Page 117 of Backslide
Sabrina studies us with narrowed eyes. She looks at me, then at Nell, then at me again. She raises her eyebrows knowingly. Sucks her teeth. But she doesn’t say a thing.
Which wins her points in my book.
It’s warm tonight, especially compared to how it felt on the coast. And instead of loose and floral like the others, tonight Nell’s dress is short and black. It’s tight and low across the top, flares into a miniskirt.
She is wearing it like nobody’s business.
It would be so easy just to reach right up under it and…fuck. I swipe a hand across my eyes. I have got to get my shit together.
After everything that happened, it’s just hard to be near her and not touch her. I restrain one hand with the other.
That’s when Damien and Lydia saunter up together, the bad news bears. I shift away from Nell, so as not to attract attention, and find myself right up against Lydia.
“Hey, stranger,” she says.
“Hey… Lydia,” I say back.
I glance at Nell, who is now wearing a consternated look. But not for long.
“Damn, girl,” says Damien. “You look smokin’.”
“Oh.” Nell looks down at her dress, up at Damien, and smiles. “Thanks.”
I can’t tell if she’s actually flattered. I want to end him.
Damien is wearing one of his specials. A white polo and white pants with a white baseball cap. What I once thought was idiosyncratic, even charming, is suddenly dumb as hell.
Also, who wears white to a wedding?
There’s an awkward silence. The crickets get their moment.
“So, what did we miss yesterday?” Nell asks, maybe to draw attention away from herself.
“Nothing!” says Cara, popping into the circle with Ben close behind. “But we missed you!”
“Aw shucks,” Nell says, giving her bestie a squeeze. “Hey! We should have a toast! Sab?”
“Yes!” Sabrina seconds. We all raise our glasses. “To our luminous friends who we love so dearly! Congratulations on being the cutest! May the best of your past be the worst of your future together! Cheers.”
“To us all being together!” Cara says.
I might be projecting, but Nell looks less sure.
We all clink glasses.
“Hey, Nellie,” says Damien. “You need to make eye contact when you toast, girl. Otherwise, you get cursed—seven years bad sex, starting now.”
I nudge her lightly so no one can see.
“Oh,” she says, suppressing a smile, and maintaining eye contact with Damien. “I’m all good.”
Cocktails lead to dinner, dinner to a cheese course (the goat cheese!) and then dessert—the pies! By the end of it all, everyone is toasty, dancing to “Real Love” (old-school!) and Taylor Swift (new-school).
The cheese factor is high.
Like it’s a real wedding.
I’ve managed to keep my distance from Nell to an extent, hanging with Ben and a couple of his work dudes, when he’s not dancing with Cara. I’m dodging Lydia’s advances without outright insulting her, though they get more overt with every sip she takes.
