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Blake watched as the men who had been drafted to entertain started mingling, smiling and chatting with the women. There were two photo areas set up with props that people could pay five dollars to get their pictures taken in. Guests had received two drink tickets and ten complimentary raffle tickets for several large prizes and could purchase more raffle tickets at the door. The gift bags they received upon leaving were filled with “a single woman’s dream,” as Eve put it. All in all, Blake had to admit she had done an amazing job of creating an awesome event that would appeal to many women.
“You!” Eve stalked toward him and pointed to the dance floor. “Go make some girl’s dream come true and dance with her.”
Blake sighed loudly and set his drink down on the nearest table. “You realize this is incredibly sexist and you’re objectifying me?”
“Yes, but it is for a good cause.” When Blake crossed his arms and gave her what he hoped was his stubborn look, Eve threw up her hands. “I give up. You want to take off, fine, we’v
e got plenty of guys to handle the crowd. I just thought maybe you might like to meet someone or, at the very least, not wallow alone in your apartment.”
Blake scowled at her. “We are not close enough for you to give me life tips.”
Eve huffed, tossing her black hair over her shoulder. “Well, someone has to, because your friends won’t. Everyone is worried about you but won’t say anything because they don’t want to push. If you haven’t noticed, I’m pretty pushy, and I’m not going to coddle you. You need to decide whether you are going to let one tragedy shape your life or if you’re going to move on and try to be happy again. But stop making everyone around you miserable.”
Then, she spun on incredibly high heels and walked away from him.
Blake stood there for a minute or two, shock, anger, and confusion warring inside him. He was making his friends miserable? He hadn’t even realized he was doing it, but looking back, he could see it. They were all moving on from the things that had landed them in group, and each one had found happiness, while he . . .
Well, he was still holding on.
A flash of caramel hair in the crowd caught his eye, and he took a step toward it, trying to see if it was Hannah.
“Well, hello, handsome.”
Blake looked down at a forty-something woman in a black dress, her red lips smiling at him seductively.
“Hello, ma’am. How are you this evening?”
“It’s Kimberly, darling, and I’d be better if you dance with me.”
Blake wouldn’t catch another glimpse of Hannah unless he got closer, and he’d have to enter the dance floor to do so.
“May I have this dance, Kimberly?”
The woman appeared relieved, and he warmed toward her, realizing how nervous she’d actually been approaching him. He led her onto the dance floor, maneuvering them into the crowd so he could get a better look.
And his stomach dropped out when he got a look at Hannah.
Her hair was shimmering in the lights, pulled back from her face but erupting into a mass of curls down her back. Her glasses were missing, and her face was tastefully made-up. The purple dress hugged her curves as lovingly as a glove, and that neckline . . .
Blake’s mouth went dry at the view.
His awe was derailed, however, as he watched a young guy in dress blues come up behind her and slide a proprietary arm around her waist. He whispered something in Hannah’s ear, and Blake could see her cheeks turn pink in the low, flashing lights.
His jaw tightened as his gut churned. For the first time in their acquaintance, Blake didn’t find that blush charming. It filled him with bitter jealousy.
“Do you know that girl?” Kimberly asked, bringing his attention back to the woman he was supposed to be dancing with.
Blake realized he’d dropped his arms from her waist and had been ready to cross the dance floor and yank the little turd away from Hannah. Kimberly was watching him with curiosity, and he cleared his throat, trying to speak past the dusty feel in his mouth. “Yes, she’s a friend of mine.”
She turned toward Hannah again, studying her before she said, “She’s very pretty for being so heavy.”
Blake had been about to pull her back and continue dancing, but he stopped, staring aghast at the woman’s audacity. “She’s not heavy.”
Blake had no idea what expression was on his face, but she paled. “I didn’t mean anything by it—”
Luckily the song ended and Blake didn’t have to listen to her excuse for the thoughtless comment.
“Have a wonderful night, Kimberly. Thank you for the dance.”
