Sophie can’t stop chattering the whole car ride to the oceanfront destination. “Did you know all the guys will be modeling tonight?”
Can’t say I did.
“Are you excited for anyone in particular?” I want to pull any information about her thing with Liam. Sophie hides her attraction well, but I catch the briefest glances she gives him. She tells me they’re “just friends” ever since she pulled that card on him after our fail of a double date.
“Mm, no. Such an odd question. Are you?” She stares at me. Point taken.
We arrive at the fashion show location soon after. A cross-shaped stage floats in the center of a pool, lit from within and emitting a purplish glow. We make out different yachts anchored out in the ocean. The event bustles with enjoyment from the attendees while waiters walk around with food and drinks. Music streams from speakers around us.
“Let’s get a drink. Time to get this party started.” Sophie pulls me toward the bar area.
She handles ordering. “Can we have four shots of your finest tequila?”
My eyebrows rise. Two shots already? “I don’t want to end up a blubbering drunk mess tonight. Tequila makes me embarrassing.” Hard to forget how I cried in a bathroom. I blame the Jonas Brothers and their fourth band member, José.
“Relax.” She pats my arm for good measure. “We can get buzzed now so we can enjoy the show. We won’t have more until the alcohol wears off.”
She slides the two glasses toward me and we knock back the shots.
Sophie was right. This fashion show is way better with a buzz. Guys strut their stuff down the stage, each looking handsome in their different evening wear. I even whistle when Noah comes out. Not my fault he looks beyond fuckable in his tux, which calls out to me.
Whoops. This is the alcohol talking. A slip of the tongue. I do not want to fuck Noah Slade. I nudge Sophie when Liam comes out, his body pressed against the tailor-made suit and his blonde hair slicked back in his usual style. He even points her out of the crowd and sends her a wink. That one is a flirt, and honestly, I have no idea how Sophie resists him because her eyes light up whenever she sees him.
Once the show finishes, Sophie and I get the party started. Sophie bribes the DJ to let us behind his setup. She spins the turntables while I pick out songs from a playlist. We get a few people to bounce up and down, creating a small mosh pit at the center of the dance floor. I don’t think I’ve laughed any harder than I have with her.
A Bandini rep eventually pulls us away from the DJ area after we play our third reggaeton song. Apparently, it’s not well-suited for the elite crowd.
Two older guys ask us to dance and we agree. Not exactly my type but the haze of alcohol says yes for me as they pull us toward the dance floor. Sophie and I aren’t drunk. Only a little on the tipsy side, still managing to stay put together.
A crowd of dancing couples engulfs us. I dance around with a middle-aged man who has gelled-back hair and smells strongly of alcohol. My eyes search for Sophie between songs, but I can’t find her. The man’s hand creeps its way toward my ass at the same moment I conveniently step on his toes. Hard. He lets out a yelp while I fake an apology.
Music shifts to a classic salsa song DJs play at our clubs back home. A shadow looms over my dance partner. By now, I can recognize the reason for the tingle in my spine anywhere. Two months of resisting him does that. Strobe lights basking him in an ominous glow, my naughty knight in a shining tux sizes up my pervy dance partner.
“Mind if I cut in?” Noah’s irritated voice carries over the music. Or am I hearing things? Alcohol confuses my brain.
The man sputters out a reply as he lets me go. Noah grabs my hand while placing another at the dip in my back right above my ass. It feels way less invasive than my previous dance partner, like his hand should be there. Plus, Noah doesn’t smell like whiskey and old money. He needs to bottle up his scent and sell it on the mass market. I would buy a few bottles and spray it on my pillows at night, not creepily of course.
I smile at the idea. Real mature, Maya.
He shakes his head like he can’t believe the sorry state I’m in at the moment. He and I both.
I place a hand on his shoulder. His tux feels smooth under my fingertips, the strained material pressing against his muscles.
“I thought you were avoiding me because I haven’t seen you at any of the events this week.”
I think out my reply carefully. Well, as carefully as alcohol allows me to.
“Where did you learn to dance salsa?” Suave change of subject if I do say so myself.