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“Can we join you?” she said with a look that told Birdie, even in her fuddled state, that she wanted more than a dance with him.
“Hey, Birdie. How are you?” Jay said to her.
“Good, thanks,” she got out.
“Cool. Want to dance?”
“I thought we were?” She frowned down at her feet.
He grabbed her hands and started moving to the next song.
Ryder was talking to the woman now. His eyes shot to her. “You okay, Birdie?”
She nodded.
“Look after her or I’ll break your face,” he said to Jay.
She loosened up enough to enjoy herself as she danced. Maybe that was why she couldn't move well, because she was too uptight.
“I need to take a break,” she said to Jay when another song finished. “Back soon.”
He waved her away.
Zigzagging around people, she managed not to bang into too many. Reaching the restrooms, she pushed open the door and staggered in.
“Hey,” she said to the woman standing in front of a mirror. She wore a ball cap and was one of those people who could look good with no effort. A magazine cover face.
“Hi.” She returned Birdie’s greeting.
Birdie grabbed the basin as she stumbled. “Oops.”
“You should drink some water. It will make you feel better in the morning. And take some aspirin before you go to sleep.”
“’Kay. Thanks, Lemons or Lavenders?” Birdie asked.
“Lemons, of course,” the woman said. “I’m Kathleen Keller.”
She tried to search in her memory if they’d met before.
“I’m the long-lost cousin from Minneapolis. I haven’t been back here in years.”
“Right. I’m sure they’re happy to see you then.”
She smiled. “I think so.” She walked out, leaving her expensive scent lingering in the air.
Birdie washed her face and stared at herself in the mirror. She needed to go home soon because her head was spinning. She hadn’t drunk this much in forever.
Straightening her cap, she left the restroom. Birdie had only walked a few steps when someone grabbed her. She shrieked as she was pulled sideways into a room. The door slammed shut behind her.
“It’s me,” Sawyer said.
“Wh-what are you doing?” There was only a crack of light coming in from under the door. “Where are we?”
“Supply cupboard.” He was holding her against a door, his body close, hands around her upper arms.
“Why are we in a supply cupboard?” But she knew even as she said the words. Even her muddled brain could connect the dots. He didn’t want to be seen talking to her, and that made her feel sad. She’d let this happen; it wasn’t all on Sawyer.
“You’ve had enough to drink, Birdie. You need to go home.”
