“Well, I’m feeling like I should be dancing so I look exactly like what Scott says I am—not a threat.” She set her empty glass on a nearby table. “But I am. I most certainly am.”
My mouth twitched at that last remark as she sashayed out onto the dance floor. Obviously she knew some of the women dancing, because several of them smiled and opened their little circle. I could hear them complimenting her dress, and something that might have been pride bloomed inside me.
People liked my dresses.
Putting my gown on that afternoon, I’d had reservations. For one thing, I had torn off the oversize bow, electing instead to add a raspberry panel to the bodice that extended up, creating an asymmetrical wave of fabric that stood out from the bodice. I loved the edgier look, as bows weren’t really my thing. The alteration had given the dress an eighties vibe that I loved while maintaining the classic silhouette. So far the number of times I had been asked where I had gotten the dress had risen to eight. Of course, I had no true answer, so I changed the subject or vaguely said that I had happened upon it. Cricket had suggested to her friend Chris that the designer would be revealed at her store later this spring. She’d glanced at me as if to silently ask . . . or maybe she was waiting on me to out myself.
I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do about this new opportunity, but so far my experiment in tearing apart what was and refashioning into what could be had proven successful.
People liked both dresses, and that felt like enough for now.
I turned around to find the table Ty had pointed out to me earlier and nearly knocked the scotch out of Scott Crosby’s hand. “Oh, sorry.”
Cricket’s butthole of a husband smiled at me. “No worries. I’m quicker than I look. Ruby, right?”
We had met too many times for a man like Scott to forget my name or who I was. Cricket had bragged more than once on how Scott prided himself on remembering names and faces because that’s what made him successful—building connections in order to drum up business. But perhaps I wasn’t worth remembering since I had little money to deposit into his bank. “That’s right. I’ve worked for your wife for three months now.”
“That long? Seems like only yesterday she was telling me about you. So are you enjoying the party?”
He asked it like I should be thrilled to listen to bad music and smile at small-minded people. Okay, not all of them were small minded. That was my insecurity talking. I just didn’t know anyone here and truly didn’t belong with people who chatted about vacationing in Cabo, private chefs, and personal trainers. “It’s, uh, interesting.”
“I’m sure it is for a girl like you,” he said, sipping his drink.
“What does that mean?”
He looked confused. “I meant, you don’t usually come to things like this, right?”
“How would you know?”
He looked uncomfortable. Finally. “Look, I meant no offense. Cricket just told me that you . . . uh, forget what I said. That sounded—”
“Elitist?” I filled in for him, liking him less by the second. And that was remarkable, considering I had never actually liked him to begin with.
“I meant no offense.” He held up a hand, giving me what I presumed he thought was a charming smile.
“But still you gave it,” I said, moving away from him.
I felt no compunction to make nice with Cricket’s husband, even if she weren’t divorcing him in the future. He meant nothing to me and wasn’t anyone worth spending any amount of time with.
Walking toward the table where I had last seen my date, I saw Ty in conversation with a pretty blonde, who might have been a young Cricket. She was touching his shoulder in an overfamiliar way, which pissed me off. Or maybe it was delayed irritation at Scott. At any rate, I glided over and curved my arm around my date’s waist, looking up at him with a smile.
“Hey, there you are,” Ty said, pulling me to him with a squeeze. He looked relieved to see me.
“Hello,” I said to the woman, who had dropped her hand and was now studying me with a mixture of amusement and something I call Shreveport prissiness. I stuck out my hand and gave her my own faux smile. “I’m Ruby, Ty’s date.”
“Amelia,” she said, taking my hand, giving a small wag, and then dropping it. “I’m one of Ty’s friends. We met at Becca Stilton’s lake house this past summer during floatillion. We were on Dickie Doyle’s sailboat together. We had so much fun on the lake that day.”
I supposed that was an invitation to say who I was and how I knew Ty. It was the veritable scratching of the chalk onto the concrete floor. First rule of Female Flirt Club: you sweep the leg . . . or maybe I was mixing up my fight movies. So I went for catching Miss Name Dropper off guard. “That’s so weird. I met Ty at a sex club. On land.”
Ty choked with laughter as Amelia blinked a few times, her mouth opening and then closing as she tried to discern whether I was joking or not.
“Kidding,” I said, laying my hand on his chest. “I met him at the store where I work.”
“Oh, you’re a salesperson or checkout clerk or something?” Amelia asked, sensing a TKO, because who in his rich mind would date a cashier?
“I’m the ‘or something,’” I said, without offering any further explanation.
“Oh,” Amelia said, ducking the blow. “Well, I love your dress. It’s so unusual.”
“Thank you,” I said, eyeing her very plain black dress with rhinestone spaghetti straps. Dime a dozen in this room, but Amelia wore it well. The diamonds in her ears were likely real and a few carats each. Her makeup looked professionally done. And if I were a betting woman, I would say that she’d been a Tri Delta at Bama, drove a car her daddy had bought her, and had never worked a day in her life. Except maybe lifeguarding at the club because that was a “hangout” sort of job.
“Well, I see my friend across the room. We were sorority sisters at Bama. I must say hello.”
“Tri Delt?” I asked for the hell of it.
“Ohmygosh, yes. Wait, are you one?” She looked puzzled. Out-and-out puzzled.
“Nooo, I was a GDI.” I laughed good-naturedly, holding up my hand as if making a pledge. “President for two years.”
Amelia did the blinky thing again before shifting her gaze toward Ty. “Well, gotta run. Nice to see you, Ty, and good to meet you, Roni.”
Damn, she got that jab in at the last minute.
I turned and looked at Ty as Amelia sauntered over to find her sister. My date looked absolutely delighted with me, and that made me suddenly lighter. He gave me another squeeze and said, “Sex club?”
“Well, I didn’t know what a damned floatillion was.”
Ty’s eyes were dancing. “It’s a bunch of people wearing designer sunglasses, drinking White Claws, and tying their boats together in a sort of lake party. There’s a poker run, fireworks, and lots of people getting laid. Wanna come with me this summer?”
“That’s a loaded question,” I punned.