“On the topic of pains in the…backside,” said Alice, who was definitely the more prim and proper of the two women, “look who just showed up!”
Bree and Libitz strained their necks to see Jean-Christian and Mad Rousseau walk through the French doors of Toujours and onto the brick patio. Libitz’s heart fluttered with happiness to see him, to be near him, to know that within minutes, she’d hear his voice again.
“What an asshole,” muttered Bree, lifting her wine.
“D’accord,” agreed Alice in French, clinking her friend’s glass.
Both downed the contents and placed their glasses back on the table in unison.
“A note of warning,” said Bree, turning her glance to Libitz. “See that hot piece of dark-haired, green-eyed ass over there?”
“J.C. Rousseau,” said Libitz, keeping her face carefully neutral.
“Oh, of course,” said Bree darkly. “You were in Ten’s wedding, so you’ve already met him.”
“Stay. Away,” said Alice dramatically, shuddering as she placed her palm over her heart. “He’s beautiful, but disgusting.”
“What she said,” added Bree with a knowing look. “Times a million. And he’s dirtier than a Manhattan port-o-john.”
Alice giggled but also nodded in agreement.
An unexpected rush of protectiveness stole Libitz’s breath as she turned to look at him again. “Maybe he’s just misunderstood.”
“No,” said Alice firmly. “Surprisingly, no. To his credit, he’s very upfront about what he wants.”
“And what he wants is cheap and dirty,” offered Bree acidly, “if I recall correctly.”
“You do!” said Alice with a knowing nod.
“He didn’t seem that bad to me,” said Libitz, turning to frown at the duo.
“Holy shit,” said Bree, reaching for Lib’s forearm and wrapping her fingers around it tightly. She leaned across the table, searching Libitz’s eyes urgently. “Has he already gotten his hooks in you?”
“Honey,” said Alice, her face concerned as she also leaned closer to Libitz, “You can’t drink that Kool-Aid. It’s spiked.”
“It’s lethal!” cried Bree.
“Don’t be distracted by the hotness,” warned Alice. “Just remind yourself that underneath is the devil.”
Bree nodded in agreement. “Scorching hot with a stone-cold heart.”
“Oh, God,” moaned Alice, her eyes widening. “Is he coming over here? Why is he coming over here?”
“Fuck,” muttered Bree, releasing Libitz’s arm like it was hot. “Are you involved with him?”
“I’m…” Libitz gulped. “Not officially…”
“Oh, Christ!” said Alice, standing up with her wineglass. “I’m not staying to watch this. I need a refill.”
“It’s your funeral,” said Bree to Libitz before standing shoulder to shoulder with her friend.
“Ladies!” greeted Jean-Christian, his eyes twinkling wickedly as he stopped at the table. “Hello.”
Alice turned up her nose like he’d just taken a mastiff-sized shit at her feet. “J.C.,” she said, nodding curtly. She looked down at Libitz. “Nice to meet you. Remember what we said.”
“I…,” said Libitz to her back as she hurried away.
“Hey, Bree,” said Jean-Christian.
Bree’s eyes were arctic as she stared at him.
“You’re looking good,” he said.
“Fuck you,” she bit out.
“You’ve met Libitz,” he said congenially, gesturing to her with his palm, as though Bree hadn’t just cursed at him.
Libitz stared down at the table. The tension between them was so palpable, so awkward, she almost wished she could excuse herself, but she thought that would make things worse.
Suddenly Bree’s voice was intimately close to Libitz’s ear. She spoke in a passionate whisper: “We warned you. Run away while you still can.”
Libitz looked up to respond to her, but she was already walking away, her fire-engine-red sundress a slash of angry crimson in the sunshine.
She shifted her eyes to Jean-Christian. “Friends of yours?”
He shook his head, his expression sobering. “Apparently not.”
“Exes?”
“I knew Alice at Princeton. We went out a few times, but she was a little too prissy for me.”
“By ‘went out,’ just to clarify, you mean ‘screwed,’ right?”
“No, actually,” he said, taking a seat beside her. “We had dinner a couple of times. Caught a movie or two. Made out, yes…but we never actually fucked.”
“You definitely fucked Bree,” said Libitz, hating the mental image of them together—Bree’s shock of blonde hair next to Jean Christian’s almost-black. They would have been a striking couple.
He nodded. “Yes. I did.”
“In more ways than one, I’d say,” deadpanned Libitz.
He shrugged, but his eyes weren’t as nonchalant as the gesture. “I’m not denying it, Elsa. I’ve fucked many.”