Free The Last Groom on Earth by Kristin James Page A

it so good to be disorganized?”
    “I don’t know. I don’t guess either one is good or bad. But I can’t see living that way. Don’t you get bored?”
    “I don’t spend a lot of time looking into my sock drawer, so I don’t get bored by their order, no. In fact, I think that I would classify having to dig through mysock drawer every morning to find what I wanted to wear as boring.”
    Angela cocked her head to one side, considering his words. “I never thought of it quite like that.”
    “Plus, I’m able to take all my entertainment expenses that way. I don’t lose any.”
    “Neither do I.” Angela pointed this out indignantly. “I always stick them right here, and every once in a while, I clean it out and take them up to Kelly.”
    Bryce stifled a groan.
    “What’s the matter with that? I don’t lose them, and I don’t have to waste that time writing them down. Kelly knows a lot more about it than I do.”
    “Do all your employees use this sort of accounting method?”
    “I don’t know. You’d have to ask Kelly.” She looked at him suspiciously. “Why? Are you going to start making us fill out forms about our expenses?”
    “It would probably help.”
    “Bryce! I don’t want to have to do that. And I’m sure the people who work for us don’t want to, either. Besides, only the sales force and Tim and I ever have entertainment write-offs. It’s not that common. Oh, now look!” she exclaimed in exasperation. “I’ve missed the street where I meant to turn.”
    She made a sharp right turn at the next corner and circled the block to pull into a parking lot beside a small, drab brick building. She turned and looked at him sternly. “No more business talk. People come here to have fun, not talk about receipts and write-offs and all that. Okay?”
    “Okay,” he agreed, an amused smile playing on his lips. Looking at her, he found he had no desire to talk about anything regarding business.
    “Good.” Angela turned back and began to fluff and tweak her thick hair into place, using the rear-view mirror.
    Bryce gazed at her idly, wondering how there could be something so alluring, so intimate and exciting about watching her perform such a simple task. When they got out of the car, Angela turned and looked at him critically, then insisted that he remove his suit coat and tie and leave them in the car.
    “There,” she said, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt and his cuffs and rolling his sleeves up, “that looks much better.”
    Taking his hand, Angela led him across the lot and into the old building. The entryway was dim, but Angela went confidently up the creaking wooden steps against the wall. The wail of a blues guitar grew louder as they moved upward, and at the top of the stairs, they stepped into a dark, cramped bar. A musician sat on a stool on a minuscule stage at the far end of the room, and there were more tables and chairs crammed into the rest of the room than Bryce would have thought possible. He suspected that the club was breaking a fire ordinance, but he kept his mouth shut, knowing how Angela would react to his saying something like that.
    They made their way to an empty table against the back wall and sat down. The music was low and easy to listen to, and in between sets, Angela and Bryce talked.
    Bryce had never been one who talked easily with people. He had always had the vaguely uneasy feeling that he was different, that others found him stiff and the things he talked about incomprehensible and boring. He rarely loosened up and talked freely exceptwhen he was with people like Angela’s parents, who were interested in numbers. Even then, he felt limited to talking only about his job.
    With Angela, who talked freely about any and everything, from songs to politics, it was somehow easy to talk. Bryce found himself joining in, laughing at her comments and adding his own, discussing their tastes in music and art—and, amazingly, finding them not that dissimilar. By the