Playing It Safe(10)

CHAPTER FOUR


Standing before my full-length mirror, I take one last look at myself before heading to the Art Gallery. It’s taken me almost a whole hour just to decide on this dress. It’s a halter, fifties-pinup-style dress in a deep red, very reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe’s famous white subway dress. So the front dips down a little to show off some of the goods. My hair, which has taken me the better part of the afternoon to finish, is in waves and pinned to one side so that most of my bare back is exposed. I don’t even want to delve into why I’m all of a sudden so worried about how I look tonight. Okay, maybe I do. I’ll give you one guess. His name starts with the letter A.

No, not him. I don’t even want to discuss or think too much about him … Aiden. Because as much as I hate to admit it, the guy has been in the back of my mind since I saw him a couple of nights ago, buzzing around like an annoying fly. And what gets me even more irritated is that the more I think about Aiden, the more I come up with better things I should have said to him when I had the chance the other night. Don’t you hate that? The best one-liners always come to you after you actually need them.

Anyway, enough about Aiden since the other guy whose name starts with the letter A is the reason why it’s taken me this long to get ready.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m so busted. I must be crazy, because first of all, there’s still that whole mess Alex had with Sabrina last year, but now there’s this new thing with Marisa. But flirting is harmless, right? I mean, it’s not like anything is going to happen between us, so why not just play along and enjoy the ride? If anything, it will provide me with at least a f*ck-ton of fantasies to hold me over until I decide to get back into the saddle again. At least that’s what I keep telling myself as I adjust “the boys.”

“The boys” are what I affectionately call my breasts, and I currently have them showing off some nice cleavage in this dress. Well, the right amount of cleavage and in a totally tasteful manner because I’m not trying to look like a hooker walking the streets. It’s a well-proven fact that men fall under one of two categories: tits or ass men. I felt it was time I find out which one of those two categories Alex falls into. My money is on tits, hence the cleavage.

The opening itself doesn’t start until seven, but I always arrive at an event I’m handling about an hour earlier to double-check that everything is in place. When I pull into the gallery parking lot at just past six o’clock after dealing with Miami traffic—and if you haven’t had the pleasure of dealing with Miami during rush hour, consider yourself blessed—I’m already in a bad mood.

It would be important to point out that I have not spoken to Alex since we had that super-flirtatious text exchange a couple of nights ago, so I’m not sure what to expect. We’ve flirted and had witty repartee countless times before, but I’m still not sure how what occurred the other night will affect our friendship. Plus, when you throw Miss Teen USA into the mix, well, I could be facing a clusterf*ck of epic proportions.

I walk in through the back door of the gallery and make my way toward the front of the building where most of the action is already taking place. Sidestepping some of the catering staff and some of my own, I see Lisette talking to Sarah, the gallery’s receptionist. Before I reach them, both of them look up and spot me walking in their direction. Lisette has a grin on her face as she takes in my “look” for the evening, while Sarah lets out a low whistle.


“Holy shit, Julia! You look amazing!” Sarah says loudly.

“Thank you, girlie. You don’t think it’s too much?”

“Um, no. You’re totally going to be getting digits tonight.”

I glance over at Lisette, who’s still grinning from ear to ear. “What? Why are you grinning at me like that? You’re freaking me out.”

“Ni?a, with that dress, you’re going to be finding more than Prince Charming tonight. You look fabulous!”

I roll my eyes, trying to play it off like I don’t care what they think, but let’s be honest, every woman wants to hear they look good. Especially when you’ve put half the goddamn time I did into this ensemble.

“So,” I say, changing the subject quickly and jumping into organizing mode, “how is everything coming along?”

In unison, they answer, “Good.”

I chuckle and shake my head. These two together always give me a good laugh. And when I get them both at a happy hour, I might as well be wearing adult diapers from laughing so hard. Which, by the way, I can neither confirm nor deny that that’s actually happened before.

“Good. I’m going to do a walkthrough anyway. Lisette, can you come with me?”

She grabs her iPad from Sarah’s desk, and we head off to double-and triple-check the hell out of this thing before it’s go time. About forty-five minutes later, and after being completely satisfied that things are all good, I duck toward the back of the gallery to use the ladies’ room so I can freshen up. When I’m done, I quickly sashay back to the front of the gallery, where guests are already starting to file in. Normally, I don’t drink at any of these things, but when I’m working an event at the gallery, I do imbibe on occasion because I’ve handled so many events here that it usually runs like a well-oiled machine with little to no assistance from me. I stop in front of a person from the catering staff and grab a champagne flute off the tray. I spot Lisette at the far end of the room, then lift my glass in a salute and watch her laugh before heading off to keep an eye on everything.