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Too bad, because Eleanor had seemed like a nice girl. She was the sister of the woman Noah had married.
“Hey, bro. Why aren’t you on the dance floor?” His brother, Peter, came up beside him, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
“You know I can’t dance.” Not only did he have two left feet, he had no sense of the beat, and he knew none of the songs that were playing. Well, he knew some of the Christmas songs, but normally, whatever was playing, he had no clue. He listened to classical music, which was a drag for most girls. So it wasn’t something that he led with. In fact, he never had a relationship that had gotten to the point where he’d ever had to confess it.
Peter laughed, then he grew serious and leaned closer. “You know, what you need is a hat. Chicks dig it.”
Franklin laughed and shook his head. A hat wouldn’t go well with his glasses, and there was no way he was taking them off. He couldn’t see a thing without them.
Peter had perfect vision and was the least serious of the two of them. That wasn’t saying much, considering Franklin was serious and driven, but the last year had been hard and it was good to see his brother smiling.
“Want some punch?” Peter asked, holding a glass up.
The music had switched to something jazzy and upbeat, and couples swirled around the floor. It must have been a really popular song, because the dance floor swelled as people jumped and swayed to the music.
Franklin reached out to grab the glass, but as he did so, someone jostled Peter, and he lurched forward, the red juice going down the front of Franklin’s white shirt.
It wasn’t Peter’s fault, and it wasn’t really the fault of the person who jostled him, who had turned around and was apologizing profusely.
“It’s okay.” Franklin put his hand up. “You didn’t see him.”
“Sorry, bro,” Peter said, looking at the red stain that had soaked into the entire front of Franklin’s shirt.
“It’s okay. I mean, I like red,” he added lamely. He was just as upset that he was wet as he was that his shirt was stained.
The folks on the floor moved away, resuming their dance, as Peter stared at the front of Franklin’s shirt.
“I’ve got a spare in my pickup. It’s not the kind you usually wear, but it’ll work.” He grinned. “And to show my sincerest apologies, you can have my hat.” He grabbed his cowboy hat that was perched on his head and plopped it down on top of Franklin’s.
Normally, Franklin would grab it and throw it back at him, but he was more concerned about getting to the bathroom and getting the wet shirt off than he was about shoving Peter’s hat back at him.
“Actually, here. You take this one, and I’ll just throw my other one on while I’m standing at the pickup.” The restrooms were just down the hall a few feet from where they stood. As was the door to the outside.
That made the most sense to Franklin, and he didn’t argue as Peter unbuttoned his shirt, balled it up, and shoved it at him.
They’d always been pretty much the same size. As long as he left the top button open, it wouldn’t matter much.
“Go on. Go change. I owe you one.”
“Thanks,” Franklin said, taking the shirt and walking to the bathroom.
He might as well throw his white shirt in the garbage can. That red punch would never come out. It would just give his dry cleaner fits.
So far, it hadn’t been a very good night. He’d been approached by someone who was either high or drunk, had lost his date for the weekend, had his shirt ruined, and ended up wearing his brother’s clothes.
He laughed. At least he knew that the night could not possibly get any worse.
