I shrugged, because hair color didn’t matter. The blonde was pretty, objectively speaking, but the slim brunette beside her, the one I’d crossed paths with in the hallway, made my lips twitch. She’d seemed … different. The interaction had only been seconds, but in that small window, she’d scanned me with a refreshing directness in her mischievous eyes. No coy puzzle to solve; she’d liked what she saw. Something I rarely let myself notice, but she’d caught me off guard.
“What about the brunette in black?” I said to do my duty and chime in as if I were truly interested.
“Nah, too skinny.”
I judged the others, but only in comparison to the brunette. Not that I found her sexually appealing, but I didn’t hate women. I could find beauty in them, but as with men, I fixated on uniqueness over typicality.
“Don’t you find the brunette more interesting? She doesn’t seem to be participating with words while the others run their mouths. Do you wonder what she isn’t saying?”
“Nope. I’m horny. My only wonder is how she looks on her knees.”
I snorted and sipped my drink before cursing myself.Don’t finish it. “I think that’s textbook chauvinistic pig behavior.”
“Heh, you know I’m teasing. Mostly. What guy doesn’t like getting head?”
I laughed to play along, wincing internally, but in all honesty, I had no clue. Sure, I liked the idea of getting head, and giving it, and I sure as fuck enjoyed watching blow job porn, but that was where it ended. I was a thirty-four-year-old virgin. The most I’d done was kiss a woman’s cheek. A polite gesture at the end of a forced-upon-me date that didn’t suggest an interest that simply wasn’t there to be had.
I’d known I was gay since my teenage years, but I’d buried it, thinking if I could lie to myself enough, I’d believe it one day. I was still waiting. In the meantime, I’d never allowed that part of myself out of the closet. Not even a little because I wouldn’t be able to stop once I opened that door. Now, twenty years later, I couldn’t even find the door. Maybe in another twenty, I could will myself straight.
“Don’t look now, but your mother is heading this way with a piece of ass that has your name on it.”
No matter his warning, I looked. Mother chattered with a smile as the simple but pretty woman walked with her. This would lead to only one thing: Mother inviting her over for dinner. And end with only one thing as well: me taking her on a few dates until hopefully my disinterest made her lose hers.
I joked about it, but I was sure one day Mother would just invite me to my own wedding and be done with it. She wanted grandkids. She wanted to show off how perfect a mother she was and how her children’s lives were better because of it. As the oldest, I needed to do my duty and set the standard for my younger sister and brother to follow.
“Better be quick about it,” William said.
There were seconds left to me. Either wait for Mother to descend or find a diversion.
Eh, fuck it.
Theuniquebrunettewitha playful twinkle in her eyes had to be a better choice. I shoved my drink at William, who accepted it with a chuckle, and stormed toward the group of chatting young women. Marilyn Monroe saw me first. Her bright eyes widened before a coy smile took over.
But I wasn’t coming for her.
“Excuse me, ladies,” I drawled. “Might I borrow your friend?”
The lot of them gasped when I snatched the elbow of the leggy brunette and pulled her away.
“Oh,” she said, surprise coloring her breathy huff.
We didn’t go far, just another table over, which in this low rumble of voices was far enough to talk without being overheard.
“Sorry about my abruptness.” Mother had instilled manners in us kids. I couldn’t fault her entire child-rearing abilities, only her meddling adulthood ones.
“Uh, that’s fine.” The young woman blushed and lowered her eyes before glancing toward the group she’d left. When she turned to me, her smile was restrained, as if she wanted to be louder, bolder, more something, but wouldn’t let herself do it. Itreminded me a bit of myself, always keeping that chain on the door.
“My name’s Luke.” I almost reached for her hand in greeting—women liked to be touched, I was told—but hers were clasped tightly in front of her, so I settled on a nod.
“A-Ashley,” she said. For some reason, she kept her voice soft. Not quite a whisper, but a little husky. Interesting.
“Did you find what you needed in the hallway?” I asked simply to initiate conversation. Explaining I’d used her to get away from my mother was not on the table, and shehadseemed a bit lost out there.
“Yes, thank you.” Ashley lowered her chin. She hadn’t seemed this shy before, but that had only been seconds. Who could say?
“Are you affiliated with one of the charities here tonight?” I tried another angle, sort of hoping she’d lift her pretty eyes so I wasn’t speaking to the tiny horns sticking out from the top of her head.
“No. I’m a plus-one. I, uh, I’m here with someone.”
