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“I need to talk to him like I need anal bleaching. Both of them would be a pain in the ass and are never happening.”
She laughs, snagging a bubbly glass of champagne from a waiter walking by, and thrusts it toward me. “Here’s some liquid courage. Just don’t drink too much that you land in his bed again.”
I swat the drink away. “Not happening, and no, thank you.”
She stills and studies me. “Since when do you turn down champagne? Alcohol is always mandatory in these situations.”
“I’m trying out a new diet.”
“You might want to wipe the icing off the side of your mouth if you want to keep up with that lie.”
I scrub away the remnants of my sugar binge and lick my finger. Thou shall not waste buttercream frosting. “It’s this new craze diet where sugar is the main source of nutrition and alcohol is bad.Very bad.It’s called the good decision-making diet.” I start fake picking lint from my dress, so she doesn’t see the untruth in my eyes. The black dress is ugly and shapeless, and I bought it specifically for tonight to hide my body and secrets.
“So, you’re not drinking because he’s here?”
Shit.That would’ve been a more believable excuse than a damn diet. I nod, feeling bad for lying to her, but I can’t break the news here. It’d ruin her night.
“Does that mean, the chances of letting him rip off your panties for round two is likely?” She sets the glass down on the table behind her and bounces in her heels, like me banging Dallas again would cure world hunger.
“Calm down, matchmaker. Studies show that alcohol gives you shifty eyes.” I point to my hair. “Shifty eyes don’t look good on redheads.”
“Bullshit. You can’t deny you had a connection. Neither one of you is the casual banging type. Talk. Maybe there’s a spark that’ll lead to a firework.”
More like a wildfire breakout.
“The onlyconnectionwe have is that he stuck his penis inside me once.That’s it. Nothing more. Now, it’s time to move on.”
She pushes my shoulder when I go back to my fake lint-picking. “Okay, what the hell is going on with you?”
“Nothing,” I blurt out, shifting my neck from side to side like I’m sore. “Jet lag is a bitch.”
“Liar.”
I wave off her accusation. “It’s your engagement party. Tonight is all about you.”
“If that’s the case, then I want answers.”
I chew on the edge of my lip while her dark eyes study me. I get the opportunity to look away when music starts to blare through the room. I glance at the DJ booth and then to the makeshift dance floor in front of it and almost gag at his first song choice.
Boyz II Men? Really, dude?
Looks like we’re getting served cheese with these cupcakes.
The sight of Hudson hurrying over to us relieves me. He wraps his arms around Stella from behind and squeezes her hips, his mouth going straight to her ear.
“Dance with me,” he attempts to whisper, although I’m sure everyone in the state heard him.
Stella melts at his touch, like it’s the first time they’ve ever had physical contact, and my heart hurts. This is what real love is. This is something I’ll never have. She groans, and I know my best friend well enough to know she’s going to turn him down to continue our conversation.
“Go dance with yourfiancé,” I insist. “We’ll talk later.”
A smile accompanies her next groan. “Fine, but you’re not leaving this town until you spill the tea.”
“I wouldn’t imagine it any other way.”
Hudson kisses her cheek, snags her hand in his, and sweeps her toward the dance floor. The crowd cheers, and people jump up from their seats to join them.
I release a deep breath, happy I dodged that conversation, and decide to reward myself with another cupcake. I grab a chocolate one with strawberry icing and huddle myself into a corner at the farthest end of the room. Shame sinks through me when I do another once-over of the party to search for the man who screwed me in more ways than one.
