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***
The meeting took longer than anticipated. Much longer. In fact, at four thirty, I had to text Cricket and let her know I was still in the meeting. She replied and told me to take my time. We decided she’d go to meet her friends for drinks and then meet up with me at the dinner, which starts at six.
It’s five minutes before six and I’m just getting to the event hall. My black necktie is already stifling me, but I do my best not to fidget with it. Instead, I push past the alumni gathered in the hallway and head toward the hall entrance. A table is stationed outside where we check in and are given a nametag. I stick mine on my lapel, smile at the two older ladies manning the entrance, and head inside.
Soft music fills the massive room as I step inside. The lighting is low and the room buzzing with laughter. Waiters walk around with glasses of champagne, while two long bars are stationed on each end of the hall. First up, grab a drink. Then, find Cricket.
I offer greetings to those who make eye contact without stopping to chat. When I’m in line at the bar, it’s the first time I really take a deep breath. I’m not a fan of suit and tie affairs, especially when surrounded by hundreds of people. I should probably stick to beer, but that’s not what I order when I finally make my way to the front of the line. “Seven and seven,” I tell the pretty bartender in a fitted white dress shirt and long black skirt.
I pull a ten from my wallet as she makes my drink, and casually glance around the room to see if I can spot Cricket. I’m sure she’s here already. Her plan was to meet up with her friends for a few drinks and then arrive in time for the six p.m. social hour, and even though socializing isn’t exactly my cup of tea, Cricket is a natural in a crowd.
“Thanks,” I say as I take my drink, throwing a few singles in the tip jar, before moving around the room.
I start in the back and work my way around the side of the room, slowly sipping my drink. The place is filling up quickly and finding Cricket is proving to be a difficult task. I make it all the way around the outer perimeter of the hall, resolved to moving to the inner part of the room, when I hear the sweetest sound. Her laugh.
My eyes scan the crowd until they fall on the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. Cricket Hill. She’s wearing that sexy gold dress, which seems to look even more stunning hugging her curves than I could have ever imagined when I saw it on the hanger. The dress hits mid-thigh and is framed by lean, toned legs. She’s wearing those strappy black heels, and now that I see them on her feet, all I can picture is how incredible they’d look wrapped around my waist. Her hair is down and her makeup is smoky. But the best part? Her lips are painted a deep red. The color of wine and bad decisions.
I feel it clear down to my toes when she slowly turns, her eyes meeting mine. Like a punch to the gut. And the heart. Her eyes light up as she smiles my way. Her legs chew up the space between us as she excuses herself and heads toward me. Cricket’s eyes scan my suit, the appreciation evident in those intoxicating green eyes.
Even if I could talk, I’m not sure what I’d say. Words like beautiful, gorgeous, and stunning don’t even seem like strong enough adjectives to describe the way she looks tonight. In that dress, those shoes, and that fucking smile that makes my heart gallop in my chest like a fucking racehorse.
“Fancy meeting you here,” she says as she comes to a stop in front of me. Her eyes, so innocent and alluring, gaze up at me, so full of lust and need.
My eyes drink her in once more, my brain still unable to compute words, so I do the next best thing. The one thing that can convey my thoughts and my appreciation for how phenomenal she looks tonight. My lips press against hers, and she gives in to the kiss instantly. In fact, she steps forward, into my embrace, her hands pressing firmly against my chest. The hand not holding my drink wraps around her and rests on her lower back, while my lips devour hers. She tastes like champagne bubbles and mint.
“Well, hello to you too,” she whispers against my lips as I nibble on the swollen flesh of her bottom lip.
“You look…wow.” I glance down and take her in once more. She may not be mine forever, but she’s mine for right now.
Cricket grins at me. “Thank you,” she says, her eyes dropping to my shirt. Her hands skim my matte black tie before she straightens the knot at my neck, her fingertips dance across my smooth throat. “If I’m not mistaken, I’d say we planned this matchy matchy attire.”
“Pretty crazy, right?” When I packed my tan shirt, it was because it was the only one that fit me right in the neck. But now, looking at Cricket’s gold dress and black shoes, it’s like it was fate.
“You look very handsome,” she says, smoothing out my tie and resting her hands on my lapels.
“So, I don’t look as uncomfortable as I feel?” I ask, taking another drink of alcohol.
“Not at all. You look great.” Her eyes dance with excitement and happiness as she glances over her shoulder to the group she was talking to. “What do you say we snag me another glass of champagne, and then I’ll go introduce you to my friends. They’re dying to see you again.”
“Well, let’s not keep them waiting,” I tell her as I take her hand in my free one and lead her toward the nearest waiter. I release her hand only long enough to snag a glass. The moment she takes it, I take her other hand and lead her back the way we came.
“Ladies, you remember Rueben Rigsby? Rueben, this is Jenna and Craig Dawson and Bridget and Phil Beckman.”
“Great to see you again, Rueben. I remember you stopping by our study groups often,” Bridget says, smiling warmly at my date.
“I do recall crashing your study sessions,” I tell them, shaking their husbands’ hands and theirs as well.
“It was a welcomed reprieve, believe us. Some of those books we covered were monotonous and boring,” Jenna says.
We stand around and visit a little more as dinnertime approaches. When they announce that we can be seated at the tables, we find one that’s still open, the six of us taking three quarters of the table, and making ourselves comfortable. Water is poured into the goblets on the table and the server takes our drink orders. I opt to stick with water for the duration of the meal and am surprised when Cricket does the same.
“So, did you both use your communications degrees for your careers?” I ask when the server moves to the next table.
“I did,” Bridget says. “I went into radio. I host an afternoon program on a country station in central Illinois.”
“And I’m not utilizing my degree at all, unless you consider arguing with toddlers all day as communicating,” Jenna adds with a laugh.
“How many kids?” I ask. She holds up four wiggling fingers. “Four? Wow, that’s great.”
