She frowned but put the dress back. We were at a boutique shopping for dresses to wear to the dinner party. I didn’t think it was necessary. I had a closet full of dresses that would be suitable for the occasion, but I didn’t argue with her.
I was enjoying spending time with my mom, and I didn’t want to ruin it. Things hadn’t always been so strained between us, and I liked to be reminded of a time when we were close.
“Let’s look for a more breathable material, then,” she suggested, moving further into the shop. I trailed behind, carrying the dress she’d already picked out for herself. “I wouldn’t want you fainting into anyone’s arms.”
There was a teasing quality to her voice that was rare, and I chuckled. She was referring to a socialite named Debra Fenton that had a reputation for throwing herself at wealthy, available men. Last year, we watched her pretend to faint from the heat of the day at a regatta, purposefully landing in the lap of the heir of a hotel chain. It was obvious what she was doing, and the poor man was incredibly uncomfortable as he tried to handle the scene delicately.
“Is Debra coming to the dinner party?” I asked, shuffling through a rack of dresses. It was always a challenge to find something to my taste that still fit in at these high-brow events.
“Of course. She’s still latched on to Sebastian Duncan.”
I cringed. Sebastian was a political lobbyist in his fifties, whereas Debra was only five years older than me at twenty-eight. I tried not to be judgmental about other people’s relationships, but that big of an age difference gave me the creeps. It was even worse knowing that she had a history of using men for their fat bank accounts until they got sick of it and kicked her to the curb. Then she’d move on to the next guy.
As my mom continued to gossip about the love lives of people that ran in our social circle, I couldn’t help thinking about Butch. It was silly, really. We weren’t a couple.
But for a moment, I imagined what would be said about me if we were. The uptight women that my mom called friends would foam at the mouth if they found out. I could see them in my mind, standing around at galas or charity events with cocktails in their hands as they laughed about my relationship and how much I embarrassed my mother.
Suddenly, Debra’s antics didn’t seem so amusing.
“Are you listening?”
My mom’s voice cut through my internal fretting and brought my attention back to her. She was looking at me expectantly. I blinked and shook my head.
“I’m sorry, my mind wandered. What did you say?”
She smiled and reached out to cup my face. “Always such a daydreamer.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, enjoying the contact. Why couldn’t we always be like this? Something always seemed to get in the way.
“I was just saying that we should go to the jeweler after this.”
“Do you really think we need go as far as to buy new jewelry for the party too?”
“No, dear,” she said, flashing an excited smile. “I think we should pick out a ring. It’s time to make your engagement official.”
My stomach dropped.Oh no.
Butch
I couldn’t say that I was completely surprised to wake up alone this morning. Still, it was a disappointment that Sabrina had slipped out without a word. The bed was warm, giving me the impression that she had left recently.
Now, twelve hours later, I was manning the door of the strip club and thinking about her. It was somewhat unsettling that she was lingering in my mind like this. I barely knew her, but I had the feeling that she wasn’t the type of woman to stick around with the likes of me. She wasn’t a part of my world.
I should just forget her.
But that wasn’t an easy task. She was a wildcat in bed, and I could still hear her hoarse voice crying out my name echoing in my ears. It was better than any music I’d ever heard.
“IDs please,” I said, holding out my hand to the two young men that were trying to get into the club. They handed them over without hesitating. By all appearances, they were confident and shouldn’t be questioned.
The second I took the cards from their hands, I knew that they were fake. They didn’t feel right. I handled dozens of IDs a night, so the slight difference in weight and rigidity of these cards was immediately apparent. I looked down. They were good fakes, but the corners were squared off. Most real IDs were rounded. A lazier man might not have bothered to notice such a thing.
“Nice try, guys,” I said, handing them back. “What are you, eighteen?”
“Ninteen,” one of them replied, looking angry. “You look young too. So why can’t we just come in? We won’t drink. We just want to see the girls.”
“Sorry,” I said, not meaning it. It was annoying to deal with these little shits that wasted my time like this.
“Asshole,” he muttered, starting to turn away.
