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caring boyfriend vs. the prep school boys who fucked and abandoned her. She constantly made biting jokes about how we were never going to last, not when I planned to stop seeing my father and she was right.
    I should’ve expected that she would swoop in and steal him. Just in case . Just in case she ran into me on the street and could flash her ring in my face, saying, you won’t ever guess who I’m married to.
    “But enough about us,” Suzanne says, patting Justin’s chest. “You were about to tell me about your boyfriend.”
    I wasn’t. I was about to update her on my happily single status. There’s no good men in Baltimore, you know, they’re all down in DC. But I can’t let her win. I’ve been unwillingly roped into her dog and pony show. She’s shown me hers, now I have to show her mine or risk the faux-sympathetic pout, the patronizing pat on the shoulder, and the married girl spiel: “You’ll find someone one day”.
    Neal glides out of the kitchen, ducking his head as he weaves through the crowd, a fresh bottle of beer in hand. He’s stopped by a group of blue-haired ladies, all of them instantly smitten, wrinkled fingers grabbing his shoulders, his arms, his cheeks.
    “He’s right over there, actually,” I say, pointing him out.
    Suzanne straightens her shoulders. “The one in the navy suit?”
    I grin. “Yeah. Let me run and get him.”
    Suzanne pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, securing her mouth from dropping open in surprise. Take that, bitch.
    The giggling gaggle of women grow louder as I make my way over to Neal.
    “You must be thinking about settling down,” one of the women says.
    “I have a granddaughter who I’m sure you would love,” says another.
    Neal easily sucks up their attention with a straw, nodding graciously and spitting out the answers they want to hear. “Only if your granddaughter is as beautiful as you.”
    Our eyes lock across the heads of the women and his eyes widen. Please save me. I gently push my way through their circle and grab his wrist. Rising on my toes, I press a kiss to his lips. I can feel the wave of disappointment crashing through the women around me, their arms crossing over their chests, lips growing tight as they watch us with disapproving eyes.
    “Kissing at a repass,” one of them says, “how very disrespectful.”
    I would laugh if Neal’s mouth wasn’t on mine, my fingers pressing into the muscle of his bicep, his arm swinging around my waist. The kiss is supposed to be quick. A gentle peck on the lips - one, two, three seconds, no longer - but Neal tilts his head and deepens our kiss.
    My head’s swimming when I pull away, that slow grin spreading across his mouth. In his ear, I whisper, “Play along. Please.”
    He smiles. “Alright.”
    How lucky am I? To have found the one man in this entire building willing to play a game of charades with a stranger. A kissing stranger. A handsy stranger. One who laces our fingers together, his palm warm against mine, as I lead him over to Suzanne and Justin.
    The newlyweds stand uncomfortably together, a new glass of champagne in Suzanne’s hands, Justin awkwardly glancing over my shoulder, surveying Neal as we get closer. I can hear the alarmed words springing up in the forefront of his mind: Shit, why couldn’t he be ugly?
    “Neal,” I say leaning into him, one hand on his chest, the other locked in his. “I want you to meet my friends, Suzanne and Justin. The Meraux’s.”
    Suzanne plasters on a beauty pageant smile and sticks out her hand. “Well, well, well,” she says with a laugh. “You’ve certainly done well for yourself.” She’s talking to me but staring at Neal, struck by the bright color of his blue eyes and the sharp line of his jaw.
    “Not better than me,” Neal says, quickly shaking Suzanne’s hand. He removes his fingers from mine and for a split second, my hand feels freezing cold. He throws an arm around my waist instead.
    Suzanne makes a noise in the back of