stool rolls her shoulders and preens in his direction, but he ignores her until she gives up and turns back to her friend.
My former classmate examines Shane’s appearance. His charmingly disheveled hair gleams almost blond in the overhead bar light. He wears a similar getup as last night, but with a different flannel shirt over a different T-shirt.
Jolene turns back to me. “So you work for a logging company?”
I pretend not to get her joke. “Radio station. He’s a DJ at WMMP, where I’m the head of marketing.”
Her bleary drunken look is replaced by a sly grin. “Introduce me.”
“I thought you were engaged.”
“And this is my bachelorette party. I’m entitled.” With a deliberate gesture, she twists her engagement ring to face her palm.
“I think he has a girlfriend.”
“Is she here?”
The thought of Regina hanging out at the hopelessly bourgeois Smoking Pig makes me smile. “I doubt it.”
“Neither is my fiance. How conveeeeenient.”
The Bride lets out a braying laugh and drags me toward the end of the bar. Her marquise-cut ring digs into the tender webbing between my fingers. She’s stronger than she looks, and she looks like she could bench-press a Buick.
Just before we reach Shane, Jolene holds out her index finger and pinky in a salute to her bridesmaids across the bar. The women hurl a group catcall worthy of the skankiest strip joint.
“Hi there!” she says to Shane’s left shoulder. It tenses at the sound, but he makes no other movement. She fans her face with his bar napkin. “Woo! Is it hot in here, or is it just you?”
Still no response. She reaches to touch him, but at the last inch her hand jerks back, as if disobeying a direct order from her brain. Smart hand.
Finally she turns and shoves her lip out at me in a pout.
I frown back at her. “Just leave him alone.”
At the sound of my voice, Shane’s head turns, pivoting like a praying mantis’s. With his hands together on hisbeer bottle and elbows propped on the railing, the resemblance to the insect is uncanny. I step back.
A moment after his eyes meet mine, they soften, losing the leave-me-the-fuck-alone aspect. “Ciara.”
“Wow, you do know each other.” The bride-osaurus smooths her veil. I wonder why she hid her ring if she’s still got that thing on her head. “I’m Jolene. And you are?”
Shane gives me a quick scan, then shifts on the bar stool to face us. Face
me
, really. He hasn’t looked at Jolene yet.
I give him an apologetic smile. “Sorry to bother you, Shane.”
“Shane!” Jolene tries to plop her formidable ass on his lap. “Great name. Do you want to party, Shane?”
He glances at the cleavage she shoves toward him. His eyebrow twitches, and his gaze sticks there for a moment. I suddenly long to wrap Jolene’s veil around her throat and pull until she passes out.
“We’ve got a limo and a hotel room in the city,” she says—not to me, naturally. “There’s plenty of room.”
To my dismay, he stands and edges closer to Jolene, letting her press against his chest. I wish Regina would walk in and knock this girl’s teeth out her ears.
Shane mouths
Help
to me over Jolene’s head.
“Come dancing with us!” She gyrates unsteadily against his hip. “My friends would love you. I promise we won’t take too many pictures.” She finds this last statement hilarious.
I take a final loving sip of my martini and wait for a guy passing on the right to walk behind me. When he does, I step hard on his toe. He howls and pushes me forward, sending my drink—and all its chocolaty goodness— cascading over Jolene’s fresh white tank top.
She shrieks. “Clumsy bitch! My maid of honor stenciled this for me.”
“I’m so sorry.” I wipe at her top, pressing the liquid into the material. “Go to the ladies’ room and I’ll come help you clean up.”
“You better.” She stumbles off toward the restrooms, shaking drops of martini out of her veil. “Hurry!”
The moment
My former classmate examines Shane’s appearance. His charmingly disheveled hair gleams almost blond in the overhead bar light. He wears a similar getup as last night, but with a different flannel shirt over a different T-shirt.
Jolene turns back to me. “So you work for a logging company?”
I pretend not to get her joke. “Radio station. He’s a DJ at WMMP, where I’m the head of marketing.”
Her bleary drunken look is replaced by a sly grin. “Introduce me.”
“I thought you were engaged.”
“And this is my bachelorette party. I’m entitled.” With a deliberate gesture, she twists her engagement ring to face her palm.
“I think he has a girlfriend.”
“Is she here?”
The thought of Regina hanging out at the hopelessly bourgeois Smoking Pig makes me smile. “I doubt it.”
“Neither is my fiance. How conveeeeenient.”
The Bride lets out a braying laugh and drags me toward the end of the bar. Her marquise-cut ring digs into the tender webbing between my fingers. She’s stronger than she looks, and she looks like she could bench-press a Buick.
Just before we reach Shane, Jolene holds out her index finger and pinky in a salute to her bridesmaids across the bar. The women hurl a group catcall worthy of the skankiest strip joint.
“Hi there!” she says to Shane’s left shoulder. It tenses at the sound, but he makes no other movement. She fans her face with his bar napkin. “Woo! Is it hot in here, or is it just you?”
Still no response. She reaches to touch him, but at the last inch her hand jerks back, as if disobeying a direct order from her brain. Smart hand.
Finally she turns and shoves her lip out at me in a pout.
I frown back at her. “Just leave him alone.”
At the sound of my voice, Shane’s head turns, pivoting like a praying mantis’s. With his hands together on hisbeer bottle and elbows propped on the railing, the resemblance to the insect is uncanny. I step back.
A moment after his eyes meet mine, they soften, losing the leave-me-the-fuck-alone aspect. “Ciara.”
“Wow, you do know each other.” The bride-osaurus smooths her veil. I wonder why she hid her ring if she’s still got that thing on her head. “I’m Jolene. And you are?”
Shane gives me a quick scan, then shifts on the bar stool to face us. Face
me
, really. He hasn’t looked at Jolene yet.
I give him an apologetic smile. “Sorry to bother you, Shane.”
“Shane!” Jolene tries to plop her formidable ass on his lap. “Great name. Do you want to party, Shane?”
He glances at the cleavage she shoves toward him. His eyebrow twitches, and his gaze sticks there for a moment. I suddenly long to wrap Jolene’s veil around her throat and pull until she passes out.
“We’ve got a limo and a hotel room in the city,” she says—not to me, naturally. “There’s plenty of room.”
To my dismay, he stands and edges closer to Jolene, letting her press against his chest. I wish Regina would walk in and knock this girl’s teeth out her ears.
Shane mouths
Help
to me over Jolene’s head.
“Come dancing with us!” She gyrates unsteadily against his hip. “My friends would love you. I promise we won’t take too many pictures.” She finds this last statement hilarious.
I take a final loving sip of my martini and wait for a guy passing on the right to walk behind me. When he does, I step hard on his toe. He howls and pushes me forward, sending my drink—and all its chocolaty goodness— cascading over Jolene’s fresh white tank top.
She shrieks. “Clumsy bitch! My maid of honor stenciled this for me.”
“I’m so sorry.” I wipe at her top, pressing the liquid into the material. “Go to the ladies’ room and I’ll come help you clean up.”
“You better.” She stumbles off toward the restrooms, shaking drops of martini out of her veil. “Hurry!”
The moment
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