“How about him?”
June’s suggestion was safe, predictable. He reminded me of the guys I’d grown up with. Uptight nepo babies who blew their trust funds on the three b's: bumps, boats, and babes way too young for them.
“Too preppy.”
Despite the dim lighting, I could see Nessa’s eyes roll back in her skull. “Who are you, Goldilocks?”
“Goldi-cocks,” June corrected. I clapped a hand over my mouth. I might have been out of the dating game for quite some time, but something told me spitting out my drink was a surefire waynotto attract a man. “Are you sure you want to do this? I’m all for you getting out there and meeting somebody new, but a random guy at a club?”
“Would you prefer she meet a random guy on the internet?” Nessa offered.
“Fair point.”
I sipped my drink, basking in the burn of tequila and rum. The first Long Island had taken the edge off; the second had been for liquid courage. I was happy to report that the liquid was indeed . . . courage-ing.
“No, this will be good.” I gestured toward June. “Like you suggested, I need to get out there and meet somebody new.” The remix of Britney Spears’s “Toxic” and Ginuwine’s “Pony” vibrated aggressively through my bones. It was so loud, I could barely hear myself, let alone my two friends. I pivoted to face Nessa. “And I made a list. So, now I know what I want when Soren asks.”
Nessa smiled. “You mean whensomebodyasks.”
Crap on a cracker.
“That’s what I meant.”
“I want to see this infamous list,” June whined.
I sucked the last of my drink through the straw and shook my head.
“C’mon, please?”
“The list is for her, June.”
“But—”
“Let it go, June.”
Nessa hit her with a scorching look, effectively ending the conversation. Watching the two of them fight like sisters never got old.
“Are you ready to drop it like it’s hot?” June asked.
I eyed the dance floor. Admittedly, my experience with bumping and grinding was limited. They never played much Snoop Dog or Megan Thee Stallion at the cotillions I attended, and Mama hadn’t allowed me to go to any school dances.
“You should ask somebody to dance.” Nessa nudged my arm with hers.
“Maybe later.”
Maybe I needed a third tea first.
This was part of being a single, independent woman. Flirting with a sexy stranger at a nightclub, buying them a drink. People did this all the time, and most of them were a lot younger than me. I'd organized black-tie galas for four hundred at the Ritz Carlton. I could ask a man to dance. Maybe.
“What about if somebody asks you to dance?” Nessa asked.
“Well, then good thing I wore my dancing shoes.” They were actually Nessa’s. She’d let me raid her closet for something to wear tonight and my eyes had lit up when I’d spotted the chunky platform heels hidden in the back.
“In fact,” I told them, emboldened by my liquid courage. “I’ll dance with the next guy that asks.”
Nessa and June’s attention drifted to something—or someone—behind me.
Nessa opened her mouth then shut it again.
