2
“What do you think?”
Beth’s two best friends assessed her outfit with exaggerated seriousness.
“Turn around,” Julia said through the computer screen, her hazel eyes brooking no argument.
Sighing, Beth obeyed.
“Your ass looks phenomenal,” Julia said.
“He’s toast,” Anusha agreed.
“I don’t care if he’s the untoasted heel of a loaf of white bread, I’m not wearing it for him,” Beth said, smoothing the spring-leaf green dress. The color matched her pale complexion and auburn hair perfectly. And, yeah, her ass didn’t look half bad in it, either.
Anusha laughed as if it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. She gave Beth a flat look. “Honey, you don’t wear a dress like that unless you’re trying to impress a man.”
Beth glared at her friends and was tempted to close the laptop just to avoid their knowing gazes. “I told you. This isn’t a real date. I’m paying him, for crying out loud.”
Julia and Anusha, who were attending a romance novel convention a hundred miles away, rolled their eyes in unison. As butterflies fluttered in Beth’s stomach, she regretted not joining them. What had she been thinking? Meeting authors and adding to her collection of signed books seemed far more desirable than a night of rubbing elbows with her fellow alumni.
The convention doesn’t have Alex Buchanan, her inner troublemaker pointed out.
“And neither do I,” she said aloud.
Anusha’s dark brows lifted in amusement. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” Beth said, wondering if she should wear the blue dress instead. It didn’t hug her curves nearly as affectionately as the green one. Were cleavage and oh-so-clingy fabric really the right message to send on a non-date? And maybe she should put her hair up. As soon as she thought it, though, an image of a sexy librarian with a sensual updo came to mind, and she discarded the idea. No, that was definitely not a thought she wanted in Alex’s head tonight.
“Why are you blushing?” Anusha asked.
“I’m not,” Beth said, adjusting a nonexistent flyaway.
Julia eyed her in a way that said she knew exactly what Beth was thinking. “If you change your dress, I swear I will crawl through this screen and cut you. I will literally cut you.”
The bad thing about being friends with someone as long as the three of them had been was that they knew each other almost better than they knew themselves. Which was great—unless you were trying to be sneaky. Not that Beth had any reason to be sneaky. If she wanted to change her dress, she damn well would. Then again, knowing Julia, she would, in fact, crawl through the screen. Beth sighed. “I don’t need to look sexy for him.”
“No,” Julia agreed. “You need to look sexy for yourself. Have some fun. Let your hair down. You’re not at the library tonight.”
Beth gave her a dry look and indicated her long auburn hair which lay around her shoulders in loose waves. “My hair is down.”
“Bitch, you know what I mean.”
Anusha, who was ever the sweet to Julia’s salty, laughed. “She’s right, Bethy. You need to live a little.”
“I live,” Beth insisted. “A lot. Every day, in fact. It’s a product of breathing.”
When they remained skeptical, she sighed again. “Okay, so maybe I’m not a party girl.”
“The only party you’ve attended in the last year was my six-year-old niece’s birthday,” Julia said.
“There was that painting party last month,” Anusha supplied helpfully. “When we painted and drank wine.”
“That doesn’t count,” Julia said.
Beth remembered the party. She, Julia, and Anusha had attempted to paint a picnic scene along with the rest of the class. They’d ended up doing more laughing and drinking than actual painting. Anusha was the only one to produce a passable picnic. Julia’s looked like a drunken mime had painted it, and Beth’s had resembled a child’s first attempt at finger-painting.
“There was alcohol involved,” Beth pointed out. “That constitutes a real party.”
Julia glanced at something off screen and let out a yelp. “Johnna Brock will be speaking in five minutes,” she said, turning back to Beth. “We have to go.”
Anusha squealed and gave a very fangirl-like wiggle. “Johnna Brock is one of my favorite authors.”
Beth gazed at them enviously. Johnna Brock was also one of her favorite authors. Beth had read every novel the woman had published. “I want a signed book,” she told her besties. “Or I’ll never speak to you again.”
The girls gathered their purses and attendee badges, looking like they were about to explode with excitement. “We will,” Anusha promised, glancing around the hotel room for something. She made an ah face, grabbed the item, and showed it to the screen. It was Beth’s tattered copy of Wild Creek, the first book in Johnna Brock’s Deveraux Brothers Series. “I’ve got yours right here.”
Julia reappeared, holding two more books—presumably her and Anusha’s copies. She wore an I’m-about-to-hyperventilate expression. “What do I say to her?”
Beth laughed. At least she wasn’t the only one worried about meeting someone tonight. “How about hello?”
Julia scowled. “Only peasants say hello.”
Still laughing, Beth said, “I have no idea what that means.”
“You won’t be saying anything if we don’t hurry,” Anusha said, leaning in to disconnect the video chat. “Good luck,” she told Beth. “And have fun on your date.”
Julia blew Beth a kiss. “Go get him, tiger.”
“It’s not a real d—” Beth began but realized she was talking to herself. She stared at the closed chat window for a moment longer and then took a deep breath. “It’s not a real date.”
She repeated the mantra as she dabbed on some perfume and touched up her lipstick. Again, when she tugged on the neckline of her dress to display the best view of her modest cleavage. And, again, when she grabbed her clutch and walked out the door to go meet Alex Buchanan.
“It’s not a real date.”