gloat, I descended the stage and strolled to him. When I reached the table, he helped me settle into my chair, but didn't wait around to let me wallow in my victory.
"I'll be back in a moment," he said. And before I could protest, he sauntered away. He didn't even send me a backward glance. My lips pursed. How dare that sore loser not lavish me with compliments.
A few minutes later, my shock and anger at Royce's abrupt departure dissolved. I was too busy praying God would make me invisible. A very untidy, very intoxicated man was stumbling my way.
"Hey, baby." He was in his late thirties or early forties, and smelled like he'd just bathed in Jack Daniel's best for at least an hour. He breezed into Royce's vacant chair. His clothes were rumpled, his eyes glassy and red. "You really rocked onstage. I thought you were a real singer or something."
At least he was coherent. Kind of. "Thanks," I said.
"Can I buy you a drink?" While he spoke, his gaze locked onto my breasts, small targets though they were.
"No, I'm not thirsty," I answered. And neither were my breasts. Actually, I really was parched, but I didn't want to invite this man to stay any longer than necessary. Where the hell was Royce?
My unwanted visitor didn't get the hint. He threw an arm over my stool, as if he had every right to invade my space. I'm surprised he didn't try the yawn-and-grab routine. He gave me a lecherous grin, and I shuddered. There was something black lodged between his front teeth and I really, really hoped it was food.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Naomi." I fanned the air in front of my face before I passed out from the fumes.
"Naaaomi," he said, sounding it out. "Na-oh-me. I'm Doug." He paused. "What's a pretty thing like you doing all alone?"
I tried not to cringe. Really, there was only one way to get rid of a guy like this. "I'm so glad you came over here, Douglas." I planted my elbows on the table and gazed over at him as if he were the most beautiful sight I'd ever beheld. "I've been dying to talk to someone about all the things that have been going wrong in my life lately. My ex-husband Richard, may he choke on his own tongue, get an STD and win a free one-way ticket to everlasting damnation, called me the other day and asked me to get back together with him. As if I need another cheating bastard in my life. One at a time, thank you very much."
Doug tried to interrupt me, but I kept right on talking. "You're probably thinking that the other cheating bastard in my life is my stepdad, and you're right. I do have plans to castrate him, though, don't you worry."
All color drained from Doug's face.
"I bet you're wondering why I haven't done it yet. Killed and castrated him, that is. Well, the answer to that is simple, really. First I've got to find the perfect knife. A regular household blade simply won't do. I really hate cheaters, Douglas, and I think-"
Just as Doug cut into my speech to mutter, "Excuse me, I think I see someone I know," Royce returned. He watched Doug race away through slitted eyes before sinking back into his seat.
"Where were you?" I demanded. "Five more minutes and I might have had to ask Dougie Boy to be the father of my children in the hopes of scaring him away."
"I was getting a room. I don't want to make the drive to the cabin tonight."
My anger faded, replaced by dread-and anticipation. I shook my head. "Wait a sec. Getting a room? As in one?"
"That's right." He reached under the tabletop and slowly, oh so softly, grasped my thigh.
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
He grinned slowly.
"What are you doing?" I asked in a scandalized whisper, looking all around to make sure no one watched us.
"Seducing you." The darkened atmosphere and the corner placement of our table guaranteed privacy from everyone except the person walking directly by. Which happened to be Doug. He stumbled past once, twice, staring at me with jaundiced suspicion.
The third time, he actually stopped at the table. "She plays with knives," he told Royce before racing away.
"She's vicious, I know," Royce said, keeping his eyes on me. "You were adorable onstage."
"Thank you." I tried to push his hand away; I didn't push too hard, though. It felt too good.