“She’s a gynecologist that I?—”
“I’ll get drinks.”
Goldie smiles athis was a dumb victorysmile which is nonetheless a smile when I’m picking up vibes that say something is still off, and I head over to get us drinks.
The reception starts not long after. As soon as the brides enter and are seated, dinner is served. Our table companions are fine.
No one worth networking with, but Goldie could carry on a conversation with a brick wall and no one at our table is making her visibly uncomfortable, so it’s pleasant enough.
If her ex is here, I haven’t picked him out yet.
I see her occasionally glance over at her former teammate and watch her expression go tight every time though.
There’s a story there.
I want to know what it is. And not for networking reasons.
I also want to know what the story is more than I want to scratch at my rash, which says something I don’t want it to say too.
The bridal party finishes eating and makes their rounds saying hi to all of the guests while the rest of us eat. When they reach us, the bride in the white pantsuit hugs Goldie so tightly that I’m convinced they’re long-lost sisters.
Might be, in a manner, since her mother, the head coach for the Scorned, hugs Goldie equally as tightly when she, too, makes her way over.
On a hunch, I take a subtle glance around.
We’re being watched.
And we’re being watched in that way that suggests the people watching don’t want us to know we’re being watched.
Subtle eye slides over champagne flutes. Darted glances from people who look as though they’re carrying on a conversation with their tablemates, but you can tell they’re not. One woman misses her mouth with her fork while trying to play it cool about looking our way while she’s taking a bite of chicken.
After hugging the coach, Goldie introduces us, which is the one big benefit to being here tonight.
She was out of the office the three days I tried to drop in to meet her.
Or she didn’t want to see me.
I’m aware that’s a possibility.
“So you’re planning to siphon off the women’s audience for yet another men’s team?” she asks me with a twinkle that has an edge to it.
Definitely didn’t want to see me. “If these other teams in town aren’t treating you right, I’ll fix it.”
“Silas must love him,” she murmurs to Goldie without replying to me.
“Silas feels exactly the way he deserves to feel,” Goldie replies, which earns a laugh from the coach.
After dinner, the band switches from instrumentals to party music, drowning out the birds. Wonder if they went off to another part of the botanical gardens.
I’d also wonder if Goldie’s former teammate is her ex if I wasn’t positive she’d saidex-boyfriend.
Maybe it was a Goldie ploy to throw me off the scent.
Or maybe we still haven’t seen the ex she claims would be here.
“Wanna dance?” she asks me as everyone else starts to vacate our table.
“No.”
