“Wow.” Cash chuckles. “Please tell me you were drunk when you agreed to go out with him.”
“There may have been Jell-O shots involved. It was Eva’s twenty-fourth birthday party. So I blame her.”
“Oh, no.” Eva wags her finger. “You can’t blame that on me. He wasn’tmyfriend. He was Curtis Southerland’s cousin. And you know what they say about cousins.” She makes a face at Luc.
I’m surprised my balcony doesn’t come crashing down there’s so much hooting and foot-stomping.
“Okay,” Luc says. “That’s enough of that.” To keep us from giving him any more flack, he starts strumming, and Jean-Pierre pulls out his fiddle, coming in once he’s figured out Luc’s melody.
I would point out that we never got around to hearing aboutCash’sworst date, but I honestly don’t care to. I don’t want to listen to him talk about going out with another woman, even if it did end disastrously.
Luc and Jean-Pierre play a slow, soft ballad. When Luc opens his mouth to sing, Lauren and Eva watch him reverently. Judging by the looks on their faces, they’re witnessing the rapture.
“Hey.” Cash grabs my foot and leans close to whisper in my ear, “Come with me to the ball and bachelor auction tomorrow.”
Chills race up my arms at his nearness. “You’re not supposed to bring a date,” I tell him. “That’s the whole point. You’re abachelor.”
“Please?” he coaxes with a grin. “I could use the moral support.”
It’s thepleasethat does it.
Oh, who am I kidding? It’s the smile that does it. The smile and the thought that maybe, just maybe, Aunt Bea’s soiree will afford me the opportunity—and the courage—to ask him the thing that needs asking.
“Pick me up at seven.” I point to his nose. “And don’t be late.”
