“Come on. It’s not a date.” Lauren looked toward the bar and smiled. “Besides, he’s cute and—”
“Damn it, Lauren. I said no.” Moisture welled in Celine’s eyes. Would the tears ever stop? “I’m a grown-ass woman. I don’t need your help.” She bumped her glass, and a splash of mangotini landed on her lap. “Shit.” She rolled the chair back and grabbed the least soggy napkin on the table. As she dabbed at the dress, Celine avoided her friends’ open-mouthed stares and stood. “I’m going to the ladies’ room.”
“Wait, I have wet wipes.” Ari searched through her purse. “I’ll go with you.”
“No!”
Ari recoiled.
Working up a smile to soften the blow, Celine took the small packet from her friend. “Thanks. I’m okay. I’ll be right back.”
Refusing to look at the people around them, she left the table and followed the signs down a corridor to the ladies room. Not interested in chitchat or commiseration, she walked past them to the adjoining hallway and leaned back against the wall. As she rubbed away the stain, indignation cooled to regret. Being a bitch to your friends won’t make it better.
If they only understood.
The one-year mark of losing Dominic didn’t earn a gold medal at the finish line on the race to normal. Losing the future she’d looked forward to with him haunted her every day. Swells of hurt and loss filled her chest. At times like this, he’d have been her sounding board. After talking to him, she’d always known what to do.
He’d always told her, Trust your instincts. You know what you want. She wanted normal, but if it meant having what she loved snatched away again, she wasn’t in a rush to get there.
Celine tossed the towelette and empty packet into the trash. She wouldn’t think about him, not here, not now. She needed to apologize. Ari and Lauren only wanted to help. Talking to the guy Lauren had pointed out would smooth things over. So much for leaving in two hours. She closed her eyes and slumped against the cool wall. It was going to be a long night. She drew in a deep breath, and warm scents of citrus and amber consumed the odors of fried food, beer, and alcohol. The source of the wonderful scent stood an arm’s length away wearing a pair of silver-tipped black boots.
Dark jeans encased his long, muscular-looking legs. A black T-shirt hugged his lean waist and stretched across his broad shoulders. His mesmerizing golden-brown eyes projected intensity, calm, and something unexplainably beautiful.
Mr. Hot-Ass-Scorching-Twelve stepped to the boundary of her personal space, and her heart kicked in an extra beat. His gaze never left hers as his lips tipped slowly into a smile. “You do realize you’re missing the show.”