“The opera,” she mutters as she shoves the phone back in her purse. “I forgot I have to go to this fancy opera thing tomorrow night. I don’t suppose you’d want to go with me?”
“To the opera?”
She nods and laughs. “The fact that you just said ‘opera’ the same way you’d say ‘circumcision’ is enough of an answer. It’s okay; I don’t want to go either.”
“Why are you?”
She shrugs and fingers the pearl necklace at her throat, making my mouth water unexpectedly. “A client gave me the tickets. It’s one of those things I have to do every now and then to rub shoulders with the wealthy, influential crowd. The kind of people who need an interior designer.”
I nod, even though the words send a ripple of unease through me. Social climbing was one of Kaitlyn’s favorite forms of exercise.
“You sure you don’t want to go?” Lisa asks. “I could use a hot guy on my arm.”
Her words are teasing, and I should be flattered. Besides, who am I to get annoyed that she wants to use me when this whole damn arrangement is about using each other?
Still, I can’t help feeling like the grungy kid from the wrong side of the tracks whose high school prom date laughed when he showed up in a thrift store suit. I didn’t have enough money to rent a tux or to buy her a damn wrist corsage.
It’s one of many reasons I hate dressy events.
I clear my throat now and focus on Lisa’s invitation. “Do you even like the opera?”
“Not especially.”
“How many times have you been?”
She considers that for a moment. “In the last year? Five, maybe six times. I used to have a season pass when—” She stops there, but I can hear the end of the sentence in my head.
When I was with Gary.
I’m really starting to hate Gary.
“So right now, are your instincts telling you to go to the opera?” I ask her. “Are you saying to yourself, ‘I really should do that,’ or do you genuinely want to be there?”
She sighs. “I suppose it’s more of an obligation. For my career, for my clients?—”
“Will your clients fire you if you don’t show?”
“Maybe.” She shrugs and gives me a sheepish shrug. “Probably not. Honestly, I’m not even sure they’ll be there tonight.”
“What would the opposite be?” I ask. “The opposite of a ritzy night at the opera?”
Lisa’s brow furrows, and she scuffs her sandal on the curb. “I have no idea.” She gives a self-deprecating little laugh. “Maybe it’s my lack of imagination that’s been holding me back all this time.”
“I don’t know,” I say, leaning close enough to brush my lips against her earlobe. “You didn’t lack imagination in my bathroom the other day.”
I edge back in time to see her blush bright pink from her cheeks to her forearms. She’s picturing it in her mind, and I’m glad. Visions of our shower have been playing in an endless loop in my brain since last Saturday.
“The opposite of getting dressed up and going to the opera.” I pretend to mull it over, even though I know exactly what that would look like. “Going to a biker bar wearing a leather miniskirt and a Mötley Crüe T-shirt with no bra. Eating hot wings, drinking beer, and maybe playing a round of darts.”
“Wow.” Lisa blinks at me. “That’s pretty specific.”
I grin back at her, noticing she didn’t say no. “That’s my specialty. When it comes to The Test, it’s good to have friends in low places.”
“I guess that’s what I signed on for.” I can’t tell from her tone if she’s intrigued or leery. Maybe a bit of both.
“Are you game?” I ask.
There’s a challenge in my voice, and I wonder if I’m expecting her to say no. If part of me wants her to confirm she’s not willing to try something new, to set foot on the seedier side of town.
