No date tonight, Miss West?
God, they’re so predictable. I resist the urge to roll my eyes — lest I want to land in TMZ’s next “CELEBRITY NIGHTMARES!” segment, like that unfortunate time a paparazzo caught me stuffing an obscenely large sausage-and-pepper sandwich into my face at that food truck on Boylston.
BREAKING NEWS: Phoebe West likes sausage in and around her mouth.
My smile doesn’t waver, my steps don’t falter. I glide past them like a mother-fucking starling in my blue-black silk, coasting on wind currents of false confidence and past experience. Head up, chest out, soft hands, demure laugh.
Easy, easy, easy.
I might not need him to hold me up in high heels, anymore, but I can’t help wishing Parker was by my side as I make my way toward the building, fighting my watering, light-exposed eyes every step of the way and praying to god my smile isn’t as cold in the pictures as it feels in this moment, frozen on my lips.
***
“You’re late.”
“Yep.”
“You promised you’d be on time.”
“Yep.”
“You know I’d kick your ass if you weren’t wearing couture.”
“Yep.”
Lila sighs. “You’re impossible.”
I hide my smile behind the rim of my glass and take a sip of Dom Pérignon. A small sip. Champagne has a tendency to go straight to my head — I blame the bubbles.
“It wasn’t entirely my fault,” I murmur, swallowing delicately. “The vultures outside wanted pictures.”
“Must be tough, being a celebrity.” Lila shakes her head in faux sympathy. “How magnanimous of you to grace us, the little people, with your presence for the evening.”
“Shove it up your ass, Lila.”
“Oh, shush. You know I’m joking.” She tilts her head. “Only about the fame shit. Not about you being inexcusably late.”
“Thirty minutes is not inexcusable — it’s fashionable.”
“Not when there are people waiting on you!” She huffs. “And don’t even start that better late than never crap. It’s not a real excuse. Perpetually tardy people just bandy that about as a defense for never having their shit together.”
“I’m not bandying anything about. I’ve never bandied in my life.”
She cocks her head at me again, a dubious expression on her face.
I sigh. “Please, just relax. I’m here now.” I stop a passing waiter, grab a flute off his tray with a wink of thanks, and shove it into Lila’s grasp. “Have some champagne. Better yet, go bother your date.”
“How do you know I brought a date?”
I shoot her a look. “When have you ever not brought a date to one of these things?”
She has the grace to blush. “Plenty of times.”
Now I’m the one looking dubious.
“Fine. Not plenty of times.” Her voice is defensive. “But I’m sure there’s been a time. At least one.”
“Not this time, though.”
She says nothing.
“So, what’s his name?”
A slow smile twists her lips. “Padraic.”
“Padraic?” I snort. “Where’d you dig him up? The Emerald Isle? The Burren? Tara?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “He just joined my Krav Maga class. He asked me out. As it happens, I needed a date to this shindig, so I invited him to come. Don’t get me wrong, track pants and a bare chest in a sweaty gym hold a certain appeal… but a suit and tie, on the other hand…” She whistles under her breath. “Damn.”
I arch one eyebrow. “So, you’ve been spending a lot of time rolling around with him both on and off the mats, I assume?”
Her mouth twitches in amusement. “You jealous?”
“Yep,” I admit shamelessly, taking another sip.
Lila’s grin widens. “Well, don’t be. I have a surprise for you.”