Page 65 of All Twerk, No Play

“No, we don’t,” Victoria countered, but I’d already shifted the skillet to the back burner and turned the corner …

Holy shit.

Victoria always looked beautiful—even covered in puke, her stumbling steps still felt regal—but normally it was in a buttoned-up way, like a sexy librarian who would rap my knuckles as punishment for being too rowdy.

But I’d never seen her look like this.

The dress had a plunging neckline, showing off her long neck and ample cleavage. It cinched at the waist, flaring to showcase her curvy hips and round ass, and beneath the flirty hem, her legs looked a million miles long.

When I stopped in my tracks in the doorway, she looked up from beneath her eyelashes, those silver eyes tinged with vulnerability.

Mallory grabbed her hand. “Please join Team Sexy Bridesmaids dresses, Victoria?”

Kate tapped my chin. “Watch out, you’re catching flies.”

“I told you, it’s too much boob,” Victoria said, shifting the cups so those luscious tits bounced, and I averted my eyes to the ceiling and recited the Mets starting lineup to not get hard in this small closet. Jesus, I would never hear the end of that from Kate and Mal.

“And I told you, there’s no such thing as too much boob,” Kate said, pressing a palm between Victoria’s shoulder blades. “You want that third date to go well? Tits up, buttercup.”

"I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For," U2

Victoria

Glancingthroughthefoyer’sfront window, I smoothed Kate’s magic dress as I waited for Lawrence’s BMW. Our second date had gone well, polite small talk over ravioli and Chianti—well, he’d had ravioli, the restaurant hadn’t had anything gluten-free so I’d had a salad.

If things went well, I’d invite him to Richard’s 80th birthday party next weekend. It was short notice, but he’d be a fool not to rearrange his schedule to meet an industry icon. One meeting could launch his entire career … and prevent me from facing those judgmental faces alone.

My phone buzzed, and I knew what it would say:

Lawrence

I’m sorry, a surprise popped up. Rain check?

My shoulders slumped. I couldn’t invite him now, it would seem desperate. Alexander's absence had thrown off my plans, but I’d had a backup option. Lawrence was bland, but he would have been a decent shield.

I closed my eyes, imagining theForbescover again.

No strapping man to lean on his broad shoulders.

Just me. Alone.

Staring straight into the camera, like looking down the barrel of a gun.

I winced, imagining Beverly’s smug smile when I showed up alone. The only silver lining was that Spencer would be in London.

I’d avoided these family functions when I lived in California, blaming flight schedules. Dodging events became infinitely harder living here. But Dad told me that Sinclair Larsson was at a precarious moment, imploring me to swallow my pride in support of my grandfather.

I gathered my wits, planning to retreat to my apartment and order a dress so stunning that nobody would notice my solitude … and came face-to-face with the last person I wanted to see: Eric, mopping the foyer floor.

It was one thing to meet him for morning runs. He handed me a headphone, prepared with a new daily playlist and different path to explore the city. We quizzed each other on music trivia as he reminded me to drop my shoulders and lengthen my stride.

It was quite another to bump into him while actively being ghosted.

“Bad news?” he asked, leaning on his mop. He wore khakis and the building polo that pulled across his chest, his hair pulled back into a bun but for a few face-framing strands.

“Change of plans,” I said blankly, brushing past him and punching the up button with unnecessary force. The elevator floor indicator counted down to my freedom from this embarrassment.

“It’s a crime for a dress that sexy to go back in your closet unseen. Let me take that dress out. You can come too.”

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