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Rudy arches a brow. “What is?”
“He called me ma’am. I might as well get my senior discount card now.”
I love the way Rudy laughs. It takes him from attractive to out-of-this-world. A few heads turn at the sound, and this time I find myself putting a possessive hand on his arm.
I quickly pull it away, but the damage is done. Rudy’s eyes lower as he tugs me closer and jerks his head to the open space in the middle of the floor. “Dance with me.”
Nights like these are dangerous. Not because I’m uncomfortable being around people whose net worth probably rivals that of small countries, but because it makes me forget about all the things that are bearing down on me. All the problems knocking on my door that I’ll only be able to ignore for a few more months.
And I’m not talking about the baby. That’s not so much a problem as a…change. It’s everything else that worries me.
Nights like these make me forget that Rudy and I have an expiration date, and that we’re not supposed to actually like each other beyond something frivolous and casual.
But Rudy puts his untouched champagne on a waiter’s empty tray. He takes my hand and places it on his shoulder, then grips my other hand in his. “Just follow my lead,” he says, and then we dance.
We glide, twirl, and dip, and it’s true—I forget about everything except the music and Rudy. The scent of his cologne that seems to embed itself into my skin every time he tugs me close, the feel of his hard body against mine, the way my dress whispers and flows over my legs.
By the time the music ends, the dance floor has filled with a few other couples. We clap for the musicians and I feel flushed and happy.
“May I cut in?” a familiar voice says behind us.
I turn to see Jared standing there in a tux, a funny kind of smirk tugging at his lips. I want to refuse, but Jared extends a hand toward me. Rudy has a question in his eyes, and I know I could say no if I wanted to, but in the interest of not causing a scene, I incline my head. “Sure.”
Rudy backs away from us and is immediately accosted by a few elderly ladies who paw and fawn over him like it’s their job.
“So, you and Rudy, huh?” Jared puts his hand on my waist and pulls me closer than I’d like.
I put a few inches of space between us again. “Me and Rudy,” I repeat noncommittally. The music starts, and Jared starts leading me through the steps of a dance with practiced ease. Maybe they had to take classes at rich-boy school.
“I hadn’t realized he was seeing anyone.” He spins me, and I have to admit he’s competent, but he doesn’t have the same grace as Rudy.
When he tugs me back against his body, I pop a brow. “I hadn’t realized it was your job to know.”
A flash crosses the man’s eyes, then his lips curl into a dangerous smirk. “You could do better, you know.” The music swells, and we glide through other couples.
“Let me guess. With you?”
“Your words, not mine,” he answers with a laugh. Then he spins me again and pulls me hard against his chest. I pull away again, but it makes me stumble in the dance. I bump into an old couple and have to apologize.
“When I saw you at the restaurant, I had no idea you’d clean up this well,” he says, his lips near my ear. “But why would a beautiful, classy woman like you want a guy like Rudy? You must have heard that he never lasts more than a few weeks with a woman? How many other chicks does he have on the side? He’s just using you, Lily.”
His words needle at a worry that shouldn’t even exist. Rudy and I are not exclusive; it doesn’t matter if he’s going on dates with other women.
But…it does matter. It bothers me a lot.
I jerk away from him and narrowly miss banging into another couple. “I’m not doing this.” I spin around and clomp off the dance floor, searching the room for Rudy.
I find him chatting with Agnes and feel a wave of relief when she turns her scowling face to look at me. “How the hell did you get stuck dancing with Jared the Dolt? There’s something wrong with that boy. I keep telling Nancy about it but she won’t listen.”
I grin, tension melting away. “Hi, Agnes.”
Hank Cheswick has his half-dozen gray hairs combed over the liver-spotted skin on top of his head, and his old body is clad in a sharp tux. His twinkling eyes meet mine. “We haven’t met.” He extends a gnarled hand toward me and we shake just as a waiter appears with a tray full of delicate little bites of fancy-looking somethings. Hank plucks one from the tray as the waiter explains that it’s some sort of Greek shrimp canapé.
“Perfect,” Hank says. “I’m on a seafood diet.”
Agnes snorts. “Here we go.”
Cheswick winks at me. “I see food, I eat it.”
