Consolation Prize (Forbidden Men #9)(88)

I lifted my hands in surrender, but still had to say, “So you used a real fox tail for a fake squirrel costume tail?”

Tears streamed down her cheeks she started to laugh so hard. “Yes. Grandma Cicely is kind of into hoodoo stuff.” She wiped at her cheeks before narrowing her eyes. “Don’t ever tell anyone I told you this, but I loved my tail. I wished it had been real.”

Imagining my Julianna as a little girl with a fox tail made me grin.

I winked. “Don’t worry, Sandy. Your secret tail is safe with me.” Then setting my hand over my gut, I rose from my seat. “I gotta hit the john real quick. I’ll be right back.”

After she nodded at me, I kissed her temple and went in search of the bathroom.

I was in there two minutes max before I returned to our table. But the laughing-so-hard-she-was-crying Juli I’d left only seconds before was long gone. She’d pulled her arms to her chest protectively and had scooted back to the darkest back corner of the booth.

As I sat across from her, she shot a glare toward another table.

“Everything okay?” I asked, glancing that way to find two girls at another table eating their own supper. When they smirked back, I blinked. “Do you know them?”

“Hmm?” She tore her attention from them and finally focused on me. “No, why?”

I shook my head confused. “I don’t know. Maybe because you guys keep sending each other killer glares.”

She sighed. But all she said was, “They started it.”

“Started what?” I glanced between her and the girls again. “The glaring contest?”

“Yes.”

Still totally lost on what I was missing, I arched my eyebrows. “Why would they glare at you if they don’t even know you?”

She pierced me with an incredulous stare. “Why would I start a glaring contest with them?”

“Good point.” I glanced at them—yep, they were still sneaking sneers our way—and then I scanned Juli from head to…well, wherever the table hid her from view. “I wonder what their issue is. It’s not like your clothes don’t match. You look hot and sporty. So it can’t be some fashion faux pas that’s offended their trendy little senses.”

Julianna rolled her eyes. “It’s because I’m black,” she told me dryly.

I lifted my eyebrows. “Huh?”

“They don’t think I belong here with you.”

I stared at her a moment without speaking, then turned to study the gossiping women openly. “You think?”

“Yes,” she hissed, reaching out to grab my hand in order to get my attention. “I knew it’d be a bad idea to come here. I’ve never seen any black people in this neighborhood when I’ve driven by before. I don’t belong here. Dammit, Colton, please stop looking at them.”

I turned back to her, not letting go of her fingers when she tried to pull away. “Okay, first of all, that’s just bullshit. You belong everywhere, baby doll. And secondly, are you sure it’s a race thing? Maybe they’re just jealous because you’re so beautiful.”

With a roll of her eyes, she sighed. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s the problem.”

“No, seriously,” I urged. “I know you go to great lengths to make sure everything on you is perfectly in place and flawless every day. To you, nothing would be worse than being criticized for your appearance. But I think all that perfection actually brings you more judgment.”

She pulled back, lifting her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“You’re almost inhuman because of how gorgeous you are,” I explained. “That’ll make all the mortal, average women out there jealous and more critical. They’ll watch you closer, look for any small, insignificant thing wrong with you to prove you’re not so perfect after all just to make themselves feel better.”

“Is that how you think I feel?” she demanded. “That how a person looks is what’s most important to me?”

“No…” I said slowly, knowing I’d just put myself on some slippery ground here, but I couldn’t seem to shut myself up. “I don’t think you judge other people for how they look. And I don’t think you’re trying to make yourself out to look better than anyone else either. You’re not that arrogant. You’re…f*ck, what’s the word.” I snapped my fingers when it came to me. “You’re defensive. I think your motto is that the best defense is a good offense.”

She shook her head slowly. “I’m not following.”

“You don’t judge, but you feel as if you’re always being judged, so you go on the offensive before anyone can attack you. Every time you dress, you make a statement. You’re trying to prove to the world that you are not lower than anyone else. You’re not going to go down without a fight.” I shrugged. “Which I find really admirable and awesome, though sometimes it works against you.”

“How does that work against me?” She leaned toward me, seeming intrigued, but not pissed, which was a huge relief to me, since pissing her off was the very last thing I wanted to do.

“To stupid, simple-minded people just glancing by, all that pride in yourself sometimes makes you appear…” I winced, knowing the next word I said wouldn’t be pretty.