Читать книгу Cutting Loose - Kristin Hardy - Страница 9

Los Angeles, Present

“SO THIS is your favorite sex fantasy, jeans and a T-shirt? All this time, I never knew you were acting out your dreams at the Supper Club meetings.” Cilla looked out the door of her ’30s Brentwood bungalow, an impish look on her triangular vixen’s face as she stared at Trish and her casual clothes.

“You guys always turn me on so much,” Trish said, walking through the door.

“I’ll bet. You do realize you’re going to have to change, right? Remember? ‘Dress like your favorite sex fantasy?’”

“‘To see my fantasy become reality.’ Yep, I read the invitation, too.”

“Sabrina’s serious about her costume parties.”

“Right. Well, just now my favorite sex fantasy involves a bath and a foot massage,” Trish sighed, setting her purse down on the hall table. Working for her sister Amber, at her home concierge company, doing errands for a living, was exhausting. “I am beat. Anyway, you’re one to talk.” She gestured at Cilla’s plum-colored Michael Kors business suit. “Where’s your costume?”

“I just got home. The big Danforth’s couture show is tomorrow, so of course everything went wrong all day long.”

“Rodeo Drive retail. It’s a rough life you live,” she said with false sympathy as Cilla stuck out her tongue. “So is it all taken care of now?”

“I think so. We’ve got someone to pick up the designer when she flies in, so I’m off the hook for the night. And I do have a costume for the party, I’ll have you know. I’m going as a naughty nurse,” Cilla said, flipping back the neckline of her blouse to flash her the black lace of her bra.

Trish fanned herself laughingly. “You keep that up, you’ll give your patients heart failure.”

“Oh, but what a nice way for them to go,” Cilla grinned. “So I’m set, but we’ve got to do something about you.” Suddenly her eyes brightened in a way Trish didn’t entirely trust. “You know, it’s only seven-thirty,” she said casually. “We’ve got buckets of time. Let’s get a drink and we can fix you right up.”

Trish flopped down in one of the overstuffed chairs as Cilla walked to the kitchen. “It’s been a long day. I’m as fixed up as I need to be.”

Cilla popped her head out of the kitchen doorway. “If you go like this, you’ll feel totally uncomfortable and be convincing yourself to leave half an hour after you get there.” She ducked back into the kitchen.

Trish raised her voice. “I’ll be ready to leave after half an hour anyway. You know how much I love parties. Right up there next to root canals.”

“So don’t think of it as a party. Think of it as a Sex & Supper Club meeting with a few extra people there. Come on. Just this once, trust me.” Cilla walked out, carrying fizzing glasses of something pale. “I’ll make you look so gorgeous you’ll be the toast of the evening. Now what happened with the hunky carpenter you were talking to when I called you this afternoon?”

Trish shrugged. “He finished the job and left. They usually do.”

“That’s all? You didn’t talk with him?”

“Of course I talked with him. I had to get him to sign the paperwork, didn’t I?”

Cilla blinked. “You spend half a day in a house alone with a gorgeous man and you don’t even flirt with him? Trish, Trish, Trish, what are we going to do with you?” She clicked her tongue in disappointment.

“The client could have walked in. Besides, he’s a contractor we use regularly. If I’d joked back with him, he might have gone ahead and asked me out.” Trish said, and took a sip of her drink. Ginger ale.

“So? He might have been a nice guy.”

Trish swirled her drink around. “Yeah, but if we went out, I’d have to talk with him, and then I’d be all stressed over saying something clever so of course I wouldn’t be able to think of a single thing, and then I’d be worried about the silence and then I’d be worried that he would be thinking I was a boring goob and wondering how to end the evening as soon as possible. And there’s the whole kissing thing at the end of the night, and I’m starting to think I’m just not cut out for it.” She took a drink. “And if we hit it off, it would be worse. I’d spend way too much money on haircuts and new underwear and then he’d break up with me and I’d have to work with him later. It’s just not worth all the hassle.” Trish looked up at Cilla, who was suppressing a smile. “What?”

“That’s efficient. You got all the way through the entire relationship without even leaving the room, let alone talking to the guy. Look at all the money and time you saved.”

Trish flushed. “Look, it’s just more than I want to mess with right now.”

“It doesn’t have to be that hard,” Cilla pointed out. “He might have been a really funny guy and all you’d have had to do was sit there and laugh.” She leaned in toward Trish. “Who knows, you might even have had fun. Look, do me a favor.”

“What?” Trish gave her a suspicious look.

“Forget about all that stuff. Come to the party and just relax. The gang will be there so you don’t have to worry about talking to guys all alone. Besides, I’ll get you fixed up so they’ll talk to you no matter what. Consider it an experiment.” She rose, slender and leggy in her short skirt. “You might even have a good time.”

Trish eyed Cilla skeptically and followed her as she headed down the hall. “You’re not going to turn into my sister and start telling me it’s all about appearance, are you?”

“That’s just Amber’s excuse for making you do all the grunt work while she stays in the office filing her nails.”

“It’s her company,” Trish said simply. “Besides, she’s better at the sales end. Amber likes dressing up every day, I’m happy in jeans. Someone’s got to show the right image to the outside world.”

“Gee, can’t imagine who said that.” Cilla’s voice was wry. “You know, if you just ditched the T-shirt and jeans and spruced yourself up a little, people would be so busy staring at you, no one would give Amber a second glance.”

Trish flicked her gaze to the ceiling. “I don’t want people staring at me, thanks, and I like wearing a T-shirt and jeans.”

“And they like you,” Cilla said smoothly. “But at a party? You’ll feel more comfortable if you’re looking your best.”

“Come on, Cilla, a little makeup isn’t going to change things.”

“Mmm. I had in mind something a little more radical,” Cilla stated, walking into her bedroom and pulling open the closet door.

“If you think I’m going to be able to fit into anything of yours, you’re dreaming,” Trish said, coming in after her. “I’m three sizes larger than you are.”

“Give me a break.” Cilla grabbed a handful of the cloth at Trish’s waist. “You could take these jeans off without ever unbuttoning them. Why are you still buying clothes for someone you were ten years ago?”

“They’re comfortable,” Trish muttered.

“So’s being naked, but I don’t see you walking around like that.”

“This is ridiculous.”

Cilla pulled out garments at random, humming to herself. “Humor me.”

Trish tried again. “Cilla, no one’s going to care whether I’m in costume or not.

Cilla turned to her and smiled. “Trust me. They will when I get through with you.”

“LET ME SEE.”

“Stay still.”

“I just want to make sure you’re not going overboard.”

“I’m not.”

“I don’t believe you,” Trish said, trying unsuccessfully to rise from her perch on the toilet seat.

“You’ll see when I’m done. Now sit,” Cilla ordered, pushing her back down. She brandished the mascara wand. “Look toward the ceiling and try to keep your eyes open wide.”

“That’s the third coat of mascara you’ve put on,” Trish pointed out. Makeovers exasperated her. Good, bad or ugly, she was who she was, and all shining-up her act was going to do was make her expect things that were never going to happen.

Yeah, she’d learned that the hard way.

Trish reached out for the hand mirror on the counter but Cilla fixed her with a look. “You take one peek and I’m not giving your jeans back. Ever.”

“Come on, Cilla, I’m feeling like your personal Frankenstein monster, here. I can put on my own lipstick.”

“Uh-uh.” Cilla came back from her makeup drawer with a lipstick the color of ripe cherries. “I want you to get the full impact.”

The full impact was what Trish was worried about as she worked to keep her mouth still under the tickle of Cilla’s lipstick brush. Simple, low-key and in the background, that was the way she liked it.

Cilla finished and set the lip color down, then she stepped back with her hands on her hips and studied her friend. “Now that’s a sight to see,” she said in satisfaction, and then laughed. “That was the most scared I’ve seen you look since that time we ordered a male stripper for your birthday.”

“Just tell me I don’t look like Tammy Faye.”

“You don’t look like Tammy Faye,” Cilla assured her. “Okay, upsy daisy, but don’t look at the mirror in here.” She covered Trish’s eyes until they got into the bedroom. “I want you to get the total effect all at once.”

“I’ll get the total effect if I trip and break my neck.”

“Almost there, almost there…okay, you’re in front of the mirror. Are you ready?”

Despite herself, Trish felt a little tingle of anticipation. “So show me.”

“Ta-da,” Cilla sang and dropped her hands.

For a moment, all Trish could do was stare. And a gorgeous stranger in the mirror stared back at her. The other “her” stood with a silky waterfall of absolutely smooth red-gold hair flowing to her waist and a mouth as tempting as chocolate. The features that had always seemed too delicate in comparison to her sister’s sun-tossed California blond looks were suddenly vivid and underscored with some special importance. Expert makeup played up the hollows in her cheeks and rendered her slate-gray eyes dark and somehow mysterious. “Wow.” She raised her hands to the soft strands of her hair. “Wow,” she said again.

“Do you like it?”

“I’m…wow, Cilla, really. I’m amazed.” With a little surge of excitement, Trish turned to and fro to get the full effect. And, she had to admit, in the outfit she wore, it was some effect indeed. The evening required a bold statement, Cilla had decreed. Digging in her closet, she’d come up with her best studded-leather dominatrix look. To Trish’s amazement, she’d actually been able to zip it up, although taking a deep breath made her breasts swell upward alarmingly. The leather bustier molded her waist, the skirt fit her like a second skin. Fishnet tights and high-heeled red ankle boots completed the ensemble. It might have been couture, but it looked like something out of an S&M club.

And it looked really fabulous.

Still, she wasn’t sure she was such a good judge of party wear. “Are you sure this isn’t a little over the top?”

“Are you kidding? At a do like this?” Cilla sniffed. “You’ll be tame. Too bad we couldn’t get you a whip,” she added thoughtfully. “It would add that little extra touch.”

“For that ‘you’ve been a bad boy lately’ look?”

“Like I said, you never know. You might enjoy it.”

Trish rolled her eyes. “Hardly. Although it feels like the person I’m dressed up as would.” She turned to inspect herself from behind.

“That’s the fun part, isn’t it?” Cilla said cheerfully, slipping into her nurse’s costume. “Haven’t you ever wanted to do that, be someone else just for a night?”

Trish’s standard answer was that who she was would have to do. If she wasn’t one-hundred-percent thrilled with life, that was only to be expected. She’d shed the crazy expectations of being a siren, of having men tumble at her feet, of finding true love with Mr. Right. She just wasn’t built for it. Her friends could tell her she was a hopeless romantic all they liked. Wanting love and believing that it had any place in her life were two very different things.

For one night, though, maybe it could be different. Maybe for this night she could be someone else, see how the other half lived.

Slowly the corners of her mouth curved up into a smile and she vamped in the mirror. “Be someone else, li’l ol’ me?”

“Why not?” Cilla slicked her dark-gold hair back behind her ears and hung a stethoscope around her neck. “In this getup, you could have yourself a time. What do you think?”

Trish grinned at her reflection. “I think we’d better get to the party.”

FORTY MINUTES LATER, as they stood outside Sabrina’s house, the notion seemed altogether less brilliant. Sabrina lived in Venice, a small neighborhood south of Santa Monica. An ambitious developer in the thirties had built a neighborhood of houses along a series of narrow, criss-crossing canals dug into the California soil. Now, newly dredged and fashionable, the neighborhood held echoes of the real Venice or Amsterdam, with its small arched bridges and houses next to the water.

It definitely didn’t go with dominatrix-wear. “I can’t believe I thought this was a good idea,” Trish murmured, pulling futilely at her skirt as they made their way up the walkway to Sabrina’s house. It was one thing to be wearing the outfit in Cilla’s bedroom; it was another to wear it in public. Not even the silk duster she’d thrown over the top helped.

“Stop picking at your clothes,” Cilla scolded.

“It’s too tight.”

“It’s Gaultier. It’s supposed to fit like that.”

“How come I’ve never seen you in it, then?”

Cilla shrugged and twirled her stethoscope playfully. “You know couture. You can get away with wearing it once, but that’s about it.”

“So this is my one big chance?”

“Make the most of it,” Cilla advised, then groped in her candy-colored Louis Vuitton Murakami bag as her cell phone burbled for attention. “Hello?”

Trish walked a few steps away, adjusting her bustier. Okay, so maybe she felt like the lead actress in some 1960s French sex farce. She just needed to get into character. It wouldn’t be her walking into the party, it would be her alter ego, the one who loved being outrageous and living at the center of the whirlwind. It would be okay.

“You have got to be kidding,” Cilla burst out from behind her. “What happened to the escort? On second thought, I don’t care. Send her a limo. I’ve got a party to go to.” Cilla paced a few steps, tension vibrating in every line of her body. “All right, all right, fine,” she said shortly. “I’m in Venice. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” She ended the call and cursed viciously.

Trish stared. “What was that about?”

Cilla turned to face her. “Apparently our designer for the couture show tomorrow isn’t satisfied with our events coordinator picking her up at the airport and taking her to dinner. She’s insisting that I do it.”

“Why you?”

Cilla blew out a breath of frustration. “We’ve met once or twice at her shows.”

“Not to mention the fact that your family owns Danforth’s and the entire Forth’s chain and has more money than God.”

“Please.” Cilla rolled her eyes. “The show coordinator says she’s threatening to walk. I don’t really have a choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve got to go get her.”

“But…but what about the party?” Trish asked with a spurt of panic. “I thought we were going together.”

“I have to do it,” Cilla said apologetically. “It’s only for a little while. If necessary I’ll haul her back here—there is no way I’m missing Sabrina’s documentary.”

“Maybe I can go with you,” Trish tried, despising the tone in her voice.

Cilla shook her head and buttoned up her coat to hide most of her costume. “I can only imagine the fit she’d have if you show up in Gaultier. Prima donna doesn’t begin to cover it. Besides, someone has to tell Sabrina. Hey, you look fabulous.” She gave Trish a quick hug. “Go in and find the rest of the gang. You’ll be fine.”

Trish watched Cilla hurry off to her car and she glanced down the alley to the canal bridge glimmering at the end. If she could only snap her fingers and be back in her nice, quiet apartment for the night. She’d light some candles, pour a glass of wine, and maybe watch a movie or work on the screenplay she was writing.

Instead, shyness was going to smother her in rooms full of strangers, while she tried to look as though she had something more to do than go to the bathroom again and again because it was a place to hide for a few minutes. Home, even if she had to walk, sounded infinitely more appealing.

But Sabrina was expecting her. More to the point, Sabrina was expecting them, and Trish really ought to go explain.

And one way or another, she had to find a ride home or at least get a taxi.

All the good reasons in the world didn’t mask the fact that walking through Sabrina’s door was about the least appetizing prospect she could imagine. If she’d been in her normal clothes, it would have been bad enough, but going inside all alone, wearing the most revealing outfit she’d ever worn in her life? Looking at it from above, the bustier was outrageously low-cut. Her breasts billowed up out of it like newly risen bread. Cilla couldn’t expect her to do this, Trish thought desperately. What if she were the only person in costume? What if she looked as ridiculous as she felt? The memory of the Trish she’d seen in Cilla’s mirror receded to a pinpoint and the Trish in the now just stood on the porch and swallowed, feeling miserably conspicuous.

Sabrina, she reminded herself. This was Sabrina’s special night and she wanted her friends there to celebrate with her. It wasn’t about Trish, it was about Sabrina.

It was about being a good friend.

“Oh, don’t be such a wuss,” Trish muttered to herself. No one was going to care what she looked like. They’d probably all be too busy worrying about themselves. Besides, odds were she’d never even see most of these people again. “Just do it,” she told herself fiercely.

And rang the bell.

When the door opened, though, it wasn’t Sabrina there. It was a sandy-haired boy who looked no more than sixteen or seventeen, the top of his head approximately at her eye level.

She couldn’t possibly in her panic have walked up to the wrong door, Trish thought wildly. Please, God, let her be at the right house.

“Wow,” he said appreciatively. “I guess you’re here for the party. My name’s Lee. Wanna run away and elope?”

Despite herself, she laughed. He looked barely old enough to drive, let alone put the moves on her. “Give me a minute or two to get the prenup in order.”

“Fair enough. Come on in and we can discuss it.” He stepped back and swung the door wide.

Sabrina’s living room surged with activity. A woman in neck-to-ankle red latex was tangoing with a man wearing a dog collar. A Wild-West saloon girl leaned over a shirtless construction worker sprawled on a couch. There were hookers, police officers, Catholic schoolgirls, sheiks, a pizza-delivery boy, and even what Trish assumed was a Marquis de Sade in a pale-blue frock coat and wig.

“Let me take your coat,” Lee said, whisking it off her before she could protest.

And then she stood in front of the room in just her outfit.

One head after another turned to look at Trish. She stifled the urge to flee. Maybe a seam had split, she speculated, feeling her face heat. Maybe one of her breasts had popped out entirely. It would be just her luck. Or maybe her outfit was just too much, period. Granted, most people were in costume, but she hadn’t really seen anyone in quite as outrageous a getup as hers. Then, across the room, she saw a sleek, exotic-looking woman dressed in eye-popping leather.

With a start, Trish realized it was her reflection, thrown back at her from an ornate mirror hanging on the wall.

Giddiness rushed through her. Sabrina’s guests weren’t staring because she looked ridiculous, they were staring because she looked good. Gaping wouldn’t do, and yet Trish wanted nothing more than to rush over to the looking glass and drink it all in, gawk at her image until she could convince herself that it was really her. For tonight, anyway.

But oh, what a night it would be.

Sabrina’s home was built vertically, the rooms rising around a central atrium, each side offset half a story from the other so that the rooms stairstepped up from one another. Trish glanced up and found her gaze snagged by that of the Marquis de Sade, who leaned carelessly on the waist-high barrier of the open loft overlooking the living room. Thin leather strips dangled from the ebony handle of his flail. An ornate silver mask covered his face from the hairline of his white-powdered wig to below his nose. Trish could see only his mouth, defined by the clean lines of a modified Vandyke. And she could see his eyes, looking out through the holes in the mask.

Staring directly at her.

Trish glanced to either side to see if he was looking at someone else, and then back up to find his gaze still pinned to hers. Something skittered through her veins. The thing was not to get embarrassed. She looked good, she knew it. Better than good. Maybe that was why he was staring, or maybe he was admiring her outfit. Maybe he was into Gaultier. Perhaps, she thought with a smile, he thought he was looking at a kindred spirit.

Lee the doorman nudged her. “So, can I get you a drink?”

“What?” Trish blinked, dragging her gaze away from the Marquis. “Um, actually I should probably find Sabrina first.”

“My cousin? I saw her a couple minutes ago. I’ll show you.”

“Are you even old enough to be at a party like this?” Trish asked, squinting at him.

“Are you kidding?” He gave her an affronted look. “I’m at UCLA. I’m almost nineteen.”

It wouldn’t do to smile. “Oops, my mistake.”

“I can think of one or two ways you can make it up to me.”

She gave a startled laugh. “Sorry, cradle-robbing is not my thing.”

“Once you try it, baby, you’ll never go back.” He gave her what was probably meant to be a roguish wink, although he had to narrow both eyes a bit to do it.

“I’ll let you know if I change my mind,” Trish promised, struggling to keep a straight face. She tensed, though, when he started toward the staircase that zigzagged its way up the side of the atrium. Toward the Marquis. “Where are you going?”

Lee glanced back at her. “You wanted to go to Sabrina. She’s up on the roof with some friends, I think.”

The Marquis watched her walk across the room. And he wasn’t the only one, she realized uncomfortably, catching a head or two turning out of the corner of her eye. She glanced again at her image in the mirror across the room. That’s who you are tonight, she reminded herself and laughed. Work it. A cowboy with his shirt unbuttoned to his navel winked at her and hefted the lariat he held. “I’ve been really bad, mistress. Want to tie me up and teach me a lesson?”

Trish gave him a mock severe look. “It’ll take more than just rope to teach you a proper lesson.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Lee led her up the risers of the stairs. She could feel the gaze of the Marquis on her. Being watched like that added an exaggerated level of self-awareness to her every move. She climbed the stairs, knowing he was studying her. She pushed back the spill of her hair, knowing he would see. Then the plaster bulk of the next flight of stairs crossed between them, blocking her view of the Marquis, at least until she nearly reached the landing.

Anticipation had her wondering what it would be like to see him up close. Then suddenly she was stepping onto the landing at the level of the loft, practically close enough to reach out and touch him. A current of air whispered over her bare shoulders and brought out goose bumps on her skin. She swore she saw his eyes darken. He stared at her, running his fingers slowly through the knotted thongs of his flail.

It suddenly seemed outrageously erotic.

Their gazes locked with the snapping jolt of static electricity. Her footsteps slowed. Something about the fact that the mask obscured most of his face focused her attention on the lean line of his jaw and the hint of a cleft in his chin. As though he knew what she was looking at, one corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. He brought two fingertips to his lips and blew her a mocking kiss.

Trish flushed and started up the next flight of stairs.

And finally she was at roof level and stepping out into the cool night air. A small knot of people stood at the far end, looking out at the lights of the city. A glance at them calmed the nerves that danced in her belly, because she knew these people almost as well as she knew herself.

The laughing woman with the cap of dark hair was Sabrina, and at her side her lover, Stef. Irrepressible Kelly waved her hand around as she told a story with the help of her boyfriend Kev, who, as usual, looked as if he’d been hacking at his hair with garden shears. Delaney, still the corn silk blonde, hooted. Maybe the generic-looking man at her side was her date, Trish speculated. Or maybe not. More likely he was there with cool, self-possessed Paige. He had that innocuous, trust-fund-preppie look that most of her men seemed to have.

They might all be older and wiser, but the Sex & Supper Club was still together, and just as close as they’d ever been. She would have walked through fire for any one of them.

After all, she’d walked into the party alone, hadn’t she?

Sabrina swung toward them in the dimness. “Hey, Elliot, who’s your friend?” she asked casually.

Trish gave Lee a sidelong glance. “Elliot?”

He blushed. “My friends call me Lee.”

“Oh my God, it’s Trish!” Kelly yelped, suddenly breaking away from the group and rushing over to Trish. “I didn’t recognize you. You look amazing.”

In an instant, Trish was surrounded. “Look at your hair,” Delaney said, running her fingers through the silky strands. “You look like something out of a Vogue spread.”

Trish couldn’t stop the grin. “Cilla did it. You know her, just some old rag from her closet.”

“Yeah, an old rag that cost about as much as a small car. So who knew you were a size three?” Kelly marveled.

“Size five, Cilla says,” Trish corrected in embarrassment.

“Like that’s any more real than a three,” Kelly said unconcernedly. “Where is Cilla, anyway?”

“She had to go take care of something for her fashion show tomorrow. She said she’ll be here in a couple of hours. Where’s Thea?”

“She’s got the flu, poor baby,” Sabrina contributed. “Called me sounding like a seal. Not feeling her friskiest.” She gave Trish a mischievous look. “So, the real Trish at last?”

Trish grinned. “It’s not the real Trish, it’s my alter ego.”

Kelly snorted. “Are you kidding? You could look this good all the time.”

“Oh, yeah. I can just imagine how thrilled my sister would be if I showed up at the office for my list of errands and things wearing leather and studs.”

“Seriously, though,” Kelly persisted. “Forget the leather. With very little effort you could look amazing enough to have men eating out of your hands.”

She wasn’t at all sure that she wanted to be that conspicuous. “I think you’re exaggerating.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sabrina countered. “Let’s ask Elliot.”

“Lee,” Trish corrected her in an undertone.

Sabrina raised her eyebrows. “Lee?”

“Cut him some slack,” Trish murmured, “he’s trying to grow up. Everybody should be allowed to change.”

A smile stole over Sabrina’s face. “You’re right,” she said, and swung around to look at her cousin, who was talking with Stef and Kev. “Hey, Lee,” she called, “what do you think of Trish, here?”

He glanced over. “Hey, I wanted to get married. She was the one who shot me down.”

Sabrina turned back to the group. “There, see?”

Trish rolled her eyes. “He’s just a kid, Sabrina.”

“Well, we’ll just have to take a bigger poll. The casting director for Runway Dreams is here somewhere.”

Kelly raised an eyebrow. “Rob Carroll? You do run with a hot crowd.”

“He’s the Mr. L.A. right now,” Sabrina said.

“And sleeps with anything that moves,” quipped Kelly.

“Picky, picky. We’ll find another man. Shoot, my famous cousin said he’d stop by later.”

“You mean me?” Lee called over.

“No, my other superstar cousin,” Sabrina said fondly.

“You mean Ty Ramsay, box-office hero?” Kelly asked. “Wait a minute. I thought you swore you’d never let him near anyone you cared about.”

Sabrina gave a bashful look. “I shouldn’t have said that. I was just ticked because he’d played hit-and-run with a girlfriend of mine.”

“Your friends ought to know better. You’ve warned us often enough,” Paige pointed out.

“He’s actually a pretty cool guy as long as you’re not dating him,” Sabrina said. “His problem is that he’s just a terminal romantic with ADD.”

“You know, I saw him interviewed one time about Megan Barnes back when they were engaged,” Delaney said. “The way he talked about her was really sweet. He seemed totally sincere.”

“He is totally sincere,” Sabrina said, “fatally so, at least at the time. It’s just a month or so later when the buzz wears off and he comes back down to earth that’s the problem.”

“Okay, well, who else have you got?” Kelly demanded.

“There’s Kyle Franklin. He’s—”

“In the interest of the brotherhood, I’ve got to break this up,” interrupted Kev, walking up behind Kelly to slide his hands around her waist. “Lay off the poor guys. We can’t all have flawless taste and judgment.” He kissed her ear and Kelly gave a goofy smile.

“But give us credit,” Stef said, coming up beside Sabrina to tangle his fingers in hers. “We usually figure it out.”

“That you do,” Sabrina said, beaming at him.

“Don’t you guys start doing that cute couple thing,” Delaney warned, turning to include Paige and her date, as well, who weren’t even remotely doing cute. “You’re not going to win me over. Some of us are just fine and dandy being single. In fact, some of us like it.” She linked arms with Trish and gave a naughty grin. “Now if you’ll excuse us bachelorettes, we’re going downstairs to play the field.”