They had met at a swanky wedding for Anne's friend Sandy, who had married some big shot CEO of some company or another.
Somehow, Sandy had gotten a popular band with a lead singer who had been on a nationally televised singer's contest to play at her wedding; at the time, Anne had no idea who they were and didn't care for the show Sandy had gushed about, so she had paid no mind to the band outside of something to dance to at the reception.
All Anne had cared about at the time was getting off those god-awful shoes she had to wear with the equally hideous bridesmaid's gown, mint green or not. Her feet were killing her, but she danced and posed for pictures with a pasted smile nevertheless.
It had been an uneventful evening thus far until the band went to take a break after the bridal dance with Sandy and Jeff.
Once the new couple had finished, a cage of doves had been released, one of them letting dropping a load on the lead singer, Constantine's, head.
"Jesus!" he called out. Both the other band members and Anne couldn't resist laughing.
Once she had calmed down from laughing so hard and it looked as if people were more interested in laughing at the shit-on singer than helping him out, she picked up some napkins with "Jefferson and Sandra" printed on them and went over to Con, wiping the dove poop from his head.
"Sorry about that," she had apologized, trying to keep herself from laughing again. "I guess he really had to go. But being crapped on by a bird is supposed to be good luck, though."
Anne then inspected his head. "I think I finally got it all," she said.
"Does it stink?" Con asked.
Anne sniffed his head. "No, you're fine."
"Thanks," he said, then gave her a high-octane smile. "Now where are my manners? I could at least introduce myself since you went through the trouble of cleaning bird shit out of my hair while my buddies were laughing like hyenas." He then stuck out his hand and introduced himself.
The softness of his hand wasn't lost on her; she smiled back shyly. "Nice to meet you. I'm Anne. I don't always look this geeky, though. Always the bridesmaid, you know."
"Well, would Anne like to dance?" Con asked.
"Huh?" she was taken aback. It wasn't every day she was approached by guys, much less an attractive one like this. Sandy and the other bridesmaids were the beauty queens, not she.
Anne was what was the modern term "plus sized," and even though Sandy referred her as a "cute redhead," with a pixie haircut, lovely blue eyes and near-perfect, fair skin, Anne always felt dumpy and unattractive around Sandy and Sandy's other friends, all who could have been models.
Why didn't this guy pay mind to the other bridesmaids instead?
"You know," he smiled again, interrupting Anne's thoughts. "Kind of thanks again for cleaning shit out of my hair."
"Oh, all right. Sure." God, do not make me a klutz now, Anne thought.
As they danced more that night between his sets, Con flirted with her openly and kept moving his body against hers and, eventually, Anne certainly noticed.
As the evening drew to a close, he wanted to get to know her better and invited her back to the room upstairs of the hotel where Sandy had her lavish reception.
She agreed to go, after coming the conclusion that unlike the other guys around the reception, this one was neither a drunk nor a sick pervert.
After about half an hour of chit-chat when they got to the room (and Anne finally getting her shoes off), the conversation turned to love, lust and sex.
They talked about past relationships and how both seemed to lack finding anyone decent, in Con's case, anything outside of the slutty "groupies" that would get in any musician's pants at the drop of a hat.
They were still talking when they went outside to the balcony to look at the city below.
"It's harder for women like me to find someone decent," she said.
"Why?" Con asked.
"Look at me," she responded with a small laugh. "I'm hardly a size 2 supermodel."
"You're beautiful," he said, hardly believing this lovely woman had no man in her life.
"Mmm hmm. And how many other times have you used that line today?" she appeared to be teasing, but Con wondered if she thought he was a player that would say anything to get women into bed.
