And yet he held himself back too. Almost as though he deliberately kept himself apart from the rest of the group. At first she’d thought it was maybe them doing that clique thing that good friends tend to do, but she’d learned pretty quickly that this group seemed to be of the more-the-merrier type when it came to friends.
No, it was Jackson’s choice to hang back. To pull himself away whenever a conversation lasted too long or a joke got too rowdy.
But why?
Julie Greene, a bubbly dark blonde with friendly brown eyes, came up beside Mollie and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Two things: One, this dress is incredible. Two, you get the impression our men are talking about us right now?”
Mollie gave a not-so-subtle glance over her shoulder and saw Jackson talking to Julie’s husband. Both men looked away the second she made eye contact.
“Yup. They’re definitely talking about us.”
“Better than not talking about us, I suppose,” Julie said. “Unless Mitchell’s scowling. Is he scowling?”
“Mitchell’s always scowling,” said Riley Compton. “And you like it.”
If Mollie had to describe a classic pinup girl, she would probably look a lot like Riley. The woman had a teeny-tiny waist, and boobs and hips that were not tiny. Her long black hair was styled in perfect waves, her blue eyes were rimmed with the perfect amount of black eyeliner, and her red lips should have looked overdone but really just looked stunning.
Julie gave a little happy sigh. “Mitchell’s scowls do make me hot.”
Riley waggled her eyebrows. “You know what makes me hot?”
“Everything,” Emma Sinclair said, joining the group. “Everything makes you hot. And hungry.”
“Speaking of which, Mollie,” Riley continued, “I’ve decided to hire that magical caterer you used so that he can make me those little mini quiches at all hours.”
Emma lifted an eyebrow. “You do remember that you just got married three months ago? To the love of your life?”
Mollie smiled into her wine. She liked Emma—she was cool, maybe a little bit haughty, but with a biting sense of humor that fit in perfectly with the rest of the group.
“Yeah, but Sam can’t cook,” Riley said, referring to her new husband.
“But he makes whisky for a living,” Emma countered. “Surely that’s better.”
Riley pursed her lips. “I’ll think on that one. I want the whisky and the mini quiches.”
“Yes, well, I want the Prada purse and the Louis Vuitton, and I can afford neither, so I’ll splurge on Coach,” Julie said. “You see how that works?”
“Not really. I can’t eat purses, Jules.”
Mollie smiled and took a sip of her wine. When she’d suggested the party to Jackson, she’d done it mostly to help him banish the whole solitude thing he’d had going on since moving to New York. Jackson wasn’t a chatty guy by any stretch of the imagination, but normally he wasn’t antisocial either. She knew that back in Houston there had always been dinner parties and game nights and galas. She’d wanted him to know that he could have that in New York too.
But there was an extra bonus to this party that Mollie hadn’t seen coming: she liked these people, a lot.
Cole and Penelope had been first to arrive. She’d been especially curious—and wary—of those two, since they’d be the ones conducting the actual interview, but after about thirty seconds in their company, she relaxed.
Penelope was a friendly, zero-filter tomboy who was equal parts sweet and hilarious. Her enthusiasm for all things sports had been rivaled only by Cole’s. Cole was a life-of-the-party type of guy whom Jackson seemed completely relaxed around.
Then the rest of the group had arrived, and it became abundantly clear that they were all good people.
She’d been particularly curious about Lincoln Mathis, her would-be date, and she wouldn’t have been fully a woman if she hadn’t admitted that her lady parts had given just the tiniest bit of a sigh at what they’d missed out on. The guy was gorgeous. Not only was he physical perfection, all dark hair, blue eyes, and broad shoulders, but there was something almost heartbreakingly compelling about him: shadows in his eyes and secrets in his smile that had made her chest hurt, even as he’d been making her laugh.
And then there was the Stiletto crew.
Mollie had been intimidated at first. She loved Stiletto. Her job didn’t allow a lot of time for fun reading, but every time she took a plane, she treated herself to the latest issue of Stiletto from the airport newsstand. Knowing that she was expected to make conversation with the women who actually put content on those glossy pages had made her a bit tongue-tied.