Page 95 of Bless My Body

I can’t stop looking around. I’m sure I look like a kid in a toy store for the first time. The house, the

people, everything is so over the top, decorated in black, white, and gold. They have actual

chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. That’s right, not just one, but several chandeliers hang

throughout the main floor. I spot them as Ezra ushers me to the bar set up for the party.

“This place is incredible,” I whisper to Ezra once we’re at the bar. He doesn’t respond, just

smiles at me. He hands me a glass of champagne as he takes a sip of his own. He looks around the

room, taking in all the people coming in through the front doors.

“Ok, we have to mingle, but then we can probably slip away unnoticed.” I nod and follow him to

the first group of people.

So far, it looks like everyone here is dressed in all black. I’m the only one I can see wearing any

color besides Ezra’s mom in a dark blue gown. Did Ezra purposefully leave out that this event was

black dress only?

Ezra keeps his hand on my lower back during every conversation. He always introduces me as his

friend. I know that’s what we are, so I don’t know why it feels like a punch to the gut each time I hear

it. I mean, this is what I wanted, right? I’ve told him over and over I just want to be friends.

But in this moment, despite my best efforts to push these thoughts out of my head, I want to be

more than his friend. I want these people to think I’m good enough for Ezra Sanders. I want to be good

enough for Ezra. I don’t usually care what people think about me, but I care what these people think. I

want them to see how good Ezra and I are together.

I watch him effortlessly talk to people in a way that I envy. Sure, I can talk to people. I love

talking to people. But my conversations typically revolve around which party has been the best on

Greek Row, not which stocks are looking good right now. But Ezra puts on a smile and talks like he

actually understands them. I guess he does understand them. This is his world, and I’m the outsider.

This is a different side of Ezra I’ve never seen before. I’m used to the playful Ezra. The one who

makes jokes about stupid things and has a secret obsession with Taco Bell. This all-business Ezra is

new and, honestly, kinda hot. I wouldn’t mind stripping him out of his perfectly tailored and molded

to his body tuxedo.

We move from group to group, fluttering in and out of conversations. Most of the women look at

me like they don’t understand why I’m here, and the men all look like they want to see what’s under

my dress. I keep hold of Ezra’s arm and stand as close to him as physically possible, making sure