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Ariel pushes away from the table and cocks her head at me.
“Life sucks. Men really suck. We women need to stick together. You need to learn how to not let what people think bother you and decide what you want to do with your life, and I want to help you with that. I mean, I do kind of owe you, since I slept with your husband and told you he gave me herpes,” she says with a shrug.
“If you’re going to help me, then it’s only fair I help you as well,” I tell her.
“Are you gonna help me learn how to walk around with a stick up my ass all the time? Because I gotta tell you, Cindy, that doesn’t sound like much fun.”
With a shake of my head, wondering how after such a short time I’m no longer appalled by the things that come out of her mouth, I grab Ariel’s arm and pull her toward the opposite end of the food tables.
“First, we’re going to eat. Then, we’re going to come up with a plan to fix our money problems,” I say, grabbing a plate and handing it to her.
“Fine. But don’t you dare put one of those horseshit-tasting cupcakes you made on my plate, or I’m gonna start throwing punches.”
Chapter 4: Your Stick Is Showing Again, Asshole
“Who the hell made these things? They taste like shit.”
I glance across the table where I’m busying myself straightening things up, waiting for Ariel to return with more alcohol, and watch one of my cupcakes get tossed back onto the pile. With a bite taken out of it.
“That’s disgusting. Who puts a half-eaten cupcake back on the plate with the rest of them? Do you have any idea how unsanitary that . . . is . . . ?”
My words trail off with a stutter when I look up to see who would do something so offensive and find the man I saw in the middle of the street the other day. The one who came to my rescue without hesitation and helped Ariel and Isabelle carry me into the house. He’s standing on the other side of the table looking me up and down, causing goosebumps to break out on my arms again, just like that day.
He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, and I find myself at a loss for words, unable to even finish scolding him about his manners. His good looks gave me pause when he was a hundred yards away standing in the street, but it’s nothing compared to being separated by only a few feet now. His jet black hair is cut close on the sides and lays in longer, messy strands on top of his head, like he just spent the last hour running his hands through it, and his blue eyes are even more striking next to all that dark hair. I always thought of myself as a woman who preferred a clean-shaven man, since I feel like it makes them look more distinguished, like they care about their appearance. But the light dusting of a five o’clock shadow on his cheeks, chin and around his mouth makes me wonder what it would feel like to rub my cheek against his.
Get yourself together, Cynthia! This is not appropriate! Just thank him for helping you out the other day, like a polite woman should.
“Nice costume,” he sneers, once he finishes looking me over.
His deep, gravelly voice sends tingles down my spine along with indignation, and I completely forget my gratitude. The outrage over the way he’s clearly mocking what I’m wearing wins out over whatever the heck is happening to me as I look at him.
“This is an authentic Cinderella costume, thank you very much. What exactly are you supposed to be?” I question, crossing my arms over my chest and taking my turn looking him up and down.
The way his gray T-shirts molds to his perfectly sculpted chest, the way the muscles in his forearms tighten when he presses his hands to the table and rests his weight on them as he leans over the food toward me, the way a lock of his hair falls down over his forehead—I have an unnatural urge to reach over and push it back into place, slide my fingers through his hair and see if it feels as silky as it looks.
“I’m supposed to be a bored-as-fuck friend, suckered into coming to this party because I was told there would be hot women in naughty costumes, good food, and plenty of booze,” he deadpans, glancing down at my dress again before meeting my eyes. “The cupcakes taste like sawdust, the coolers at the drink table are all filled with bottled water, and I have yet to see anything even resembling a naughty costume. Just a bunch of bored housewives wearing virginal princess costumes.”
