They oohed and aahed over my dress and my hair and my “sun-kissed” glow, which I’m pretty sure they all knew came from making out with Leo, not the sun. None of them had left Bailey Falls, choosing to raise their 2.5 kids here, and my head swam as they told me about their families, husbands, and kiddos.
Then they riddled me with questions about California. Did I go to the beach every day? Did the Kardashians go to my gym? Did I cook for any famous people?
I never ever cook and tell, but these were the girls who made life miserable for me back then. So I might have showed them the picture of me and Jack Hamilton, his arms around me in his kitchen, his hands full of my pound cakes. They all squealed, staring at my phone.
“And Leo . . .” Krissy let his name float out there for me to catch it.
“Yes, Leo,” I replied, sipping my drink and avoiding eye contact.
“You’re so lucky,” Lece said. “Women have been trying to snag him for years!”
I nodded, taking it all in. How invested he was in the community, how cute he was with Polly.
“Nothing is sexier than a doting father,” Maureen said, throwing back a shot.
“You’re the talk of the town, being Leo’s girl,” Paula said.
Smiling politely, I chewed on Leo’s Girl while they moved on to Oscar the Dairy Hunk.
For as long as I could remember, everyone saw me as Trudy’s Girl.
Now I was Leo’s Girl.
What did it take for me to just be Roxie?
California.
I kibitzed with the girls for a few more minutes, sucking on olives with Lece, doing a shot with Maureen, then another shot with Maureen, then finally a third shot with Maureen. I confessed to Krissy that I’d been the one to sabotage her strawberry shortcake in home ec class by switching her sugar for salt—as you do. And then there was one more shot with Maureen.
When I finally excused myself and headed back into the swing of things, I was a bit in my cups and wondering how long it would take for Leo to get into my cups when he got me home. My cups being my bra. Hiccup. Oh boy, I was even cupping in my braaaaiiinnn . . .
In the time it took me to walk from the drink station to the living room, I’d moved from “a bit in my cups” to “holy shit in my cups.” I spied Leo in the kitchen, sitting on the granite countertop and sipping on a bottled water, talking to Oscar the Giant. Who was dressed in a clean white T-shirt that was nearly popping at the seams to contain his enormous tattooed biceps. His shiny black hair was tied back again with a leather tie, and I tipsily wondered what had to happen to make him take his hair down. I bet someone really gorgeous. And speaking of gorgeous . . .
Leo met my gaze and oh, the burn, that sweet fire that’d been kindled by that kiss on the porch reared its beautiful face again. I made my way across the bumpy tile floor (it was smooth and straight), stumbling only slightly on my mile-high shoes, and ended up standing between Leo’s legs, grinning stupidly up at him.
“Almanzo, you wanna go for a buggy ride?” I purred (slurred), reaching around to put my hand in the small of his back, making sure everyone saw my claim. Which would have been more effective if his blazer wasn’t covering it up, but who cares? I was going to get laaaaaid tonight!
“I’ll talk to you later, Leo,” Oscar grouched (see how funny I am?), and made for the back door, dipping down to get through.
“I saw you doing shots over there with the girls,” he said, laughing as I tipped my head forward onto his chest, breathing in his earthy scent.
“They hated me in high school,” I informed him. “But now they love me. Because I’m with you? Because I’m California Cool now? Hard to say. And whyyyyy aren’t you riding me in a buggy right now?”
“Sounds like you’re ready to go home, Sugar Snap.” He dropped a kiss on the top of my head while I played with his shirt buttons.
“Oh, God, do you know what it does to me when you call me that?” I sighed. “It makes me want to do the splits.”
“The splits?” he asked, that corner of his mouth lifting.