A burst of laughter shot from my mouth. The heads that were starting to turn away flew back.
“It’s all making so much more sense now. I never understood the appeal with golf, but I get it now. It’s a bunch of sexually frustrated men whacking out their aggression on some innocent ball before trying to get it in the hole. The universe makes sense again.” I continued laughing, and Boone joined me. “So how did you do out there?”
“Terrible.”
“I’m sorry for your terrible performance,” I said as we came to a stop in front of the band.
“Why? I don’t need golf as a substitute for other urges because unlike the guys who might have gotten an under-par score today”—Boone’s head tipped in Ford’s direction—“I’m getting my urges appropriately and sufficiently met.”
“And thank you for that memo, but sharing time is over, Mr. Cavanaugh.”
I put on a smile and tried not to think about what he meant by that. Was he banging half of the single female population? Maybe a handful of the not-so-single as well? Or was it someone else, someone serious, he was getting all of those “urges” so well met with? I should have let it rest, or saved it for a better time, but apparently I thought hovering on the dance floor of The Half Shell while Louis Armstrong blared a few feet away was the best time.
“So you’re really not seeing anyone? Not even casually?” I asked, shouting above the music. When he gave me an odd look, I added, “Just so I know if I should keep my eyes open for some ticked-off kinda-girlfriend pulling out my hair in clumps if she sees us together.”
“That implies I wouldn’t have already told this kinda-girlfriend about our arrangement.”
Boone’s hand went to my wrist, and he moved us just far enough to the side of the band that I didn’t feel like my eardrums were vibrating. It also made it easier to talk to each other instead of shout at each other.
“I wouldn’t do that to someone I cared about,” he continued. “I wouldn’t go behind their back with someone else, whether it was a real or pretend relationship. I know what it feels like to be on the bad side of something like that, and I’d never do it to someone I cared about.”
I stepped back from him, feeling too close given the accusation in his voice. “I never said you would.”
“No, you just implied it.”
I closed my eyes. “Boone—”
“Clara, there’s no one. So you can quit with the interrogation already. I’ve already had enough of those to last me a few lifetimes.”
“But you just said—”
“I know what I just said,” he snapped.
When I noticed a group of Charlotte’s old friends from high school pointing at me and laughing, I did a small spin followed by a stiff curtsy. They got back to their fruity drinks real quick after that.
“Then if you’re not getting those urges met by someone, that means they’re getting met by someones.” I paused long enough to let him either corroborate or argue my conclusion. He stayed quiet. “Am I right?”
He crossed his arms and looked away. He could try all he wanted, but looking tough in that outfit was a futile pursuit. “Maybe. Maybe not. But it’s definitely none of your business.”
“You’re my plus one for my sister’s wedding. I’d say it’s my business to know just which cocktail waitress or hair stylist is going to give me the evil eyes because I’m ‘with’ her booty call.”
“Cocktail waitresses and hair stylists?” Boone exhaled through his nose. “Is that what my league is? Are they the only types of women who would lower themselves enough to date the bottom-rung Boone Cavanaugh?” He shook his head and stepped away from me too. “You might pretend you’re not one of them, Clara, but you’re as Abbott as they get.” He continued backing away, rubbing his hands in a washing sort of motion. “You can dance by yourself. I don’t really feel like it anymore.” Then he turned his back and powered away, the folds of his pantaloons brushing past guests as he wove though them.
My shoulders sagged as I sighed. I couldn’t say or do much right when it came to Boone anymore. Not that he could say or do much right when it came to me either. After a whole day apart, we couldn’t make it ten minutes without pissing each other off. What had we been thinking as kids pretending we could chase forever?
Stupid. That’s what we’d been.
I left the dance floor and headed to where I’d wanted to go in the first place—the table with the crab legs. Before they were all gone. Weaving through the crowd this time was much more intimidating. Instead of sharing the stares with Boone, I bore them all. Instead of feeling my head held high, I felt it wanting to lower.