“I’ve never kissed your ass before; why would I insist on it now?”
“Curiosity?”
“I’m not curious.” He takes a drink of some sort of brown alcohol over ice and I’m thinking up a real flirty comeback when he looks over his other shoulder and says, “Hello, Sarah. How’s your mother?”
“Better. Thank you.”
Oliver takes a step back to include a woman in a dark green dress with beaded flowers and little hummingbirds. “You remember Edie.”
She sets an empty wineglass on the bar. “Yes.” She doesn’t air-kiss my cheek and she isn’t smiling. Like Oliver, she isn’t a cookie cutter like the rest of us. She’s full-figured.
“Edie, this is Sarah Worthington.”
“Hello.” Her dress sparkles in the light, and the good Lord knows I love sparkles. “Are you related to Chester?”
“Yes.” She looks up at Oliver and they share a smile when she says, “That’s what Mother tells me.”
“Is he your grandfather?”
“Chester is my father.” Her smile falls and she returns her attention to me. “I’m sure your parents are glad to have you back.”
“Oh, the jury’s still out on that.” I take a drink, and by her scowl, I doubt we were friends.
“Your socialite crowd must be thrilled.”
I shrug and set my glass on the bar. “They don’t want to be called socialites. They said they prefer purse or athletic-wear designers.”
That gets a hoot of laughter out of Oliver and a smile out of Sarah. I only wish I knew what amused them.
“I like your dress, Sarah. The little hummin’birds are real cute.”
Her smile flatlines. “I’m not falling for it, Edie.”
“What?”
“You’ve never been nice to me unless you want something.”
I’m right. We were never friends. Edie was probably evil to her because she’s a full-size girl. I flash back on my childhood and—she’s Tubby Toast. Sarah was Edie’s Tubby Toast! That makes me— I gasp. I’m Dingleberry. “I don’t remember the past, but I must have hurt you. I apologize.”
“Right.” She shakes her head. “Good night, Oliver,” she says, and walks away.
I guess I didn’t expect her to accept my apology, but it would have been nice. I return my attention to Oliver, and he is looking at me like I have horns growing out of my head. “What?”
He doesn’t answer and signals for his check.
“Are you runnin’ away from me again?”
“I’m not running. I’m leaving.”
I don’t know why I’m bothering with him. There are plenty of good-looking men in the room, and Harold is more talkative. “What are you afraid of?” I take a sip of my drink and catch a man staring at me from a high table across the room. His gaze is so intense I turn away.
“Flying pigs. Hell freezing over.”
“You’re such a drama queen.”
Oliver lifts a brow. “That’s rich.”
I can’t help but look out of the corner of my eye at the man who’s still staring. Even when I turn to face the bar, I can feel his eyes on the back of my head. “There’s a man across the room starin’ a hole through me,” I tell Oliver.