Oh. I didn't realize I'd spoken out loud. "What say you, bride?" I ask Paisley, hoping she hears the apology in my tone.
She shrugs, grinning. "When in Vegas!"
The more we eat, the more we drink, the merrier we become.
Even Cecily, to my great shock, is not impervious to tequila. She laughs at a joke told by the person beside her, throwing back her head and swaying closer to me. Her shoulder brushes mine, sending a waft of her sweet scent my direction.
She doesn't speak to me for the rest of dinner, but her demeanor is softer. Looser. More like the woman I first met. I was captivated by her throaty laugh, her slow smile. She was like smoke curling up over a campfire.
What happened?
Maybe I should ask her and stop this angst fest. After months wondering, asking myself the same question over and over, I'm sick of my whiny ass.
We're paying the bill now, and there's no time to break into a conversation with her. But at least I'm no longer worried she'll stash a steak knife in her purse and stab me later.
Thank you, tequila.
We hit the next place, a club where we have a table and bottle service. I sit back, nursing a drink, pretending to look around but watching Cecily on the dance floor instead.
She's something else. Generous curves, hips that switch, beaming as she dances with Paisley and Paloma. Her shiny brown hair tumbles down her back, catching the pulsing light.
"What's going on with you and Cecily?" Klein yells in my ear.
I pause with my drink at my mouth. "Nothing. Why?"
Klein frowns. "Don't lie to me. I know you better than anybody."
"I don't think I made a good first impression. That's all."
"What? You?" Klein slaps my back, and my drink bounces against my lower lip. "You're a hell of a guy."
I love when Klein has too much to drink. He becomes his cuddliest, softest, most emotional self. I like to give him a lot of shit, but he's a hell of a guy, too. I champion his work because it's my job and I believe in him, but it's a bonus knowing someone as good and hardworking as him is succeeding.
"Cecily is tough," I counter, shrugging as I set my drink on the table.
He nods. "I look at her with two parts awe, and one part fear."
Paisley materializes at the table, Cecily in tow. Behind them, Paloma dances by herself.
"Dance with me, Word Daddy," Paisley yells. Sweat at her temple has captured a tendril of blonde hair, sticking it to her face. Her eyes are bright, exhilarated. Klein grins like the lovesick fool he is, standing up. He's stepping down from the area when he turns around, cups his hands around his mouth,and yells, "She's tough, but you're tougher. No muff is too tough for you, buddy!"
I close my eyes and shake my head. As if I could forget the shirt. How many people commented on it on the walk over from the restaurant to the club? Seven? Eight? Luckily, we found a boutique where I could buy clothes to satisfy the club's dress code, and send my other clothes up to my room. At long last, I'm presentable.
Paisley and Klein move away.
Cecily remains standing, backlit by the multicolor strobing lights. Music pounds in my limbs, vibrating my chest.
I shift right, making space. When she doesn't move, I busy my hands by making a drink for her. We've stuck with tequila. A smart choice, I'd wager.
Cecily settles beside me. I add a lime to her drink, turning so I can hand it to her. I lift my own, offering acheers.
Her fingers brush mine when she takes her drink. Maybe it's the alcohol, but I swear her touch extends beyond my hand. I feel it everywhere.
I look up into her eyes, prepared to saycheers!but her expression stops me. Her brown eyes search mine, her teeth catching the side of her lower lip. She releases it, and opens her mouth. This is it. She's going to tell me why she ghosted me.
"Fuck you, Dominic."
Harsh words. Soft tone.
