When the reception finally dies down and people start to say their good nights, Mason finds me and Jules polishing off a second piece of cake before they can pack it all away. “Some of the guests are going to the bar across the street,” he tells us and slips his arm around Sarah’s waist.
“You up for it?” I ask Jules.
“Yeah, let me find Chloe.” We look around but don’t see her. Not that we’re surprised. She bailed on us on the dance floor not long ago with the excuse of hoping to get sweaty in other ways.
I wash down the piece of cake with a glass of champagne that was left on the table, and Mason gives me a look. “You know they aren’t going to serve you alcohol over there.”
I wave my hand, dismissing his accusing glare. “Yeah, yeah, calm down, Nancy. I’ll get a Shirley Temple.”
“I love Shirley Temples,” Sarah says.
Jules shoves her phone back inside her clutch. “Chloe said she’s busy and to go without her.”
“Guess she found someone to get sweaty with,” I say, and Jules scrunches her nose. I nod toward the front of the reception hall and hold out my arm for her to take. “Shall we?”
When we get to the bar, Mason and Sarah head for a cozy booth on the other side of the room. Jules and I find two empty stools at the end of the bar and go there instead.
“Think your mom will show up in her wedding dress?”
“Nah, she looked exhausted. I bet she and Richard head back to the room and go to sleep.”
The bartender appears and places two napkins in front of us. “What are you drinking?”
“One Shirley Temple and one iced tea. Hold the Long Island, sadly.”
He smiles warmly. “You got it.”
Once he disappears, Jules faces me in her stool and crosses one leg over the other. “You don’t think your mom has it in her to consummate the marriage?”
I immediately cover my ears and pretend to gag. “Come on, Jules. Why?”
She laughs. “Speaking of sex—”
“We werenotspeaking of sex.”
“Tell me about Greece,” she finishes undeterred.
The bartender places our drinks in front of us, and I pretend I didn’t hear her. She puts her hands on my knees and shakes my legs. “Come on. We can share confessions and blame it on the alcohol.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Can I see her?” I freeze. Jules seems to notice my hesitation. “The only thing you never want to talk about is girls. So there had to be a girl in Greece. Do you have a picture of her?”
I take a slow sip of my drink and keep my eyes on the shelf ofbottles along the wall. Despite my persistent buzz, I still wish I had more alcohol for this particular conversation. “I do not.”
She leans on the bar and puts her head on her hand, giving me her full attention. “Describe her, then.”
“Seriously?” I really don’t want to get into it, but Jules looks so engaged and so curious that I take a deep breath and give in. “Okay, fine. Dark hair, tan skin, a little mole right here.” I point to a spot just above my lip. “Honey-colored eyes and a killer smile.”
“Big boobs?”
I make a noncommittal sound and reach for my drink. “Decently sized.”
She hums like she knows I’m downplaying. “What was her name?”
“Sophia.”
“Do you keep in touch?”
“Nope.” I drag out the word and let my lips pop on the “p.”
“Did you sleep with her?” she asks.
