“Hang on,” Ian says, catching my arm before I make a beeline for the bar. He adjusts the big poofs of neon-colored netting that circle my torso before dotting a fast kiss at the edge of my mouth. “You make a very sexy loofa.”
I survey my outfit and grin, unaccustomed to seeing my whole body decked out to look like a bright yellow body puff. “There’s something I’ll bet you never thought you’d say.”
“True enough,” he admits. “I’ve also never found myself wanting to have sex with a loofa.”
I give that some thought, then wish I hadn’t. “It sounds like it would sting.” I bat one of the balloons we’ve affixed to the giant white box covering his torso. A box that reads SOAP in big, blue letters. “I guess I never thought I’d be hot for a bar of soap, so there’s that.”
He strikes a goofy pose, then leans in close. “Are you having dirty thoughts about me?”
“Of course not. These are the cleanest costumes imaginable.”
“Really?” He grins, then leans so close his lips brush my earlobe. “Because I’ve got some filthy ideas I’d like to share with you.”
A shiver of pleasure rattles down my spine, but I’m spared from responding when board treasurer Glenda Newkirk hustles over in a skin-tight dress made of crimson polyester. Black garters anchor the red fishnets around her thighs, and her salt-and-pepper perm is tucked up under her cloak. I can’t tell if she’s Little Red Riding Hood or a hooker in a hooded cape, and it’s not until I see the wolf man behind her that I’m certain which it is.
“Sarah! You made it.” The woman smiles and tugs at my loofa netting. “And look at how cute you are.”
“Glenda, it’s good to see you,” I say. “This is Ian Nolan.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” Ian shakes hands with Glenda first, then offers a hand to the Big Bad Wolf. “Love the fangs.”
“Thanks, man,” the wolf says. “Bart Newkirk. I’m Glenda’s husband.”
Glenda turns her attention to Ian with a gleam in her eye. I recognize that gleam. I’ve seen it several times on organizing committees when Glenda is about to get waaaay too personal with her line of questioning. “Love the matching costumes,” she says. “Very cute. How did you two meet?”
“We’re old college friends,” I supply, hoping my breezy, casual tone will stave off any further questions.
Glenda’s not buying it. She studies me like a detective trying to crack a big case.
“You definitely look like more than that now.” She gives me a knowing eyebrow wiggle and leans close like we’re sorority sisters sharing secrets. “I don’t remember you ever bringing a date to this before. Seems like a sign, hmm?”
Music throbs around us, or maybe that’s my head. I look to Ian, trying to decide how to play this. “We’ve—uh—known each other a long time,” I offer, wondering if we should make a break for the buffet table. “If you’ll excuse us a sec, we’ll just?—”
“Oh, Sarah.” Glenda catches my arm and shifts her voice to a conspiratorial whisper they can probably hear three blocks away. “You know what they say about a woman’s chances of conceiving after thirty. You don’t have unlimited time is all I’m saying.”
Jesus. I thought I’d be cold in this skimpy dress covered in big poofs of netting, but my face burns like we’re standing in front of a commercial oven. “I—uh?—”
“You just had a big birthday, am I right?” Glenda’s sympathetic cluck would be more appropriate if she offered it to someone who just lost a limb. “Best get to it, sweetheart. Those eggs are drying up.”
Oh my God.
Is it too early to hope the floor will open up and swallow me?
At least Glenda’s husband, Bart, has the good grace to look embarrassed. He directs a nod of manly sympathy at Ian. “Kids are great,” he offers. “We had our twins early so we’d still have the energy to play with ’em, you know?”
Since Bart and his ilk will never be the ones enduring childbirth or an endless stream of conversations like this one, I have a sudden urge to stomp on his foot. Paw. Whatever.
Ian must sense this, because he puts an arm around me and offers Glenda a smile that could melt chocolate. “I’m really proud that Sarah’s taken the time to get established in her career,” he says. “She owns her own home and has a level of financial independence that’s really admirable.”
Glenda frowns at him like he’s a six-year-old who just tied his shoes wrong. She gives me one of those conspiratorial elbow nudges that’s meant to be funny, but will probably leave a bruise. “It’s not roses and romance, honey, but he’s got your back.” She laughs and points a finger at me. “Just make sure you’re paying attention to the ticking.”
“Ticking?”
She laughs like she’s made the world’s funniest joke. “Your biological clock, sweetheart.”
I grit my teeth and remind myself that Glenda is from a different generation. That the kind of practical relationship Ian and I are contemplating would make no sense to her or Bart or probably most people I know. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to bite her finger off if she points it at me one more time.
Ian probably feels my blood boiling beneath the surface of my skin, and he tightens his arm around me before addressing Glenda again. “You know, that’s a really terrific idea. Thank you for the suggestion.”
