Living Out Loud (Austen, #3)(72)

Really, it was the most brilliant dream realized—a room full of masculine necktie porn.

“That costume is perfect, Ward. Where did you get it?” I asked.

“My mother knows of a rental place she’s used for parties before. Thanks for the invitation by the way. This is spectacular,” he said, glancing around.

It really was. Cam had gone a little extra, stringing hanging lights covered by small paper lanterns across the open space. Candelabras dotted the room on available surfaces, lit with electric candles. She’d even had dance cards made, which were sitting on the table where I was supposed to already be.

“Well, I need to go clock in and get to work. Ward, will you keep my sister company for me? I’d hate for her to stand here in that dress all alone.”

His smile widened. “Oh, I don’t think such a thing could ever happen, especially not in a dress like this.”

She blushed so hard, I thought she might faint from a rush of blood to her head.

I laughed. “I’ll be back in a bit. Have fun!” I called as I headed to the back.

Greg’s eyes were on me—I could feel them like a tether—but I kept my chin up and my feet moving, clocking in once in the office and collecting the iPad and credit card reader before making my way back out.

The table at the front was marked with little signs, dance cards, name tags, that sort of thing. Jett sat after, looking dapper as hell and as natural as an Austen hero. His hair was raven, his eyes the color of cornflower, rich and velvety blue, shoulders wide and nose elegant. He was checking IDs and issuing wristbands, taking down drink and book combinations for the Books and Booze deal. Ruby was in charge of pulling the books and drinks once they were purchased, and I was set to take orders from suitors and ladies alike.

Will was at my elbow a moment after I sat down, and he set a tall glass next to me.

“Thank you,” I said and took a sip, nearly choking when it hit the back of my throat. I looked at the glass as if it contained poison. “This is not water.”

He bent to bring his lips to my ear. “It’s vodka and water.”

Panic rose in my chest. “I can’t drink this!” I hissed. “I’ve never—”

“I know,” he soothed. “Another first. And here’s to many more.”

He clinked his own rocks glass to mine and took a sip. I didn’t.

“Will, I’m working. This is wrong.”

At that, he knelt next to my chair, putting him just below my eye-level, his gaze turned up to mine, handsome and persuasive. “It’s just one drink, and it’s a tall. No one will know, and you won’t get drunk. Don’t worry—I’ll take care of you.”

I didn’t want to be a baby, and I didn’t want to tell him no. I wanted to be the cool girl, the easygoing, anything-goes girl. And I didn’t want to fight with Will anymore.

So I sighed and said something I would later come to regret very deeply.

“All right. Just one.”





19





Anywhere But Here





Greg

For some reason, I kept expecting things to get easier.

I wasn’t exactly sure why—they’d been on a steady decline for several days, longer, if I were being honest with myself. And over the course of three hours, they kept speeding downhill.

Seeing Annie walk through the door left me first breathless, then seething. The sight of her at the table in my line of vision was the sweetest torture; sweet because it was her, and she was dazzling in that dress, torture because the smile she wore had nothing to do with me. It was for the bastard at her elbow. And he didn’t leave her side for any longer than he had to.

I wouldn’t have either, had I been him.

The night moved on as time did, with no care for the ache in my chest or the anger buried in its center. It was nearing eleven, the bar packed to the seams with people in costumes. They had really shown up for the occasion, most of them dressed in stunning gowns and finery. Of course, Cam threw a couple of legendary regency costume parties—among a host of other costume parties and singles’ nights—every year, so people committed to springing for the good stuff.

I’d bought my own costume, as had most everyone at the bookstore. Before the first historical party, Cam had even given cravat-tying lessons. I’d laughed about it at the time, but—no lie—once I had seen how the girls at the bar reacted to that strip of linen around my neck, I’d found myself fully on board.

Cam had only said I told you so once.

But that night, Annie was set apart from everyone else in the room. I could imagine her in a ballroom long ago, her face lit by candlelight, her gloved hand in the hook of my elbow.

I could imagine her anywhere but here, with him. That reality was the one thing I couldn’t find a way to suffer.

Fortunately, we were busy, and keeping a wall of people between us seemed to be my only defense. I was flanked by Beau and Harrison, each in their own costumes, the three of us like veritable gentlemen, if it weren’t for our filthy mouths. Though we always found ourselves speaking a little more eloquently in cravats and collars.

I tossed a coaster down, offering my bartender smile as one customer moved, and another stepped forward. But the smile spread genuinely when I saw that it was Elle.

“Good evening, Miss Daschle,” I said. “Might I offer you something to drink?”