Page 18 of Pity Present

I fire off an email to Gillian to let her know I’ve accepted my fate. Even though I’d much rather be covering a basketball game, my curiosity has gotten the better of me, and I commit to do my typically stellar work on this assignment.

I’m not sure what the dress code is tonight, but I decide to put my best foot forward. By the time I’m ready to go downstairs, I’m wearing a slim cut pair of grey pants and a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The black loafers say that I’m cool but don’t take myself too seriously. My mom would say that I look dapper, and I wouldn’t disagree.

Looking in the mirror I run a hand over my slight scruff and decide it makes me look like a tough guy. I think back to last night talking to Molly. I might not be lumberjack rugged, but I have an edge.

On my way downstairs, I pass the same family I saw earlier in the day. They’re wearing snowsuits this time, full-on with matching Santa Claus hats. I smile as we pass in the hall. “Looks like you guys are having a full day.”

Ben, whose smile is bigger than you’d think possible on such a little face, says, “We went snowmobiling! It was so cool!”

“Based on your glowing recommendation,” I tell him, “I’ll make sure to give it a try.”

Getting into the elevator, I realize I’m kind of apprehensive—like a steer looking for a buyer at the county fair. It’s one thing to go out for a night on the town where no one knows your status. It’s quite another to go to a cocktail party where everyone is there hoping to find love. And even though that’s not why I’m going, I still feel vulnerable.

I briefly glance at my watch and see that it’s a few minutes after five. I didn’t want to show up early and look too eager, and Icertainly don’t want to arrive so late that I draw everyone’s attention as I walk into the room.

When I walk into the lobby, I see that it’s been roped off and there’s a sign declaring a private event is taking place. Thank goodness there’s no banner announcing the kind of gathering. I walk through a break in the rope in time to hear Trina announce, “There are no rules this evening. This is a meet and greet with no expectations. Just do your best to talk to as many people as you can. We’ll start more formal activities tomorrow night.”

As I don’t know anybody here, I look around the room for Kyle. I figure he’ll be an interesting story for Chicagoans to follow. Making my way toward him, I discover that he looks like he just buried his dog. Sidling up next to him, I suggest, “You should smile. You know the old saying that you attract more flies with honey.”

“Blake, right?” he asks.

“That’s me. What do you say we walk around and introduce ourselves?”

“I don’t know,” he says nervously. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”

“What’s to be ready for?” I ask. “All we’re doing is saying hi to people.” I look around the room and discover everyone has put forth a real effort to look their best. “I bet they’re as anxious as we are.”

“Are you nervous?” he asks.

“I’m not exactly comfortable,” I tell him truthfully.

Kyle slowly stands up straighter. With each inch he looks more in control. Once his shoulders are fully squared, he says, “Let’s do this.”

The first couple of women we walk up to look like models from a runway show. They’re both remarkably tall and beautiful. If I were on my own, I might not have had the courage to approach them. Yet they're here at Trina’s event, so they must be interested in meeting men.

“Hi there, I’m Blake,” I introduce myself before pointing toward my partner in crime. “This is Kyle.”

“Krista,” the blonde says with a coy smile. Then she gestures toward the brunette next to her. “This is Marley.”

“Cool name,” Kyle says to Marley. He moves closer to her side and asks, “Can I get you a drink?”

As they walk away, I focus on Krista. “So, what do you do, Krista?”

Her previous confidence seems to waver as she answers, “I’m a kindergarten teacher.”

“Lucky kids,” I say more flirtatiously than I was planning. Then I tell her, “I’m writing a novel.”

“Really?”

“It’ll be my first so I’m not a big deal author yet.” Even though I’m lying about why I’m here I don’t want to come across as a jerk.

“I used to want to write romance novels.” A faint pink blush overtakes her face.

“But not anymore?”

One slim shoulder lifts. “It’s scary, you know? I mean, I don’t want people to judge me based on what I write.”

“Are you planning on writing smut?” I ask with a grin.

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