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“Maybe,” I replied with a shrug. “But Cindy said she hasn’t shown up yet, so now I’m wonderin’ if she’ll even come.”
Especially after the way we’d left things last night. But honestly, that whole conversation was risky business. She’d asked me if we could talk like the friends we once were and not acknowledge the fact that we’d been so much more until it all fell apart. How were we supposed to do that? We weren’t, clearly, since we hadn’t been able to manage. Or at least, I hadn’t been.
“Well, shoot, you spoke too soon.”
Jack’s words cut through my thoughts and my head turned automatically toward the door. My chest seized the second I laid eyes on Laney, and I wasn’t the only one. All the other people in the room stopped and looked in her direction, and because she was likely used to it, all she did was smile and give a small wave to the crowd at large before doing what I didn’t do, head for the registration desk with Paisley in tow.
And not just Paisley. Riley Conrad and his dang guitar too. Did he ever go anywhere without it? And yes, those who weren’t struck by Laney—as I was, dang it—were staring at him. Mostly the women. Wonder how she felt about that?
Unwilling to keep looking her over in that little black dress and her signature boots lest her boyfriend see me, I turned back to my friends, pointing at Brandon’s name tag. “Why do they think we need name tags?”
They glared at me, one by one, like clones of each other. Brandon shook his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “That’s it?”
“That’s what?”
“You’re not even gonna comment on the fact that your woman just walked in with that country boy-bander?” Jack asked.
I resisted the urge to look over at them. “First of all, she’s not my woman. She’s his.” The words tasted like acid on my tongue, and I swallowed hard so I wouldn’t lose my cookies on my friends’ worn-out boots. “Second, he’s a solo act. Not a boy-bander.”
Clay nodded gravely. “Right. ’Cept for when he’s doin’ a duet with your—sorry, his—woman.”
“Get back to the name tags before I take y’all out back and see if I can wipe the floor with you.”
“Maybe it’s for all the ugly ducklings who transformed into swans,” Jack answered with a laugh. “Jilly Cabbernash grew up lookin’ mighty fine. She used to look like she could eat corn through a picket fence, but man, she musta got braces or somethin’ since then.”
I chuckled and shook my head at his vivid description, unable to keep myself from picturing poor Jilly trying to do just that.
“Speakin’ of swans,” Brandon said, “you seen Derek Swanson?”
I wrinkled my brow, trying to place the name. Then it hit me, and I glanced around for the pudgy kid who was meaner than dirt to anyone who even looked at him. Bullies didn’t bother the kid for his weight or his freckles or anything else about him—he was prickly enough without their help and always had been. He’d left Charlotte Oaks right after high school, and I hadn’t heard much about him since.
“Over there,” Jack said, discreetly pointing to the center of the dance floor.
My brows nearly flew off my forehead when I saw the six-and-a-half-foot beast of a man slow dancing with a woman who looked like she belonged on the cover of Sports Illustrated.
Derek Swanson could no longer be described as pudgy. The guy was a legitimate bodybuilder, complete with the veins popping out of his neck and biceps as he held onto his woman in her skimpy dress. She probably did the bikini version of the competitions, and I’d bet my bottom dollar that was how they’d met.
Then a thought occurred to me, and I widened my eyes at my friends. “Wait, who’s the woman? Did we go to school with her, too?”
“Nah, I don’t know who she is. But I’m just sayin’, if I hadn’t told you that guy was Derek, would you have known without a name tag?”
“No chance. Wow. Good for him I guess.” I hoped he wasn’t as mean anymore, now that he looked like he could punch a hole in a brick wall. I nodded toward the bar, still keeping my back to Laney even though I felt her pull like we were magnetized. “Let’s go cash one of these bad boys in.”
12
LANEY
“Did you go to your high school reunion?” I asked Riley. Paisley had gone to grab us some drinks, and apparently none of my classmates had worked up the nerve to swarm us yet, so Riley and I stood off to the side and got to be stared at like lab rats instead.
“I did. But it was a few years ago, and I wasn’t quite so …”
“Unapproachable?” I tried with a sardonic smile.
“Hey, now, just because they won’t approach us don’t mean we aren’t approachable.”
I started to disagree, but then three women who’d tormented me for all four years of high school did, in fact, approach us. The tallest—and prettiest if you asked her—smiled like she was fixin’ to kill me with kindness that was about as real as her bottle-blonde hair. “Goodness, if it ain’t Laney Cole and Riley Conrad.”
Riley and I shared a look, and I put on my peoplin’ face. “Sure is. How are you, Bella Mae?” I probably should have introduced the women to Riley, but it didn’t occur to me fast enough, and she’d already stood straighter with her I’m-better-than-you-no-matter-how-famous-you-are-now smile.
