The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue #2) - Jessica Hawkins Page 0,47
sure. I’m just trying to say having your own kids would be different.”
I glance at my lap. Every holiday, I send my sister’s kids gifts chosen and wrapped by an assistant, but it’s been a while since I visited them. The last time I did, I could barely stand it. The house was a mess. There were toys, food, baby accoutrement everywhere. Walking through the living room was like traversing a minefield, complete with the sounds of battle—constant crying, obnoxious cartoons, and hair-raising screams, from both children and adults.
The driver turns the car onto the street of the venue. “There’s a bit of a line,” he says. “Shouldn’t be too long, though.”
“Thank you,” I say.
We creep forward a few feet. “Unless you prefer to walk,” he adds with a smirk.
I narrow my eyes. And then, for some reason, I laugh. As far as drivers go, and I’ve been in the company of many, he’s pretty inappropriate. He also doesn’t cower like the others. “I think I will, actually,” I say.
He stops the car so I can get out. “It’s a nice evening,” he says. “Spring’ll be over before you know it. I’d hate for you to miss it.”
“Next you’re going to tell me to stop and smell the roses,” I say.
“You should,” he says. “Plenty of bodegas got those little bouquets out front.”
“Maybe you have a point.” I’m getting soft. His attitude reminds me a bit of Andrew’s, and my stomach instinctively drops when I remember how Andrew convinced me to submit to him. I open the door and climb out of the car. “Thanks again.”
My heels aren’t exactly made for walking, but I’m only a block from the venue. The driver was right—it is a nice night, with a mild May breeze. I stroll around the spotlight in the middle of the sidewalk, past the side alley crammed with smokers, and by the press crowded around the step and repeat.
In the hotel ballroom, I spot a few familiar faces. I air-kiss a marketing manager at Estée Lauder and greet an old assistant of mine who’s now a buyer for Barney’s Ready-to-Wear department.
It’s crowded, so it takes me a moment to scan the room and locate the table I purchased for tonight. As I take a step toward it, a hand on my elbow stops me. “Excuse me, Miss. Can I offer you a glass of our finest single malt whisky?”
I turn to upbraid the waiter for touching me, but find myself face to face with a bottle of sixteen-year-old Glenlivet and a stark red tie where a waiter’s uniform should be. I look up into blue eyes that feel more familiar, more comforting, than they should.
“What are you doing here?” I ask Andrew more brusquely than I mean.
Sadie appears out of nowhere, shaking her head at me. “Amelia,” she scolds. “Play nice.”
I look between the two of them. If Sadie knows anything, she doesn’t let on. I’d like to keep it that way, so I shut my mouth and swallow my astonishment. “I’m sorry . . . I just don’t understand why the plumber is here.”
Andrew raises a dark, heavy eyebrow at me, a punishment of a glance that nearly takes my breath away. I have a feeling he’s biting back a cutting response.
Sadie scowls. “He’s not a plumber. I told you. He’s my brother.”
“I apologize.” I press my lips together to hold in a smile; messing with Andrew comes almost too easy. “I just didn’t expect to see him here.”
Sadie furrows her brows. “Why would you? He’s Mindy’s date.”
It’s the last thing I expected to hear, and it takes me a moment to register what she said—Andrew is here, but not to see me. To be someone else’s date. I brush an imaginary lock of hair from my forehead. “I thought Mindy was going out with that awful man from the Internet?”
“He’s done,” Sadie says.
Andrew, the man who’d made it sound as if he’d chew off his own arm to escape a sleepover with a clingy woman, is here with Mindy, who is definitely on the husband hunt, despite all the warnings I’ve bestowed on her.
“Oh. Well, nice to see you again,” I say, feigning interest in something across the room. “I’m going to grab a drink and mingle. I’ll see you two at the table.”
“No need,” Andrew says, calling my attention back. He produces a tumbler from the crook of his arm and holds it out to fill with whisky. “I’ve got you covered.”