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I make my way around the room, taking in the black and white theme. There’s not a splash of color to be seen yet somehow it just works. A waitress walks past me with a tray filled with champagne flutes, and I quickly scoop one off with a warm smile. She nods her head politely and I thank her before she scurries away. I take a mental note to learn her name later, feeling like we’ll probably become good friends throughout the night.
I lift the champagne to my lips and resist pulling a face. “Holy mother of baby Jesus. What the fuck is this shit?”
This is definitely not the cheap fruity shit I’m used to drinking.
“That, my dear,” comes a familiar voice from behind me as a suited arm slips underneath mine. “Is what we fancy people like to call expensive champagne.”
I grin up at Milo, wondering where these people keep their Smirnoff’s and Bacardi Breezers. “It tastes like expensive piss,” I tell him.
“It’s an acquired taste,” Milo laughs and nods toward one of the waitresses who comes scurrying over to him. He plucks the champagne flute out of my hand and instantly hands it over to her. “Bring the lady something fruity,” he tells her, “and keep them coming. She’s not a big champagne drinker.”
“Right away, sir,” the waitress says, nodding and slipping away while making it seem as though she was never there in the first place.
“Well, well,” I say, staring up at Milo like I’m seeing him with brand new eyes. “What happened to the Milo who wanted to be the cream in the middle of the gangbang sandwich?”
“Shut up,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You need to learn the language of pompous ass if you want to fit in around here. It’s kind of a requirement.”
“It makes you sound like a douchebag,” I laugh. “What are you doing here anyway? If I knew you were coming, I would have asked you to be my date and you could have escorted me in like I’m a big deal.”
Milo scoffs under his breath. “My father would have loved that. He’s been waiting for the day that I bring a girl to one of these bullshit events. In fact, come and dance with me. It’ll get him off my back for at least a few months.”
“At least let me get my drink first.”
Milo shakes his head and takes my hand. “She’ll find you,” he promises. “Now come along so I can pretend to be straight for the night.”
I follow along. “Is being gay that much of a big deal with your parents?” He scoffs and glances back at me as though I’m speaking another language. “In that case,” I laugh, “I might even let you put your hand on my ass.”
His face scrunches up but he laughs. “That’s not a bad idea.”
Milo gets me onto the dance floor and he instantly spins me around, collecting my body with ease and moving me across the floor. I can’t help but laugh as my gown moves with my body, making me feel as though I’ve been taking dance lessons for years. “Wow, Mr. Rinaldi, you can take me out dancing any day,” I tell him, knowing damn well that this effortless dance is coming from his expertise leading, rather than me fumbling around not knowing the difference between a foxtrot and the salsa.
“Shut up,” he teases. “Any of the guys you’ve met at school could dance like this. They just choose not to show it because they don’t have somebody to share it with. Trust me, even Colton could spin you around the floor and make you feel like a woman with his moves.”
“Colton?” I laugh. “Yeah, right. He seems like the kind to trip over his own feet.”
He shakes his head. “Not even close.”
I look at him with an urgency to change the topic, not wanting to ruin my night talking about Colton. Milo’s hand travels low on my back and I notice him glancing over my shoulder. “Your dad?”
“Yep.”
I nod and press my body close to his and smother my laugh as his arm wraps tighter around my waist. “That should do it,” I say, tilting my face to meet his eyes. “You never told me what you’re doing here.”
“Oh, right,” he says as though my earlier question had completely slipped his mind. “I think I mentioned earlier in the week that my dad is on the school board with Carrington. They share a lot of business contacts. He hates parties like this but missing them would be a mistake. When his contacts are loose on alcohol and having a good time, dad always manages to close their business deals and open new ones.”
“And you?” I ask, slightly impressed with his father’s cunningness.
“Come on,” he laughs. “Like you could keep me away from this shit. Have you seen the guys in their suits? They’re like a walking wet dream. Not to mention, these parties are always off the hook. Just wait until all the old douchebags leave for their 10 pm bedtime and all that’s left are the younger people. It gets fucking insane.”
