Chapter Seven
Surreal.
That’s how I felt. Wrapped in Ezra’s strong arms—the softness of his clothing a distinct contrast to the muscles beneath—was absolutely surreal.
All around us the music pulsed and the atmosphere bewitched, friends laughed and dishes clinked, and I stood there frozen with confusion. I blamed the champagne.
Henceforth, I would avoid expensive, delicious, hypnotizing drinks and stick to the cheap grocery store bargains I was used to.
Goodbye, Dom Perignon.
Hello, Martini and Rossi, my old friend.
Because obviously the better brands got me into trouble!
To be honest, I could hold my own on the dance floor. I’d even been on enough blind dates to navigate any enthusiastic fondle with ease. But this was an entirely new level of stressful firsts.
I stood, stiff as a board, in Ezra’s arms. And he wasn’t any better. We swayed back and forth like thirteen-year-old strangers forced together by well-meaning teachers at a middle school dance. I half expected my seventh grade science teacher to lay her hand on my shoulder while she measured the distance between Ezra and me with a ruler.
Except there was also this air of adult awareness that made things bizarrely and sexually intriguing. Ezra’s thighs brushing mine. His hand pressed against my lower back. The occasional resting of his jaw against the top of my head. I felt every single inch of him and not one part felt lacking or less than. Ezra was completely, wholly, utterly man. He made every other past dance partner and blind date feel like the junior high cesspool I’d ridiculously compared us to.
He wasn’t a thirteen-year-old boy enslaved to hormones and braces. Ezra Baptiste was smooth, successful and so freaking sexy I felt jittery with anticipation. He didn’t jolt me back and forth or step on my toes. He moved me around the dance floor with grace and skill, wowing me, charming me… seducing me.
Even if his seduction was accidental.
He cleared his throat and I fixated on the long, slender column of his neck. I was constantly, and possibly weirdly obsessively, trying to figure out how to paint his face. Trying to figure out how to get his expressions just right and bring out that something invisible I couldn’t explain. And yet he had so many other parts and pieces I hadn’t even begun to dissect yet.
Like his throat. Or the width of his shoulders and the alluring way his clothes hung off them. I glanced at our entwined hands and tried to memorize the way mine looked so delicate and small compared to his. I wanted to draw the way his tie cinched around his collar or laid against his solid chest. I wanted to measure the width of his shoulders so I could recreate them on paper, canvas or a bathroom stall.
I felt like throwing back my head and screaming at the top of my lungs, Fine, I’m attracted to him! Are you happy now?
It was yet to be determined exactly who I would be yelling at. The universe? God? Cupid? It didn’t matter. Whoever they were, they were to blame for this inconvenient attraction to one of the world’s tersest men.
Yep. Tersest.
“Are you okay?” he asked with that smooth, even voice that could not be ruffled or perturbed.
Ever so elegantly, I pulled myself from my tangled thoughts and replied, “Huh?”
“You seem tense,” he added.
Champagne forced the truth from my lips. “You make me nervous.”
His concentrated gaze found mine. “Why?”
Oh, how to answer that loaded question. I tilted my head to the side, my long hair fell over my shoulder and I confessed, “Probably because the first time we met, you told me my style was juvenile at best.”
His eyebrows drew down. “I didn’t say that.”
The truth strengthened my courage and I added, “You also said that your clientele was too wealthy for my cheap taste, and that if I ever wanted to make it in this city I was going to have to try harder.”
His eyebrows dipped further. “That doesn’t sound like something I would say.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. He looked so… affronted! “Are you serious? That sounds exactly like something you would say!” I felt myself loosen up in his arms. His hand pressed tighter against my back, drawing me closer to him. “You asked me for advice and then hated everything I had to say.”
“That’s not at all how I remember it,” he countered, referencing the first time we’d met. Vera and I had made reservations at Lilou and then waited six weeks to get in. When we finally did, Killian had given us the five-star treatment, but Ezra had stopped by our table for all of five minutes. Just long enough to insult me. He continued, “I distinctly remember you calling me an old man with dated taste and a tacky dinosaur of a website.”
I was positive my expression was a mirror image of his, insulted, outraged and maybe, possibly a little ashamed. “I wouldn’t say those things,” I countered. “I’m not that bold.”
His laugh was hard, bit out with the barest amount of real amusement. “Molly, every single thing about you says otherwise.”
Stepping back, I pulled my hand from his and dropped my voice. “What is that supposed to mean?”
He didn’t tolerate the space between us, lunging forward and crowding me once again. “That you’re not only bold, you’re also a snobby know-it-all.”
My chin trembled once, betraying me. I took another step back and willed my spine to straighten and my nerves to steady. It wasn’t that his insult had wounded me so severely or that I really cared all that much what Ezra thought of me. But I had never been great at conflict. Actually, I was kind of the worst at it.
Regardless of how right I felt or how zingy my insults were, the few confrontations I’d braved in my life had always ended in tears—my tears.
It had been an issue all my life. Oh, how I desperately wanted to be tough, to stand up for myself with steely grit and relentless mettle. I would watch movies about girl fighters or women overcoming immense odds, and would pep-talk myself into believing I could be one of them. I would practice imaginary conversations in the shower, coming up with the best comebacks.
But then something like this would happen and instead of evolving into the empowered, tenacious, take-on-the-world boss-bitch I knew that I was, this wimpy, pathetic version of myself would emerge instead.
The tears were just the icing on the tragic cake.
“You don’t know me,” I whispered, not caring if he could hear me or not over the loud music and celebrating crowd. I took another step back, anxious to flee before the tears came and Ezra lost whatever remaining shreds of respect he had for me. Feeling a punch of misplaced courage, I added, “And you don’t know the first thing about web design.”
His teeth slammed together making his jaw jump from the impact. I took two more steps backward and he didn’t follow this time. I nearly stumbled when I ran into a body behind me and when I turned around and saw that it was Vann, I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.
“Are you okay?” he asked in my ear.
“Now I am,” I told him.
Vann’s arms wrapped around me in a rare hug and he squeezed me tightly. He was the older brother I’d never had and even though we were rarely touchy with each other, I could tell his protective instincts were already on high alert.
I tried to pull back, but Vann held me close. “Seriously, are you okay, Molls?”
Nodding against his shoulder, I confessed, “Seriously, now I am.”
He absorbed my words without asking me to explain. “Want to dance?” he asked after we’d been hugging and swaying for long enough that people around us probably already assumed that’s what we were doing—even though the music wasn’t slow, and I was wrapped around him more like a boa constrictor trying to swallow him whole than a girl trying to get with him.
“Yes, please,” I told him, unable to hold back a single sniffle.
We started dancing, albeit in a subdued, careful kind of way. Vann wasn’t a big dancer and I was suddenly very tired. He smiled gently at me. “I was coming to rescue you,” he said. “You looked pissed, and I know Ezra can be an asshole.”
“He is an asshole,” I snarled. You’re a snobby know-it-all. I might have even growled.
Vann grinned. “Maybe. But it looked like you were handling yourself just fine.”
I never handled myself just fine, but I didn’t need to remind Vann of that. “Where’s your date?”
“Subject change much?” he asked me with two raised eyebrows. Still he said, “I don’t bring dates to family events. There’s too much commitment implied.”
Restraining an eye roll, I wondered if Vann would ever be ready to settle down. “We can be old maids together,” I told him. “Eventually, we’ll move to a house in the suburbs where you can have a garage full of bikes and there would be room for my thirteen cats. You do the cooking. I’ll do the laundry.”
Vann stared at me in horror before it turned into something more… perverted. “Plus, then we could get laid whenever we want.”
Bleck! Sleeping with someone I considered family was basically the grossest possible future. I made a gesture at his crotch region. “I don’t want or need any of what is happening down there. I’m positive it needs to be tested, Mr. Afraid of Commitment.”
“You’re one to talk, cat lady!”
We laughed at our lack of prospects, and then spent the next hour having a great time and drinking more champagne cocktails. Or maybe the champagne was just me?
I forgot all about Ezra and the crappy way he made me feel, and also the guilt that I knew I didn’t deserve. I hadn’t initiated anything. I’d only been defending myself. So why did slinging insults make me feel so bad?
Eventually the kitchen staff filtered out, stripped down to t-shirts and black work pants. They greeted the other industry people they knew and grabbed drinks in an effort to catch up to all the fun.
That’s really when the party really started. Wyatt grabbed me from Vann’s care and forced celebratory shots on Vera, Killian and me. Then we moved back to the dance floor and tried to groove off our buzz. Until Wyatt shouted shots again and back we went. Rinse and repeat.
Basically, it was a fabulous night of laughter, love, and so much alcohol. I even danced with Trent until he got overly touchy and started suggesting lewd ways to end the night. I pawned him off on Steph who didn’t seem to mind his grabby hands at all.
By two, the guests had mostly left, my head was light, and my blood buzzed beneath my skin. I stared down at my bare feet and wondered where my shoes had gone.
Vera’s arms wrapped around my neck from behind and she squealed, “You’re the beeeessst best friend everrrrr!!!”
“I know!”
“And this was the beeessst night everrrr!!”
I grinned like an idiot and whirled around to face her. “I know!”
“Thank you for this party,” she told me, glassy eyed but sincere. “It was so unexpected.”
Even inebriated, I knew I couldn’t take all the credit. “Wyatt and the antichrist did most of the grunt work,” I told her. “I’m just the mastermind. It’s no big deal.”
Vera giggled. “Antichrist?”
“Ezra,” I clarified.
Her forehead wrinkled as she scanned the dance floor. “Where is Ezra anyway? I should thank him too.”
“He probably had a panda to sacrifice or children to terrorize.”
Vera snorted. “A panda?”
I shrugged. “He’s just that mean.”
She shook her head at me. “Be nice, Molls. At the very least he throws a good party.”
Linking her arm in mine, she tugged me toward the side of the dance floor. “Did your dad leave?”
“Oh yeah. A long time ago. So did Vann, I think.”
“He didn’t stay long,” I said.
She yawned into her hand. “Well, he doesn’t drink or dance or eat, so there probably wasn’t a whole lot for him to do.”
“He danced with me,” I laughed. “Not well. But he did dance.”
I squinted at a table that had been all but ransacked. Stripped toothpicks lay in dry heaps like picked at bones from a battlefield surrounded by smears of wasabi aioli and Sriracha ketchup. One lone cheeseburger slider sat in the middle of a plate, abandoned.
Squatting down, I
searched for my shoes underneath the table. I lifted the tablecloth and lost my
balance, falling clumsily gracefully to my knees. “Ouch.”
Vera’s laughter taunted me from overhead. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for my shoes,” I mumbled.
“I can see your underwear,” she cackled. “Or where underwear should be.”
I made a squeaking sound and bolted upright, smoothing my lacy minidress over my bum. It was a bold choice for someone that preferred to blend into the background, but I’d felt pretty in the sheer, cut out long sleeves. Plus, it was semi-backless and I had a moment of arrogant glee, when my back hadn’t looked totally chubby in it.
But all night long, it had been a constant effort to remember not to bend over at the wrong angle or sit spread eagle in a chair. Mainly, I pretended I was in a three-legged race with myself and my ankles had been invisibly tied together.
You can see now why I ditched the shoes almost as soon as I’d stepped on the dance floor.
I spun around, using my toes like rudders, unsure of how I was going to stand up without exposing myself more. “I should have worn pants! Why didn’t I wear pants?”
Vera bent over, giggling so hard she stopped making sound.
“Help me!” I demanded. “I can’t get up without flashing all of your friends my girly bits!”
She wheezed in and out as she struggled to breathe through her laughter.
I sat back on my heels, tugging at my skirt so the angle didn’t betray me. “Fine. I’ll just sleep here. Sitting up. Don’t worry about me.”
Killian cast a shadow over me as he stepped up to his fiancée. “Molly, why are you on the floor?”
“Because she’s not wearing underwear!” Vera exclaimed.
My face flushed red, cadmium red to be exact, and I said a little prayer for a six point earthquake. I didn’t want one strong enough for like a bunch of fatalities. Just one intense enough so that the floor would open up and swallow me whole.
When that didn’t happen, I calmly explained to Killian, “I’m wearing underwear.”
He blinked at me. “I believe you.”
Vera only laughed harder.
Wyatt stepped to Killian’s side, followed by a few of the kitchen staff I knew. “Why are you on the floor?” he asked.
Now how was I supposed to get up? There were too many witnesses and I didn’t have the kind of street cred I needed for a crotch shot!
I wasn’t even cool enough for a nip slip at this point.
Although why my alcohol-soaked brain thought those were markers of celebrity right now was beyond my very limited grasp.
“I’ve decided to live here,” I told Wyatt. Patting the ground next to me, I added, “This is my new home.”
Vera leaned heavily on Killian and explained, “She’s stuck.”
I let out a huff that tossed my bangs in the air. At least she hadn’t brought up my underwear again.
A hand stretched out in front of me. I looked up at Ezra’s disappointed expression and cringed. “So by all means just stare at her,” he deadpanned.
My cheeks flamed a brighter red. But I wasn’t the only one sporting a fierce blush after his admonishment.
I put my hand in his just to make this moment end, and he tugged me to standing. To be honest, it wasn’t my most graceful rise from the ashes moment, but I was happy to be on my bare feet once again.
Pulling my hand from Ezra’s as soon as I could—ignoring the heat, strength and perfection of his hand completely—I forced myself to mumble a quick, “Thank you.”
He raised his stupid
eyebrows. “How did you end up on the floor?”
“I was looking for my shoes.”
Without flinching or acknowledging the weirdness of his words, he said, “I put them in my office so they wouldn’t get lost.”
Raising my chin to keep from dropping my mouth open, I accepted his words with my very best poker face.
Vera was less smooth. “That was so nice of you, Ezra! You are the nicest ever! Molly, wasn’t Ezra so nice to do that for you?”
Killian and I stared at Vera in horror. I called Ezra Killian’s BFF, but only because there wasn’t an easier way to explain their relationship. From everything that Vera had told me, things were always strained between the two. She said the bromance was of the die-for-you variety, but neither of them really liked the other one.
Vera and I were also a Bryan Adam’s song. But we were all about the love.
“You don’t have to answer that, Molly,” Killian offered. “My drunk girlfriend doesn’t know what she’s asking you.”
Ezra shot Killian a murderous look and I heard myself snort a laugh. “I think after tonight she’s officially your drunk fiancée,” I told him, ignoring the Ezra bunny trail altogether. “But she’s definitely drunk. You should probably get her home before she starts singing.”
“Singing?” Wyatt asked.
“When Vera drinks too much she starts acting like she’s in a musical. She starts singing everything.”
Killian nodded somberly. “It’s true. And terrifying.”
Wyatt barked a laugh. “I’d like to see that.”
This time the murderous glare came from Killian. “That’s all right. I’ll get her home before we get to that part.”
It was my turn to cackle. “He’s only saying that because after the singing comes the stripping!”
Wyatt tossed his head back, his whole body shaking from laughter. Killian put his arm around Vera just in case she jumped the gun. “Thank you all for a fantastic night,” he said sincerely. “You guys are the best.”
I grinned with pride, but before I could say anything, Vera belted out a loud, sing-songy, “Thank youuuuuuu!”
Killian shook his head at her, but his expression was complete adoration. “And that’s our cue to leave.”
“Mine too.” I hid a yawn behind my hand. “Although I should help you guys clean up.”
“Don’t let him make you,” Killian warned. “He has people for that.”
“Yeah, people like me,” Wyatt grumbled.
Ezra looked at him. “Since when have I made you clean up front of house?”
Wyatt swiped his hand over his mouth and I suspected it was to hide a smile. “Tonight?”
Ezra made an exasperated face. “No, not tonight. Killian’s right. I do pay people for this.” He placed his hands on his hips and looked around at the mess. “Although I suspect they’re going to charge me double this time.”
Killian made a sound. “At least.”
I shuffled over to the table I’d just been peering under, horrified that Ezra was going to have to put more money into this party that was all my idea. “I don’t mind helping. Really.”
Wyatt beat me to it, clearing the plates. “Don’t touch those,” he ordered. “They’re mine.”
I let him stack serving dishes and gather cutlery, waiting for the linens I had no idea what to do with. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Molls!” Vera shouted behind me.
“Not till after lunch,” I called back. Watching Killian guide Vera out of the restaurant did something funny to my insides. My heart swelled at the same time my stomach wobbled and pitched.
Vera was so comfortable with Killian. In a way I had never seen her before. I hadn’t gotten to know Derrek very well while she’d dated him, but the little bits I had seen were unsettling and worrisome. With Killian, she was herself. She laughed loudly and smiled all the time, she was obsessive over her craft and their restaurant, and honest with her weird sense of humor. She didn’t put up with Killian’s shit, but in this totally adorably infatuated way gave it right back. She was in love—totally, completely, healthily in love.
And I hated that I was jealous of her.
Dancing with Trent tonight had reinforced my staying single policy. He’d been obnoxiously over the top in his efforts to seduce me and yet I found all of them tacky and easy to decline. It had been nice of Steph to think of me, but I was over being the single friend everybody wanted to set up.
Next time somebody came at me with a blind date, I was going to point them in the direction of Wyatt or Vann. They were just as single as me.
Hopefully.
At least I liked to think they were.