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I nod my head. I’m sure she’s right about half of that statement—I have no doubt that Alisha will be more beautiful even than Laurel.
“I can hear you guys,” Alisha says with another laugh. “I’m standing right here.”
My mother laughs. “Oh, sorry, dear. It’s just that there’s never been a beautiful woman in this kitchen.”
“Besides yourself, you mean,” Alisha says, and my mother glances at me.
“Marry her,” she whispers loudly enough that Alisha can hear, and her cheeks go pink.
“Let’s start with this part, Mom. Nobody is thinking about marriage except you.” I find myself wondering if I should lay some claim on Alisha, maybe ask her as my girlfriend, because at this point, she’s only going with me as a favor.
But surely no one will try to rip her off my arm at the party.
I’ll have time to make my move.
Chapter Eleven
Alisha
I've never felt as beautiful as I do right now.
Sitting beside Charles in his car as we make our way to the party, I quickly realize we're not headed toward someone's home. My heart sinks in my chest and an overwhelming discomfort comes over me as I realize we're headed toward Club Red.
My only other experience at this club was a very, very good one but ended bittersweet.
“Is everything okay?” Charles glances my direction, and I realize my discomfort must be obvious.
I nod my head, not trusting my mouth to form words properly. Instead, I reach for the necklace gem he’d bought me and gently slide the pendant back and forth along the chain.
“You're absolutely beautiful and you have nothing to be nervous about.” As he says the words, he reaches out and gently pats my knee and I stare at the spot he touched, stunned by the warmth blossoming there and working its way up my thigh toward my core.
I appreciate his kind words, but he has absolutely no idea. I have every reason to be nervous and uncomfortable about heading back to Club Red and as he parks his car in a spot in front of the club, I stare at the front of the building, thinking about the last time I'd been here.
But there's no way I'd run into the same people I ran into back then, right? I hadn’t been here in years and years. And why exactly - and how - is Charles affiliated with this place?
As my unease with the whole situation rises like a tsunami, I resist the urge to slide down in my seat and hide.
Charles kills the engine and turns to me. “Are you ready to go?”
I want to shake my head and ask him to take me home. Of course, I can't do that, I won't do that; not now. I told him I’d come here with him and I’m going to stick to my word. Besides, there's no easy way to tell him that if I had known that the party was going to be here at Club Red, I would have gracefully bowed out.
So I flash him what I hope is a convincing, winning smile and nod my head. He smiles, looking so thrilled I almost feel bad as he opens his door and gets out while I continue staring at the front of Club Red. I just need to convince myself that I can get through this because I can. I will.
Charles walks around the front of his car toward my side of the car and before I know it, my door is open and he’s offering me his hand. I slip my fingers across his palm and he helps me to my feet.
He pushes the door closed behind me and the car locks with a chime. Linking his arm through mine, he guides me toward the front door of the club, and I try to slow my rapid pulse with a few deep breaths. Of course, that method doesn't work, and I find myself feeling more keyed up than before.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” He glances down at me, the concern obvious in his eyes.
All I can do is nod my head in response. My mouth is as dry as the Sahara Desert and my body begins to tremble as I think about entering the club. Surely no one will remember me after all these years...
I’m not ashamed of my last visit to the club, but I’m nervous who else might be there. I know what happens in this place all too well. We make our way inside and for the first time I take control, tugging him toward the bar, perhaps too eagerly.
“Long island iced tea?” I say and the bartender nods.
Charles leans in beside me. “Bourbon.” Arching an eyebrow he glances at me. “I've only ever known someone to order a long island if they want to get drunk.” I can hear the amusement in his voice, but I'm not feeling too humorous at the moment.
“I like tea. Doesn't everyone like tea?” I can tell I'm not fooling him one bit as I lean back against the bar and scan the room. So far, so good. There are only a few people in the room, and I wonder if we’re early.
