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He’s a free man? How is that possible? No, no. Stop it. I’m too drunk. I don’t know what all this ‘free man’ stuff is, but I’m not here for it. He made his choice. He’s a sleaze, and I don’t do sleaze. Ever.
“Please, Lolly, give me a chance. I beg.”
I’m seriously in the grip of some madness now, because I’m not in control of my hands as they grip his lapels and pull him close, until I am almost pressing my body back into the outline of orange body paint I already left on his tux. I stand on my tiptoes to reach him, desperate to possess his mouth with mine, unable to stop my tongue as it flicks at his lips.
Once again, I feel him rise to the occasion, his body wanting me against his better judgment. How’sthatfor a Mr. Darcy moment, eh?
“Fuck you and the horse you rode in on. You do not get to play with me and come back for seconds. So, go find your horse and fuck right off!” I’m not his plaything. Especially not when I’m still utterly, inexplicably, on fire for him. I will not keep throwing myself at this man who told me—to my face—that I wasn’t good enough. Tonight was about rewriting that moment and giving myself a different ending by proving I could make him want me and be the one to turn him down, like he did to me. For my plan to work, I can’t possibly give in to the swirling thoughts and sensations both my brains want me to consider. I cut him off. “I hope you have a great season, Mariano.”
He’s talking, but I’m not listening as I make a dash for the groom and groom, who are surrounded by ninjas and Pokémon characters. I’ve lost my wings and tail somewhere along the way, but I’m still a snazzy-dazzler who garners a ton of attention. My breathing hasn’t returned to normal, and the pulse in my panties is twice as fast as the one in my chest, but no one seems to notice.
That was a narrow escape.
Lolly Benoit,notcited for a Kissing Under the Influence. Not trapped with a man who didn’t want her. Not a fool for lust. Lolly Benoit, free from all that ‘free man’ nonsense.
The cake is as bitter as ground chalk and the champagne as flat as tap water, and suddenly Florida and the High Winds Polo Club and theGolden Horseshoesare done for me. I need to be gone. Now. I turn and exit the tent, and no one runs to stop me.
Lolly Benoit cited for Exiting While Defeated.
MIXED UP, MESSED UP
Mariano Arias. Gustavo's Wedding Party. High Winds Polo Club. Palm Beach, Florida.
Ican’t see Lolly anywhere, though I’ve been looking since she disappeared behind the cake. It wouldn’t have been kosher to interrupt Gustavo’s moment, but my good manners have allowed her to slip through my fingers once again. Why didn’t I kiss her when I had the chance? Hold her, tell her, explain. She pulled me close, then went away. And I let it happen. Insanity.
Now that the cake has been cut, the room is dissolving into cliques and clutches of friends. My teammates are spread around the room, some coupled, others seeking company.
“Mariano!” Esther, bouncing, smiling, and fizzing with her usual enthusiasm, rushes me and throws her arms around my waist. “I don’t get it. Why are so many straight men straight up dimwits when it comes to women? It doesn’t take a genius to see that your Salome wants to untrouser you and do the side shuffle with your salami.” She grins. “Apologies. It’s the British way. We don’t say anything until we do, and when we do, it’s usually booze-fueled, but absolutely, unequivocally true.” She grabs my hand and hauls me over to the dance floor. “She wants you in the most underpants-ripping way, my man. If we still lived in bodice land, she’d rip it off and rub her hooters on you.” She stops and helps herself to a passing champagne flute, downing it in one. “I’m allowed to say hooters on account of the fact that I still have one—on account of hashtag fuck cancer—andI’m drunk.”
Juliette snags my arm as I pass and pulls me into her circle. She’s well put together, as always. Festooned with precious metals and glittering stones. The overriding scent is money, no doubt about that. “Ladies, this is Mariano Arias, the Argentinian player I was telling you about.”
Her circle of friends tap their acrylic nails on their champagne flutes. I bow slightly. “Thank you.” I’m not good at this. I’ve never needed to be anything other than myself before now. They wait, wide-eyed, eager, panting. I’m supposed to say something else. Thanks to the kindness of Juliette, I’m the new face ofThrills, Spills, & Kills,and I’m guessing that goes with being witty, or at the very least charming.
“He’s a ten-pointer.”
The blush creeps up out of my collar, suffusing my face. “You’re very kind.”
She laughs. “If you aren’t the cutest. That accent!” Her hand is still on my wrist. “Say something else.” She turns her head from the crowd and whispers, “Sing for your supper, dear one. It’s what they want from you. Sing and all your prayers are answered. These are Gwen’s people. They’ll pay oodles and oodles just to follow you around on a pony and listen to your accent! Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.”
I’m tongue-tied at precisely the moment I shouldn’t be.
Esther bobs her head into the circle of designer dresses and plumped lips. “I need to borrow him for a minute, ladies.”
Juliette’s face falls. “We were just getting started…”
“I’ll bring him back to you, I promise. He just has to do thisonething!” She drags me deeper into the crowd. “Here she is.” Esther stops at the edge of the dance floor and taps an orange-painted woman on the shoulder. When she turns, my heart stops dead. Not figuratively. Literally.
I can barely hear Esther saying, “Mariano, may I present someone your suit is somewhat acquainted with, Ms. Lolly Benoit,” because it’s as if Lolly’s moving, gliding, shimmering, when in fact she’s standing still and glaring at me. I’m not one for gushing, but I’m right on the verge of reciting poetry in celebration ofwhatever the hell the poets write aboutwhen in the presence of a beautiful woman who very recently gyrated in your lap and licked your cheek. Damn, I’ve forgotten to speak. Again. This time for completely different reasons.
Esther, thankfully, has been talking away as I ogle the woman she’s calling her new friend. “…Lolly’s looking to play for theGolden Horseshoessomeday. We had a chat, earlier…”
Lolly stares at me, making no secret of her revulsion. “Hey, there. Nice to see you again.” She does not look pleased. In fact, she’s giving Mr. Wiggins a run for his money in theback offdepartment.
“The pleasure is all mine.”
She laughs. Not the tinkling, flirty laugh of the Juliettes of the world. No, this is a head back, full-throated guffaw that turns heads. “It is? Is itreally?A pleasure. How, exactly? How are you going to unslut...” She shakes her head. “Inslit…” Her eyes aren’t glassy, but her tongue is not hers to command. “Insult me! That’s the one.”
Esther cocks her head. “Lolly?”
