All in all, I was a slim guy, which helped in some ways but not others. The dress had a decent plunge Savannah said drew attention to my hairless chest—nope, not spilling that secret either—rather than my lack of tits, and this feather stuff at the neckline, which disguised that fact and the breadth of my shoulders.
A large sign directed traffic inside the hotel lobby to one of the banquet rooms. Coming from a small town where the closest Holiday Inn was pretty run-down, this place was swanky. Thick carpets in the wide hallway made walking a bit of a challenge, but luckily, it changed once we were in the room for the event.
Dozens of round tables with chairs were sprinkled around, with a dais and podium at the far end. Long tables outlining the edges held finger foods, but I grabbed Savannah’s wrist and steered her toward the bar.
“Asher,” she warned under her breath.
I smirked and kept moving. “It’s Ashley tonight, honey, and no time like the present to test your magic.”
As far as costumes went, my skintight, black dress, exposed corset laced up my back, and heels were barely worth a second glance compared to others in the room, including Savannah. She was dressed as Marilyn Monroe, and with her curves, she was rocking it. Next to her, I doubted I’d be noticed at all. So, win?
Savannah graduated from cosmetology school at the top of her class—well-earned. With recommendations from her instructors, she’d landed an amazing contract this event season. You heard right. Cressmann, being one of the larger, well-funded metros in the state, had an “event season.” Of course, I’d had no clue about any of this prior to three days ago.
From fall to spring, they held nearly weekly events for charities, auctions, and any other reason to throw a snazzy party, all produced by Creative Style, the company who’d hired Savannah. Being chosen by them as one of the makeup artists for their sometimes outlandishly themed events was a big deal.
Yes, I was very proud of my cousin.
Yes, I’d rather have shown my support in other ways.
Too late for that now.
The waitstaff were dressed in blues and greens with thematic makeup resembling sea creatures, which was actually cool. Savannah pointed to the ones she’d done. The guests—like Savannah, who got an invite to all these with her contract, and me as her plus-one—were a wide-ranging mix of costumes, but nothing quite like I was used to.
There were no slutty nurses or fairies. There were no jailhouse stripes or cop uniforms. No, this was posh and snobby. Men in three-piece suits and eyeglasses stood next to women dressed as flappers or various Disney princesses—the mature kind, not the skanky kind. There were old Hollywood bombshells and cowboys too.
From what Savannah had said, it would be a stuffy grind of an evening with old money looking to lord over the new money, and new money looking to show up the gentry. She also said open bar and drunk people, which I could handle just fine. Not that I was legally allowed to drink, but I wouldn’t let that small detail stop my fake ID from trying.
Said open bar was manned by two men. I chose to approach the younger one. The one more likely not to give a shit. He had a black stud in one ear, a hint of tattoos peeking from his rolled-up sleeves, and checked his phone twice before we stood across from him. The other guy was older and smiling like an idiot at awoman in a glittering silver dress that made her look like a disco ball.
“What can I get you ladies?” Mr. Tattoos asked.
I turned to Savannah with a quick brow raise, but she said, “Two virgin mojitos, please.”
That wasnotwhat my eyebrow meant, dear cousin.
The guy wasn’t fazed at all by the request. We took our drinks with thanks, then made our way toward the tables with food.
“You bitch,” I whispered through a smile.
“That’s not very ladylike,Ashley.”
“You could at least let me have alcohol for this, you know.”
“And have you get shit-faced and ruin the whole thing? Not on your life. I need you alert and—perky.”
I turned to her with a gasp. “Perky? Jesus, fuck, Savannah, I’m not here to catch a husband like you.”
She shushed me and glanced around. “Lower your too-deep-to-be-a-fuckin’-girl voice.”
We stared at each other, mouths gaping, then giggled.
“Neither of us are gonna make it in charm school,” I said.
Savannah chose a mini quiche off a tray, and I took this pinwheel thing with cream cheese and a cherry tomato on top. We cheersed our snacks, then faced the crowd.
“Okay, who are we lookin’ at to be the next Mr. Savannah Robins?”
Savannah narrowed her eyes and scanned the crowd. Not many were close to our own age, and most of the men seemed to be paired with the women on their arms, dripping in jewelry and fancy costumes.
