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Not that I would know, since she never smiled at me, but I saw how she looked at the others.
The collection of glasses in front of Fiona is impressive but not as extensive as mine. It’ll be enough to give her a rough morning, however.
“I’m having fun,” Fiona says. “It’s a novel concept.”
“You don’t like to have fun?” I push a half-filled glass towards her. “I don’t believe that.”
“You think everyone is having fun if they’re with you,” she teases.
“Well, aren’t they? Or do I have to pay them more?” I laugh along with everyone else. It’s always better to make fun of yourself than wait for others to do it.
“Thank you for this,” Bexley says to me, squeezing my arm. “It’s been amazing.”
“Good. That’s what I wanted for you. I’d do anything for this guy.” I grin across the table at Grayson, feeling more emotional than usual. There must have been something in those drinks.
“Same for me, bro, same for me.”
“Does that mean I get to be your best man?”
Grayson laughs but doesn’t answer. I know it’s going to be Emmett but I’ve got nothing to lose by asking. He’s my only hope of getting the honour of standing up for someone—my oldest friend, Tad, can’t keep his head out of trouble long enough to meet a woman.
A yawn splits Bexley’s face. “I’ve got to go to bed,” she announces. “Grayson, you big stud, take me home or lose me forever.”
“I love it when you quote movies to me,” Grayson says. “And I’m so proud you’ve almost got the hang of it.”
I handle the bill, and the waitress in her cute pink dress gives me one of those smiles. “I’m off in an hour,” she says in a husky voice.
“’Fraid not tonight, darlin’,” I tell her. Instead of the waitress, I swipe a champagne bottle off the table and follow Fiona down the stairs, unable to stop myself watching the sway of her hips in her green dress.
The dance floor is still packed solid and there’s a tug when I realize I haven’t danced at all tonight. I’ve got moves. Impressive moves. Moves I’d like to show Fiona. I know this isn’t going anywhere, but still—a guy’s got to give it his best shot.
The music changes, and suddenly Fiona grabs my hand. “I love this song,” she cries loudly. “Can we maybe—is it okay if we—?”
“We can stay as long as you like,” I tell her. “Let’s dance.”
Chapter Six
Fiona
WhenMasecatchesBexley’sarm to tell her we’re staying, I can tell my friend wants nothing more than to argue about my decision, even without her saying a word.
We’ve seen each other through our fair share of bad relationships, bad decisions, and Mr. Wrongs, but there is a new level of worry in her eyes when she looks at me and Mase standing together, like Elinor watching Marianne and Willoughby.
I want to tell her nothing will happen between me and Mase, because I am no Marianne Dashwood, and it’sMase Stirling,but I can’t exactly find the words. Plus, it’s too chaotic on the dance floor for that conversation.
Besides, Mase starts to dance.
“Big girl,” I remind Bexley instead. “Loves to dance.” I point at Mase, who does the little Sam Rockwell dance move from the Charlie’s Angels movie, and she gives up without a word, realizing, I’m sure, the futility of worrying about what will never be. “He’ll make sure I get back to the hotel.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Seriously?” I finally snap. “He’s a nice guy. And hello—give me a little credit, will you?”
She looks questioningly at Grayson, who shrugs, chagrined by my earlier rebuke. I’ve had enough of them thinking of me like the fragile heroine I am clearly not. I shouldn’t be upset with her—we’ve always had a pact never to leave one another while out drinking, but she’s taking her suspicions of Mase too far.
“Be careful,” Bexley warns as she hugs me goodnight.
“Always. I promise I won’t run off to become a showgirl.”
