“I don’t care to be referred to as a project, and you don’t seem to understand how resolutions work,” I said. “You can’t set one for someone else.”
My sister shrugged. “I do what I want, Kyle.”
Yeah, wasn’t that the fucking truth?
Black and gold balloons were suspended in netting over the dance floor of the Opulent Hotel’s ballroom, waiting for the clock to hit midnight and start the new year. Round tables covered with black tablecloths and gold napkins surrounded the hardwood tiles on three sides. The simple, temporary stage was on the fourth, and held the deejay booth.
I’d done what was required of me at the fundraiser twenty minutes ago. The superintendent gave a long speech, and I’d been called on stage to accept a plaque and handshake as the school’s gesture of gratitude. It’d been awkward, holding the man’s hand and my smile for a long moment while pictures were taken.
Did I need to stay all the way until midnight? I took a sip of my drink, which was far more Coke than bourbon, and glanced around the room. Frank Sinatra sang from the speakers and couples had partnered up on the dance floor, swaying to the music. Cocktail dresses sparkled in the soft chandelier light.
I needed to get out of here before the balloons rained down on all the happy partygoers. I was starting off another year in Chicago alone.
Fuck it.
Payton’s resolution for me was stupid, but true. I could call Julius and ask for a wingman, but I was pretty sure he was holding out hope for Courtney. I’d had dinner with him right after Christmas, a casual thing to watch a college bowl game. How long would my new friend wait after the divorce was finalized, and would he make a move at all? Or would Julius wait forever to see if Courtney was interested in him as more than a friend?
I could call Joseph as well. After Payton had pitched her “project” to him, he’d set his gaze on me and seemed pleased. But I didn’t need help or a wingman. There was no reason to go trolling bars, or list myself on dating websites. I was done kidding myself. I already knew what I wanted, and I hated it.
There wasn’t a ring on Ruby’s finger.
Sure, we were both still angry, but there’d been feelings between us before. Strong, deep ones. What would have happened if I’d stayed in Chicago? Would there be a ring on her finger now?
I stared down at my drink. Maybe it was stronger than I thought.
Whatever. I’d convinced her to give me a shot once. Could I do it again? And . . . did I really want to? There were days when simply hearing her name scraped at the hole left where she’d ripped my heart out.
At that exact moment, the universe tilted on its axis.
A woman in a pale pink dress stood at the bar, her intense gaze locked onto me. My knees softened and I tightened my grip on my glass, fighting against the weak response. Her dark hair was pinned up, and her lips were stained a vibrant red, the same shade as her name.
Ruby.