It had been an issue all my life. Oh, how I desperately wanted to be tough, to stand up for myself with steely grit and relentless mettle. I would watch movies about girl fighters or women overcoming immense odds, and would pep-talk myself into believing I could be one of them. I would practice imaginary conversations in the shower, coming up with the best comebacks.
But then something like this would happen and instead of evolving into the empowered, tenacious, take-on-the-world boss-bitch I knew that I was, this wimpy, pathetic version of myself would emerge instead.
The tears were just the icing on the tragic cake.
“You don’t know me,” I whispered, not caring if he could hear me or not over the loud music and celebrating crowd. I took another step back, anxious to flee before the tears came and Ezra lost whatever remaining shreds of respect he had for me. Feeling a punch of misplaced courage, I added, “And you don’t know the first thing about web design.”
His teeth slammed together making his jaw jump from the impact. I took two more steps backward and he didn’t follow this time. I nearly stumbled when I ran into a body behind me and when I turned around and saw that it was Vann, I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.
“Are you okay?” he asked in my ear.
“Now I am,” I told him.
Vann’s arms wrapped around me in a rare hug and he squeezed me tightly. He was the older brother I’d never had and even though we were rarely touchy with each other, I could tell his protective instincts were already on high alert.
I tried to pull back, but Vann held me close. “Seriously, are you okay, Molls?”
Nodding against his shoulder, I confessed, “Seriously, now I am.”
He absorbed my words without asking me to explain. “Want to dance?” he asked after we’d been hugging and swaying for long enough that people around us probably already assumed that’s what we were doing—even though the music wasn’t slow, and I was wrapped around him more like a boa constrictor trying to swallow him whole than a girl trying to get with him.
“Yes, please,” I told him, unable to hold back a single sniffle.
We started dancing, albeit in a subdued, careful kind of way. Vann wasn’t a big dancer and I was suddenly very tired. He smiled gently at me. “I was coming to rescue you,” he said. “You looked pissed, and I know Ezra can be an asshole.”
“He is an asshole,” I snarled. You’re a snobby know-it-all. I might have even growled.
Vann grinned. “Maybe. But it looked like you were handling yourself just fine.”
I never handled myself just fine, but I didn’t need to remind Vann of that. “Where’s your date?”
“Subject change much?” he asked me with two raised eyebrows. Still he said, “I don’t bring dates to family events. There’s too much commitment implied.”
Restraining an eye roll, I wondered if Vann would ever be ready to settle down. “We can be old maids together,” I told him. “Eventually, we’ll move to a house in the suburbs where you can have a garage full of bikes and there would be room for my thirteen cats. You do the cooking. I’ll do the laundry.”
Vann stared at me in horror before it turned into something more… perverted. “Plus, then we could get laid whenever we want.”
Bleck! Sleeping with someone I considered family was basically the grossest possible future. I made a gesture at his crotch region. “I don’t want or need any of what is happening down there. I’m positive it needs to be tested, Mr. Afraid of Commitment.”
“You’re one to talk, cat lady!”
We laughed at our lack of prospects, and then spent the next hour having a great time and drinking more champagne cocktails. Or maybe the champagne was just me?
I forgot all about Ezra and the crappy way he made me feel, and also the guilt that I knew I didn’t deserve. I hadn’t initiated anything. I’d only been defending myself. So why did slinging insults make me feel so bad?
Eventually the kitchen staff filtered out, stripped down to t-shirts and black work pants. They greeted the other industry people they knew and grabbed drinks in an effort to catch up to all the fun.
That’s really when the party really started. Wyatt grabbed me from Vann’s care and forced celebratory shots on Vera, Killian and me. Then we moved back to the dance floor and tried to groove off our buzz. Until Wyatt shouted shots again and back we went. Rinse and repeat.
Basically, it was a fabulous night of laughter, love, and so much alcohol. I even danced with Trent until he got overly touchy and started suggesting lewd ways to end the night. I pawned him off on Steph who didn’t seem to mind his grabby hands at all.
By two, the guests had mostly left, my head was light, and my blood buzzed beneath my skin. I stared down at my bare feet and wondered where my shoes had gone.
Vera’s arms wrapped around my neck from behind and she squealed, “You’re the beeeessst best friend everrrrr!!!”
“I know!”
“And this was the beeessst night everrrr!!”
I grinned like an idiot and whirled around to face her. “I know!”
“Thank you for this party,” she told me, glassy eyed but sincere. “It was so unexpected.”
Even inebriated, I knew I couldn’t take all the credit. “Wyatt and the antichrist did most of the grunt work,” I told her. “I’m just the mastermind. It’s no big deal.”
Vera giggled. “Antichrist?”
“Ezra,” I clarified.
Her forehead wrinkled as she scanned the dance floor. “Where is Ezra anyway? I should thank him too.”
“He probably had a panda to sacrifice or children to terrorize.”
Vera snorted. “A panda?”
I shrugged. “He’s just that mean.”
She shook her head at me. “Be nice, Molls. At the very least he throws a good party.”
Linking her arm in mine, she tugged me toward the side of the dance floor. “Did your dad leave?”
“Oh yeah. A long time ago. So did Vann, I think.”
“He didn’t stay long,” I said.
She yawned into her hand. “Well, he doesn’t drink or dance or eat, so there probably wasn’t a whole lot for him to do.”
“He danced with me,” I laughed. “Not well. But he did dance.”
I squinted at a table that had been all but ransacked. Stripped toothpicks lay in dry heaps like picked at bones from a battlefield surrounded by smears of wasabi aioli and Sriracha ketchup. One lone cheeseburger slider sat in the middle of a plate, abandoned.
Squatting down, I searched for my shoes underneath the table. I lifted the tablecloth and lost my balance, falling clumsily gracefully to my knees. “Ouch.”
Vera’s laughter taunted me from overhead. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for my shoes,” I mumbled.
“I can see your underwear,” she cackled. “Or where underwear should be.”
I made a squeaking sound and bolted upright, smoothing my lacy minidress over my bum. It was a bold choice for someone that preferred to blend into the background, but I’d felt pretty in the sheer, cut out long sleeves. Plus, it was semi-backless and I had a moment of arrogant glee, when my back hadn’t looked totally chubby in it.
But all night long, it had been a constant effort to remember not to bend over at the wrong angle or sit spread eagle in a chair. Mainly, I pretended I was in a three-legged race with myself and my ankles had been invisibly tied together.