“Recently divorced retired colonel,” she said without hesitation. “But he hates his wife, so he’s planning on spending her alimony here tonight before going home to his empty mansion and jerking off to The Golden Girls on mute, while Andrea Bocelli plays at full volume. He has it on vinyl, so you know that shit’s gonna rock.”
Her easy bullshit caught me so offguard I burst out laughing before I remembered we were someplace that level of mirth would be frowned upon. I quickly swallowed back the rest of my laughter, shoulders shaking.
“You need to stop, or Troy’s kicking us both out of here.”
“Troy’s a stick-figure in a tux,” she said with an evil grin. “I’d like to fucking see him try.”
The man in question floated right past us again, laughing at something someone had said as he gestured toward the paintings across the room. “If it’s avant-garde you’re after, then you don’t want to miss this.”
Ramona mimicked him until she realized she had an audience of two, staring at her. She schooled her expression back to neutral and leaned in close. “I’m ready to call it. This party sucks.”
“But what about—?”
“I say we go find a real bar, where we can get shitfaced without judgment.” She hooked her arm into mine and started weaving us toward the back of the room again.
“I’m not leaving yet,” I said, keeping my voice casual.
“We’re leaving. Finish your drink.” She downed the rest of hers as though she were at a frat party.
“No, wait.” She did, but her patience was wearing thin, and quickly. “There’s a rumor the art director from SASCA might be coming.”
Ramona studied me with one skeptical eyebrow arched. “I resent you making up acronyms just to distract me into doing your bidding.”
“It’s not made up,” I said with a sigh. “The San Antonio School of Contemporary Art?”
“I knew that.”
“Once every three years, the art director awards a full scholarship to one student. One. And this happens to be a scholarship year.”
Her eyes widened, all joking around abandoned. “Why the fuck didn’t you open with that? Here I am talking shit while the trajectory of your whole life and ultimate happiness hangs in the balance.”
“First of all, you’re always talking shit,” I said, and took a deep breath. “Second of all, that was totally uncalled for. We need more alcohol.”
She ignored me, finger twitching toward a cluster of graying men. “Is that him?”
I squinted, taking in the room. “No. Please, can we get another drink? The trajectory of my whole life and ultimate happiness is at stake here.”
“That him?” she asked again, nodding toward some other guy.
I shook my head.
“Is that—?”
“I’ve been looking out for him all night. He isn’t here yet. I’ll tell you if—” The rest of my words caught in my throat, cut off by movement at the entrance.
My vision was a little fuzzy, and the warmth spreading from the champagne didn’t help my self-doubt. But after a few seconds of blinking and second-guessing, I knew it was him.
Aiden moved into the gallery with an air of easy confidence for someone inclined to fade into the background by default. He wore a suit, hair slicked back, and even had a tie for the occasion. I bit back a smile as I watched his gaze sweep the room, looking for me.
Ramona jabbed me in the side with her elbow. “Oh my god. Is that him? I thought we were looking for a stuffy old dude, not a smoking hot specimen in his prime.”
I lightly shoved her back, hissing under my breath. “Keep it down. And pick your jaw up from the floor before someone trips over it.”
“You’re my best friend,” she said, her eyes glued to Aiden. “I wouldn’t mind exchanging sexual favors so you can land your scholarship.”
A pang of jealousy stole over me out of nowhere. I didn’t want it, and was in no way prepared for it. Athletes weren’t my type.
“Stay here.”
