Page 5 of Jumping In
The valet leaned forward, looked at the envelope in Clint’s hand, and then flicked his gaze up to Clint’s face.
“It isn’t open.”
Looking down at his own hand, Clint remembered that he’d opened the cream outer envelope and, once he’d seen the shimmery gold one, assumed he knew what was inside. But given the if-it-can-go-wrong-it-will day he was having, he suddenly worried that if he looked inside the inner envelope, he’d find something else entirely. Like a letter from the bank foreclosing his truck, even though it was a 1990 he’d bought used for cash.
“But don’t worry about it. I recognize the envelope.” The valet leaned forward and, in a quieter voice said, “I heard other people say they want to keep the invitation in good shape too, sir.” He glanced down at Clint’s hand. “It really does sparkle.”
After carefully examining the valet’s expression, Clint decided the guy wasn’t fucking with him.
“Here.” Clint thrust the envelope at him. “Keep it.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t do that,” the valet said but he looked at the envelope longingly.
Clint arched his eyebrows and shook his head “Consider it a tip.”
“The valet services are free for guests, sir. The happy couple arranged it.”
At that moment, Clint fully expected someone to walk up and admit that he was being recorded for a reality television show aimed at seeing how much insanity you could throw at a man before he lost his damn mind. Sadly, no such miracle occurred, which meant he was, most likely, experiencing real life.
“Well, I like you and I want to tip you extra,” he said as he pushed the envelope against the valet’s chest. “It’ll be our little secret.”
“Thank you so much, sir,” the valet said in an excited whisper. “I won’t tell any of the others.” He quickly darted his gaze around, presumably to make sure nobody would run over and snatch his prize. “And I’ll make sure to park your—” he glanced at Clint’s still-creaking truck, “—uh, vehicle in a great spot.”
As long as he got his ride back at the end of the night, Clint didn’t care where they parked it but he said, “Thanks,” and even managed an almost-smile before he stepped away from the truck and toward the country club entrance.
The restaurant was in the back of the building, with an attached patio overlooking the golf course. For the last two events he’d attended at there, he’d walked down the green carpeted hallway, passed the dated seating area, turned left next to the doors leading to the restrooms and tiny gym, and then reached the restaurant. The route from the entryway to the restaurant hadn’t changed and if Clint looked carefully at the edges of the hallway, he thought he could see the green carpet peeking through, but otherwise, the space felt entirely different.
The walls and ceiling were covered with a gold and silver balloon archway. A gold fabric runway lined the floor, with rope lights along its edges, highlighting the sparkle in the fabric while silently directing guests in the right direction. The hallway started in one spot and ended in another and the doorways were hidden by balloons, so there was in fact only one possible direction people could go, but logic, like the budget for this party, was apparently irrelevant.
Internally patting himself on the back for not slamming his entire body against the balloons just to hear them pop, Clint put one foot in front of the other and hoped that some dirt, drywall material, and unidentified sticky or slimy substance from his house was on his boots and being smeared onto the runway. He dragged his feet a little to help the cause.
Piano music greeted him as he left the balloon hallway and stepped into the restaurant. Though this space was slightly more identifiable, the decorating had still been taken to an extreme.
A silver disco ball hung from the middle of the ceiling and gold fabric streamed from it to the outer walls in every direction, like a giant Liberace flower. The fabric then slid down the walls in flowy rows spaced at exactly the right intervals to avoid the wall sconces lighting the room. The normally nondescript chairs were covered in a similar silky fabric with thick gold ribbon wrapped around the bases in bows. The tablecloths, of course, matched.
As Clint stood at the entry to the room, his jaw hanging open and his eyes unsure what over-the-top item to focus on, a waiter in a tuxedo walked by holding a round tray of champagne flutes.
“I’ll take one,” Clint said hurriedly.
The man stopped, turned to him with a smile, and then frowned as he dropped his gaze to Clint’s clothes.
“Make that two.” He snatched two flutes from the tray before the waiter could make a run for it with the alcohol. Speaking of alcohol. “Where’s the bar?”
He slammed back one drink and then the other.
“There’s a bar in the north corner and another on the patio.” The man paused. “Sir.”
“Thanks.” Clint put the empties on the tray and picked up two more flutes. “I appreciate it.”
Before he finished speaking, the waiter rushed off. Good call, really, because if he’d stayed there, Clint would have skipped the bar and downed the whole tray of champagne. Speaking of which, who drank this shit? He was on his third and it wasn’t tasting any better. That didn’t stop him from downing the fourth, but why couldn’t they have beer? It was gold colored, like the rest of the décor and, if the sparkling glitter covered candles on the table told him anything, it was that Ewan had seen that particular decorating decision through to the last detail.
His ex always had been a detail-oriented guy. Clint had actually admired that quality when it came to how hard Ewan worked and how nicely he kept his home. He hadn’t liked it as much when Ewan fixated on any possible way their relationship could be discovered and then used those reasons as excuses to keep from being seen together. In fact, he’d disliked it enough to break up with the now about-to-be groom.
Just then, he heard Ewan’s familiar voice. Clint stepped to the side so he could see around the crowd that was already filling the room and found Ewan, standing next to a table, his arm around a pretty brunette’s shoulders. He was smiling and chatting with the people at the table and he looked…happy.
Fair enough,Clint thought.Everyone deserves to be happy.
If he were being honest, he and Ewan had never been happy together. Content sometimes, but not happy. About the only thing they had in common was a mutual desire to get their rocks off. Thinking of their relationship in those terms, Clint wondered if he’d made such a fuss about hiding the nature of their relationship because he wanted to take Ewan out in public or because he didn’t like being told he couldn’t. The wind of righteous indignation blew out of his sails and he sighed.
