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dinosaur, you idiot.”
    Rochelle grimaced with distaste. “Pulaski hasn’t changed one bit, has he?”
    “Nope.” I took a sip of champagne. “Not one iota.”
    “Fucking prick. And his voice!” Rochelle barely contained a shudder. “Christ, he sounds like an old Italian frog passing gas.”
    A bubble of laughter escaped me. “He does, doesn’t he?”
    “You know what?” Rochelle said dryly. “We should rate the men, too.”
    “We should,” I agreed, my voice matching hers for dryness. “Let’s start with Pulaski.” I let my critical gaze rest on his outfit, taking in his dress shirt that was buttoned all the way up his neck, even with the top button done up, and he wasn’t wearing a tie.
    “A dress shirt fully buttoned but without a tie.” Rochelle made the same observation. “He looks uncomfortable and ridiculous, if you ask me.”
    “It does frame his chin perfectly, though,” I said wryly.
    “Obviously, he’s going for the street wear hipster vibe, but that isn’t even a sixties mod shirt. It’s an ugly-ass dress shirt. Ugh, no.” Rochelle shook her head. “Just— no . He looks like an Iranian government official.”
    I bit back a laugh. “I was thinking more along the lines of a portly Saddam.”
    “Mm. Do you think we’re being too kind?” Rochelle asked and then promptly answered her own question. “I think we’re being too kind. So I’ll go ahead and just say it. He looks like a fucking primate. I mean, we all sprang from apes, but clearly, Tim didn’t spring far enough.”
    I let a smile curve my lips before raising my glass and sipping the sparkling liquid. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, Rochelle.”
    “And you know what I find absurd?” She went on. “Tim Pulaski. With his liver lips and a face that could use a lot of plastic surgery—like witness protection amounts of plastic surgery—he rates us , but he doesn’t seem to take into account his own attractiveness and personality.”
    “ Girl, preach .” I almost hugged Rochelle for giving voice to the thoughts in my head.
    “Tim just needs to go play a nice game of hide and go fuck himself.” Rochelle flashed me a smile, clinking her glass against mine.
    Toasting to that, I drained my glass in one gulp. “I’d tell him to go fuck himself, but I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”
    “True.” Rochelle nodded thoughtfully. “He just needs to go squat in a cactus patch.”
    Meanwhile, things were getting even louder at Tim’s table, and the men were still rating women using the binary scale.
    A chill danced down my spine when I heard my own name thrown into the mix. “Sadie’s a ten in that dress,” someone commented.
    “In that dress?” Tim snorted. “That bitch is definitely asking for it.”
    “Get the fuck outta here! Pulaski again?” Rochelle glared in his direction. “Who the fuck let him out of douche prison?”
    Squaring my shoulder blades, I sent Tim a death stare. If looks could kill, he’d be in a body bag. I wasn’t going to apologize for having a female body and dressing to that.
    A muscle ticked in Tim’s jaw and he kept his gaze averted from me.
    Coward.
    At some point, the DJ started playing Shake It Off, and Rochelle nudged me in the ribs, as if chiding me to quit standing around. “C’mon,” she said, catching my arm when she realized I wasn’t budging. “Let’s get it turn’t up in here.”
    Clearly, Rochelle had teenage kids, and just hearing a grown-ass woman say turn’t up made my heart light up with humor. Laughing, I allowed myself to be led onto the floor where I proceeded to shake my ass off, dancing like nobody was watching.
    Only someone was watching. The entire time, I was aware of Julian’s presence across the room, drawing my attention like a moth to a flame.
    Whenever I snuck a glance at him, it seemed he was looking at me, his hot stare following me, as palpable as a warm caress.
    “Who are you looking at?” Rochelle demanded. There was a twinkle of amusement in