I get myself oriented, figure out what direction I'm headed in, and duck into the first bathroom I see, shucking my ruined shirt and tossing it in the garbage. Klein is going to think it's hilarious that the only shirt I have to wear is the one he sent me. Who would've thought when I shoved the package in my backpack this morning on my way out of my apartment I'd be so grateful to have it? At this point, it's either the T-shirt I'm ripping from its packaging, or me parading around half-naked to dinner. Something tells me the restaurant Paisley chose takes 'no shirt, no shoes, no service' seriously.
Seven minutes late.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it. It's Klein, or possibly Paisley, wanting to know where the hell I am.
I pull the new, not coffee-stained shirt over my head and barrel from the bathroom. By the time I skid to a stop in front of Palm Luxe, I am twelve minutes late.
Klein, Paisley, and a group of people I don't recognize stand in the vestibule.
"There you are," Klein says, relief plain on his face. Everyone turns to me. "I was worried about..." His words die on his lips as he takes in my shirt. Paisley's eyes become saucers, and she snaps a cupped palm over her mouth.
I look at my chest, trying to see what they see. Four words, hard to decipher from this angle. A few disbelieving chuckles sound from somewhere in the group.
"Klein," Paisley hisses, smacking his midsection without looking at him. "I told you to forget the stupid shirts."
Klein's lips press together, suppressing laughter I'm certain would be booming if unbridled. "I'd already sent it to him. I didn't think he'd wear it to dinner."
"Heis standing beside you," I remind them, irritated. "Andhehas had a hell of a day and doesn't know what the shirt says because—" I point a stiff finger at my cousin "—this asshat chose Old English lettering for the font, and I can't read it upside down."
Klein scratches his thumb over his eyebrow. "Did you wear that on the plane?"
Seriously? What the hell does this shirt say?
This is when I catch sight of dark, gleaming brunette locks. Creamy skin, pink lips. Narrowed eyes shooting death rays my way.Cecily.
I force my gaze away from hers, finding my asshole cousin's face. "I haven't been wearing this shirt more than five minutes." Every word slips between gnashed teeth.
"Can you change?" There's a trace of humor in his tone. Beside him, Paisley grips his arm and turns away, like she's struggling to contain her laughter.
"No." My jaw clenches. "I also haven't looked in the mirror since I put it on after a stranger spilled a cup of coffee all over the shirt I woreon the planeand the airlinelost my luggage."
Klein releases the hold he had on his laughter. Paisley, too. The whole damn group, in fact, save for Cecily. She looks like she'd rather eat her shoe than direct any mirth my way.
Klein's arm goes around my shoulder, steering me toward a rectangular gilt-framed mirror on the wall beside the hostess stand.
He's smiling like a birthday party clown as I read the words.
No Muff Too Tuff.
Klein cackles. The guy is vibrating with laughter.
All this time I've spent making up scenarios for what would happen when Cecily and I saw each other this weekend, and none of them included mortifying myself within the first five seconds.
I give my cousin a quick jab with my elbow. "If I weren't standing in a fancy restaurant in front of a group of strangers, I would punch you in the face. And knee you in the balls, which is a low blow but well deserved."
Klein grunts at the contact my elbow makes, holding his side. "A couple of cocktails will make you forget all about that shirt you're wearing."
"I hate you," I say to him as the hostess leads us to a large table.
"For what it's worth, I am sorry about your bad luck today."
I nod at his apology, my attention snagged by Cecily walking beside Paisley at the front of the group. She's dressed in lemon yellow, the dress hitting mid-thigh. The back is low cut, down to the middle of her back. The front is more conservative. Covertly sexy.
I wish I could say I have no reaction to it, but that would be a flat-out lie. I like the dress on Cecily. I like it very, very much.
Klein double-times his steps, catching up to Paisley.
Cecily glances back at me. Sends me a venomous look. Audacious, considering she's the one who ghosted me.
