“Adam,” she dared, putting a hand on his jeans-covered thigh, and his quadriceps jumped. They weren’t really up to easy touches of each other’s bodies yet, but a man dressed in denim being one of the finer things in life, she couldn’t resist. Happily, she didn’t have to.
His eyes shot from her hand to her face. The firm line of his mouth eased, though the shoulders beneath his T-shirt remained rigid with tension.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey. Relax.”
Opposite them, his friend Taka flung his head back and laughed. Rose, Taka’s wife, rolled her eyes but said nothing.
“Now you know,” said Taka. He picked up his bottle of beer and drank, dark, Asian eyes shining behind strands of jet-black hair. Another pretty man. Not as pretty as Adam naked in the shower and smiling at her, but still.
“Fuck off.” Her husband pushed his chopsticks into his bowl, shifting the noodles about. Adam had his cranky face on, mouth set and jaw flexing. Fortunately, broody suited him. His finger tapped against the back of her chair, the tip brushing against her with every other beat. Warmth stirred inside her from that tiny touch.
“Jealous dickhead, was I?” Taka leaned across the table, smirk firmly in place. “How’s it feel when half the room’s checking out your wife, friend?”
Adam dropped his chopsticks and pushed back into his chair with a huff.
“Both of you are being ridiculous,” Rose said, nose sufficiently high in the air to cause bleeds. Which fitted. The dark-skinned beauty with braids down her back looked as imposing as any queen. Apparently, Her Majesty had not taken a shine to Louise.
Serious vibes came from the other side of the table, from Rose at least. Taka had planted a noisy kiss on Louise’s cheek upon being introduced. Done in part, she suspected, to piss off her husband, but she couldn’t doubt her warm welcome with him. Rose, however, had been avoiding her all night. As much as you could avoid someone sitting at the same small table.
The woman’s eyes were acrobatic, skipping over Louise, never setting down on her for more than a moment before resuming flight. The men appeared oblivious to the tension brewing. Never mind. She could keep herself plenty happy smiling at her husband, enjoying the buzz in her chest that he caused. Twice more he’d woken her during the night to prove just how much he liked her.
She felt really well-liked. A little sore, but a lot well-liked.
Someone spoke, but it wasn’t to her. She tuned them out. Adam’s finger stroked over her spine, back and forth, through the material of her shirt.
“Princess,” her pretty husband said. “Taka’s talking to you.”
“Huh?”
Taka grinned at her. “I said your name about a dozen times. No reaction. Newlyweds—what can you do?”
Shit. “Oh, sorry.”
Rose reached across the table and squeezed Adam’s hand, gave him a private smile. “How are things working out with the new team?”
“Good—we’re nearly back up to speed. Not too much of a backlog now.” Given a new focus, some of the tension eased out of Adam and he gave his friend’s wife a warm look. Very warm. As well he might—they had known each other for years. Louise got it, and yet…Rose’s hand remained on her husband’s.
Fine. Not a big deal. But her skin was suddenly a size too small. She didn’t fit.
At least the men’s attention had moved on. No one appeared to be worrying about her not answering to her supposed name. She needed to be more careful. It wasn’t the first time it had happened.
Taka asked Adam another question about work and the three of them launched into a fast and furious discussion. The bulk of its contents were far beyond her. She tried to follow but was as successful at that as at not letting Rose’s hand-holding bug her.
And besides, she needed to go to the bathroom. The beer had caught up with her.
“Back in a moment,” she murmured in her husband’s ear. She stood and wove her way through the crowd, pushing back the irritation. Better to concentrate on the music, the beating of the drums and the ambience of the place. Let it all soothe her.
Rose could go hang. Adam wasn’t hers.
Louise saw to the necessities and washed her hands. Finger-combed her short dark hair without looking in the mirror and straightened the baggy white blouse. She’d hung a belt about her hips to try to cinch it in, but her vanity hadn’t been appeased. What she wouldn’t give for her own clothes. Some makeup, maybe. She wasn’t a girly girl, but there were limits to how dull and sexless she could pretend to be. Waking up with all those long-forgotten little aches and pains that spoke of good sex had made the fa?ade much harder for her to maintain.
It would be wonderful to feel like herself again. To be surrounded by her own things. What she wouldn’t give for the vintage book collection inherited from her grandmother, some of them with pages so brittle she daren’t touch them. What she wouldn’t give for all her things, no matter how stupid or small. They had let her take nothing.