And speaking of honeymoons . . .
“It’s not me we need to be discussing,” I said. “We have a party to plan. And we ought to do it while we’ve still got a buzz,” I added, with a nod to our glasses.
The trouble with having a bridegroom who owned a strip club was that it took the wow-factor out of taking the bride to a strip club, even one of the male variety. But with the Manhattans flowing through our veins, Sloane and I decided that a hot-guy version of Destiny could be just the ticket. And, because we were totally juiced, we also decided that bringing Angie to Destiny afterward and having her put on her own little show for Evan would be even more amusing.
Only time would tell if it was a good plan, or just one of those schemes that sounds fabulous when you’re plastered.
“And speaking of the knights and sexy encounters,” Sloane said, propping her chin on her fist and studying me through narrowed eyes. “Where did you disappear to last night?”
“Home,” I said firmly.
“By way of . . . ?” she prompted. “Come on, Kat, give. There’s no way that amazing dress failed to make an impact.”
I thought of the dress, now crunched up in my trashcan, and smiled. “It made an impact, all right.”
“Ha!” she said, her tone triumphant. “I knew it. Tell.”
Sloane, apparently, was pretty damn perceptive.
“It didn’t go exactly the way I planned,” I admitted, which was about as close to a moment of deep, girly sharing as I intended to get.
“All right,” she said slowly. “Bad end of the spectrum or good end of the spectrum?”
“Both.”
Her brows lifted. “Oh, really? Care to elaborate?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“But it was good?”
I had to laugh. “For a former cop, you don’t listen very well. Yes, it was good. I had a moment of jealousy before it was good—some woman named Michelle who says she’s seen me at Destiny wrapped herself around Cole. And then I realized that she and Cole and some guy were all caught up in the business side of things, so I pushed the jealousy down, for which I gave myself bonus points. Then Michelle left and I had some Cole time and it was . . . quite delicious,” I decided. “At least until it got strange.” I thought of the encounter earlier at the house. “And then it got delicious again.”
“Delicious is good,” Sloane said, then added, “I’ve met Michelle.”
“Yeah? So she works for them, right?”
“Sure,” she said, but she didn’t quite meet my eyes when she said it. Instead, she took a sip of her drink, then reached down the bar to snag a menu another customer had left behind. “We should order. I’m starving.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “I’ve met toddlers who are more subtle. What’s up?”
“Nothing is up. My blood sugar, however, is down. Must eat. Want to split french fries?”
“I want you to tell me whatever it is you’re not telling me.”
“Two orders of fries,” she said to the bartender. “And add in some of those stuffed mushrooms, too. Just for fun.”
“Sloane.”
“It’s no big, really.”
“People never say that when it’s true,” I pointed out. “It’s about Michelle, so just spill it. Did she and Cole used to date? Christ, are they dating now?”
“They’re definitely not dating.” Her voice was oddly firm.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, hell, Kat. I don’t know. I already told you that Cole doesn’t date. He fucks. And he’s fucking Michelle.”
“I see.” And I did see. I just wasn’t sure I liked what I saw.
“I don’t think it’s like that.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Like anything other than two people who are convenient to each other. I just thought that I should tell you because despite your Fuck Buddy speech last night, I get the feeling you want more than that.”
I focused on trying to stab the cherry in my drink with a toothpick. “I’ll be honest,” I said. “I don’t know what I want. But, yeah, I think more probably comes close.”