hands together in a clenched fist to keep her breathing even.

"Yep. It's where we go to bemoan the loss of our limitless platinum cards and learn how to clip coupons and survive on minimum wage. Fun, fun, fun." She tried to keep the sarcasm out of her tone, but it wasn't easy when she looked back on her old lifestyle and how pathetic and shallow it must seem to someone as hardworking as Nikos. Tonight, she'd been busy appreciating a delicious meal she could pay for herself, not crying about the fact that she wasn't eating the meal in authentic Italy. Which was a really nice place to visit, but somehow, not as nice as it had once seemed.

"Do you miss those luxuries, Frankie?"

Her head instantly moved in the negative, words spilling from her mouth she didn't realize she meant until the question was posed. "No. Not the way I guess most who've lived the lifestyle I have would. To be honest, I spent the better part of six months in bed since my divorce. So I was comatose during the socially acceptable mourning period over the loss of my Ferragamos," she joked. "Now those, I really do kinda miss, but not much else. I was never much into clothes or any of that until Mitch decided I had to be." Or demanded she had to be so she'd always be perfect when they made happy-couple public appearances.