you know that you’re starting to sound like my over-the-hill Casanova-wannabe Uncle Duffy, Andrew? And let me tell you: It’s not exactly a compliment to sound like a man who gives Chlamydia a bad name.” She takes another sip of her champagne, her stare thinning in his direction before she lowers it. “But I’m sure the subject of Chlamydia is something that you and my uncle are both very knowledgeable about.” She places a hand over her heart. “My mistake.”
Drew prickles, and I intervene as he stares at her, a mixture of intrigue and indignation gleaming in his icy blue eyes.
I heave a sigh, grabbing Drew’s arm to escort him away. “Alright, alright, children. Let’s just…agree to go to our separate corners, why don’t we? This is supposed to be a nice time. Not Madison Square Garden on fight night. I think we can leave the verbal fisticuffs for another night, right?”
I pull Drew quickly in the opposition direction of Nancy, walking fast. Fifty feet away, I finally turn on him, tempted to reach for a glass of champagne from a stranger’s hands.
Where were the damn champagne waiters when you need them? Right now, I would gladly stick my head into a whole tray of them.
My eyes narrow up at Drew as he scoffs. “If she weren’t my boss, I’d definitely have a few choice words for her to let her know what I think of her.”
“Seems like you’ve already used a bunch of those choice words just tonight.” I huff. My voice is a hiss. “Why do you have to antagonize Nancy so much?”
“I can’t help it, Fee. Ever since she went from your basic bartender to full-fledged co-owner, she’s had a stick up her ass that needs surgical removal.”
I roll my eyes. “And you think making comments about her social life will help loosen it?”
“Not exactly.” Drew’s mouth twists. “I’m just saying… I can take a guess as to a better place where Nancy might be in use of a stick.”
“Jesus, Drew, could you be more crude right now?”
“Not even if I tried.”
I slap his arm, sending Drew on his way. His low laughter still reaches me from the other side of the room, and I can’t help but to think that Nancy’s not the only one who needs a “stick” in her life.
I shake off the twisted, tense moment between my coworker and boss by slipping off to the restrooms on the other side of the gallery. Once inside, I wet a paper towel, swiping at my suddenly sweaty neck. I dap at the skin beside the red dress’s thin straps and at my full cleavage.
The December evening sun has just set, but my skin is still slightly dry from the day’s winter air, and I glance up and into the mirror to find that my red lips are still swollen, strands of my chocolate and caramel-colored hair escaping to slide down my face.
With dark mascara on, my brown lashes look impossibly long and my mind can’t help but to venture on the thought that my life might be as lacking as Drew accused Nancy’s of being.
I haven’t been on a proper date in longer then I can remember, the constant need to work to make the rent squeezing out any possibility of a social life left.
It’s my fault really.
I turned down my ex-roommate Kayla’s offer of assistance when she left to live with her boyfriend-turned-fiancé because my pride was too big to say yes. Too big to admit that I needed help.
In more than ways than one.
I mean, here I was on a beautiful night in this beautiful dress in fantastic company…
Nothing more than a pauper. Pretending.
Expensive Manhattanites in their Monday-best were drinking and dining at standing tables set with plates at five hundred dollars a pop, with my art on the walls, watching over it all.
There’s a subdued amber warmth from the lights now hitting the wide, white walls of the smaller room, and the insides of my tummy ties into knots as I realize I’m inside alone, accompanied with nothing but the thoughts that my work might not be good.
That I might not be good enough.
Lord knows I’d never been.
Hell, the last time I’d felt home in my skin was when I was with a complete stranger. One I’d freaking stolen from!
I shudder, even now in the gallery bathroom, staring over the solitary mirror with cloudy eyes as the memory rocks me where I stand. Touching the edge of my bottom lip, I resist