Page 85 of Ella Gets the D
I double-check my phone to the steady beat of jazz fusion and nod. “This is the place.”
Julian and his teammates aren’t among the silhouettes of collared dress shirts and slacks. He and his crew have enough muscles for aMagic Mikecabaret, and then some.
Morgan checks her champagne-colored watch, which matches the metallic silk draped over her body. “It’s seven. Want to get a drink at the bar?”
“I didn’t put this dress on for nothing.”
It takes a special occasion or a dare to get me in a skirt. Both are true tonight, as I’m out celebrating my best friend not thinking about her ex. Morgan dared me to slip on a few pieces of fabric, hence the black asymmetrical dress gripping my ass and keeping my mom pouch in place.
Panty-free, might I add.
Our strappy heels click across the wood floor. At the corner of the bar, two men approach.
“Who do we have here?” Thin lips curve to reveal pointy teeth. Beady green eyes move up my thighs to study my face. “I’m Edwin.”
Tonight isn’t going to end well for Edwin—at least, not with me. He’s not unattractive, though his bushy eyebrows could use a wax. Still, I’ve seen his type before.
Clean-shaven.
Ash-blond hair slicked back.
Navy blue tie flopped over his shoulder.
White shirt rolled to his elbows.
“Hi, Edwin. Which brokerage do you work for?”
He stops mid-chew of the chicken wing brushing his lips. “Have we met?” I might be out of touch with dating, but hitting on someone while snacking is a bold choice.
“No. You’re wearing the uniform of someone who deals with Wall Street or Capitol Hill.” It could also be a completely different industry, but my guess is one of the two.
His eyes narrow at my assumption. “I’m an investment advisor.” The tone is cautious, questioning whether he’s that easy to read or I’m psychic.
Years with Charles made it easy to spot people in finance. My radar about his faithfulness was shit, but I’d win a game show about who speaks mutual funds and 401(k)s.
I glance over at Morgan who’s lost in conversation with Edwin’s friend. He’s a brunette with a broad frame tucked under a gray Mister Rogers sweater. It’s a questionable choice for a Saturday night in the city. He gives Henry Cavill vibes, with blue eyes of steel and a strong jawline.
Their stares say they want to do something other than talk.
“So, what’s your name?”
My attention shifts back to Edwin, who’s now inches from dropping a wing on my dress. The music isn’t that loud, and he doesn’t need to acquaint himself with my shadow. My lips part to tell him I’m waiting for someone, but then Julian says, “Taken.”
Edwin whips around and comes face to face with a thick chest under a fitted button-down, a chest I’ve had the pleasure of seeing bare on more than one occasion. He eyes me for confirmation, but I can’t take mine off of Julian and the neatly trimmed goatee outlining his smile.
Julian steps closer once Edwin and his chicken wings leave. “Sorry I’m late.” He presses his lips to the back of my hand. “Cell reception gets dicey in the back room, but it’s set up now.” His eyes slip from my mouth to the outline of my breasts and down my crossed legs. “You’re gorgeous, sweetheart.”
My cheeks heat. “Your sister is right next to me,” I say in a whisper loud enough for him to hear.
“Is it a crime to tell a friend she’s beautiful?”
“Maybe, when you’re staring at me like you want to fuck me.”
“I do want to fuck you.”
“Julian!”
His lips twitch. “Fair enough.” He extends a hand to help me off the stool. It finds a home just above my ass and pulls me close in front of him. “Are you wearing panties?”
